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Air-to-Ground Battle

for Italy

MICHAEL C. MCCARTHY

Brigadier General, USAF, Retired

Air University Press

Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama

20041112 054

August 2004

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT A

Approved for Public Release

Distribution Unlimited
Air University Library Cataloging Data

McCarthy, Michael C.

Air-to-ground battle for Italy / Michael C. McCarthy,

p. ; cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 1-58566-128-7

1 World War, 1939-1945 — Aerial operations, American. 2. World War, 1939-

1945 — Campaigns — Italy. 3. United States — Army Air Forces — Fighter Group,

57th. I. Title.

940.544973—dc22

Disclaimer

Opinions, conclusions, and recommendations expressed or implied within are solely those of

the author and do not necessarily represent the views of Air University, the United States Air

Force, the Department of Defense, or any other US government agency. Cleared for public

release: distribution unlimited.

Air University Press

131 West Shumacher Avenue

Maxwell AFB AL 36112-6615

http://aupress.maxwell.af.mil
Contents

Chapter Page

DISCLAIMER ü

FOREWORD v

ABOUT THE AUTHOR vii

PREFACE ix

INTRODUCTION xi

Notes xiv

1 GREAT ADVENTURE BEGINS 1

2 THREE MUSKETEERS TIMES TWO 11

3 AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY 45

4 OPERATION STRANGLE 65

INDEX 97

Photographs follow page 28

in
Foreword

The events in this story are based on the memory of the

author, backed up by official personnel records. All survivors

are now well into their eighties. Those involved in reconstructing

the period, the emotional rollercoaster that was part of every day

and each combat mission, ask for understanding and tolerance

for fallible memories.

Bruce Abercrombie, our dedicated photo guy, took most of the

pictures. My brother-in-law, Chuck Lynch, recovered much of

their original clarity. Paul Carll, with the best mind of any of us

for names, dates, and details of daily events, also helped in many

ways. I absolve them of any responsibility for mistakes in this

work.

Four sons and seven daughters each had a hand in convincing me to tell this remarkable story. But three wonderful

people in my life were particularly effective in motivating me to

begin and, especially, to finish the job. They are my son Jerry,

daughter Maureen, and my lovely wife, Eileen, who tolerated no

procrastination.

MICHAEL c. MCCARTHY

Brigadier General, USAF, Retired
About

the Author

Born in Boston, Massachusetts, the oldest of six with five

sisters, this first-generation Irish-American signed up for the

Aviation Cadet program after Pearl Harbor. He survived the

testing process and completed pilot training on 4 January 1943,

as a 21-year-old second lieutenant with silver wings, new gold

bars on his shoulders, and an assignment to Sarasota, Florida,

to learn how to fly and operate the P-40 weapon system in a

combat environment.

In April 1943, this combat-ready fighter pilotjoined the 57th

Fighter Group southeast of Tunis on the Cape Bon peninsula.

He stayed with that distinguished air-to-ground fighter group

until May 1945. The air-to-ground battle for Sicily and Italy

was the focus of daily combat operations. German defenses

extracted a fearful price from those Allied fighter forces whose

mission was to attack and destroy them.

The arrival late in 1943 of the P-47 Thunderbolt made it

possible to win the air-to-ground war and enabled many to

survive to tell the story. This is his story of two years in that

environment with his classmates from the first big post-Pearl

Harbor pilot training class, 43-A.

ua
Preface

Pearl Harbor galvanized America to convert peacetime production capacity to war levels, intensify recruiting, and expand every

facet of its military training system. Those of us who wanted

to fly found on Monday, 8 December 1941, that a difficult written test would satisfy the two years of college prerequisite to

enter the Aviation Cadet aircrew-training program. We still

faced a rigorous physical exam and batteries of psychological

and intelligence evaluations plus specific aptitude tests. The

process was intense, demanding, and time consuming. Only 41

survivors of several hundred original applicants in the Boston

area became aviation cadets on 18 March 1942. Five days later,

we reported to Santa Ana Army Air Base, California, for preflight training—the first of four phases en route to pilot, navigator, or bombardier wings.

Santa Ana was a new base with no roads or buildings. Tents

were used for every purpose. The wettest rainy season in years

converted the base into a muddy quagmire. Amazingly, the

program stayed on schedule despite almost impossible living

and working conditions. I found a remarkable can-do attitude

to be characteristic ofArmy personnel in every step of the training process.

Our class opened a new primary flight school in Scottsdale

and a new basic flight school in Marana, both in Arizona. Neither

was ready for occupancy, but the Army made do and opened on

time, producing graduates who met course completion standards despite obvious handicaps. On 4 January 1943, Class

43-A graduated from Luke Field on schedule with more than

400 new pilots. Other advanced flying bases produced similar

numbers to provide a steady flow of young Americans to support theater requirements for combat aircrews.

Operational P-40 training in Sarasota, Florida, started two

weeks later. The schedule provided the necessary 40 hours for

each of us in eight weeks. By the end of March, we reported to

Dale Mabry Field, Tallahassee, Florida, for overseas processing.

With our gear, we boarded a new four-engine C-54 for Africa via

Miami, Trinidad, Belem, Ascension Island, and Accra. Many of

us volunteered to ferry P-40s from Lagos (down the coast from

IX
Accra) through equatorial Africa to Cairo—an unlikely saga,

completed successfully—without maps or navigational aids.

That ferry trip was the first example of an indomitable can-do

determination to complete the mission. That attitude became

the defining characteristic of leadership philosophy in the

57th Fighter Group. Those selected for positions of greater

responsibility had to demonstrate leadership capability—the

ability to think under pressure and the determination to get

the job done.

The last two chapters focus on highlights of the more memorable missions that took place during two years of bitter

fighting between implacable enemies—one who never gave

ground willingly, and one who never quit trying to find a better way to get the job done. For the most part, the events are

accurate accounts with due allowance for fallible memories of

participants who have survived some 60 years since these

events demanded and received complete concentration from

all who were part of the 57th Fighter Group. At a recent gathering of old fighter pilots, everyone agreed with the sequence

of the missions but each of us had a different memory ofwhere

we were flying in the formation.
Introduction

World War II produced countless soldiers', sailors', and airmen's stories. All of these personal accounts have some value,

but few of them saw the light of day. Keeping a diary was

strictly against regulations (not that this stopped everyone),

and most returning vets preferred to forget the war and focus

on the opportunities offered by the GI Bill and the postwar

boom. Few took the trouble to put pen to paper and revisit

traumatic and life-altering times. Some of the resulting efforts

are intensely personal, written only for the veteran's immediate family and closest comrades. A few, such as E. B. Sledge's

With the Old Breed aiPelelieu and Okinawa (Novato, CA: Presidio

Press, 1981), have become classics. Others are of enduring value

for today's military professionals, as they illuminate important

lessons about leadership, training, combat motivation, and

other timeless topics for those who will face them on future

battlefields. As the World War II generation passes from the

scene, the supply of such accounts will inevitably diminish.

The air war produced a small but significant body of noteworthy aircrew memoirs. Prominent among these are Bert Stiles'

Serenade to the Big Bird (New York: Norton, 1952), an account

of United States Army Air Forces (USAAF) B-17 operations over

Germany in 1944; Guy Gibson's Enemy CoastAhead (London:

Michael Joseph, 1946), perhaps the best of the Royal Air Force

Bomber Command aircrew memoirs; and Alvin Kernan's

Crossing the Line: A Bluejacket's World War II Odyssey

(Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1994), offering valuable

perspectives on the carrier war in the Pacific from an enlisted

man's point of view. Such memoirs capture the drama of aerial combat and the romance of aviation, and broaden and

deepen our understanding of the experience of war.

Air-to-Ground Battle for Italy is a recently written personal

account that takes its place alongside the well-known works

mentioned above. The story of a young fighter pilot from basic

training through the end of the war in Europe, this short

memoir is a welcome addition to the literature of World War II

aviation. It is noteworthy for a number of reasons. It illuminates

the world of tactical aviation, which has taken a backseat to

XI
stories of strategic bombing and air superiority combat. It takes

place in a theater of war often considered a backwater when

compared to the events in Western Europe or the Central Pacific.

Perhaps most importantly, it combines the immediacy of contemporary impressions with the reflections possible after a

long and distinguished Air Force career.

Michael C. McCarthy was part of the first wave of young

Americans who joined up in the aftermath of Pearl Harbor. His

peer group, graduates of aviation cadet Class 43-A, arrived at

the North African front in the spring of 1943 as part of an

enormous bow wave of American human and industrial mobilization. His account of flight training is one of the best available anywhere and captures—in microcosm—the huge undertaking required to produce thousands of highly trained combat

crews for the Allied war effort. McCarthy and his comrades

joined the veterans of the prewar Army Air Corps who had held

the line from El Alamein through the desperate battles around

Kasserine Pass. McCarthy spent his entire war with the 57th

Fighter Group, first flying the Curtiss P-40 Warhawk and later

the powerful Republic P-47 Thunderbolt.

His battlefield was not in the stratosphere over the Third

Reich, escorting the massed bomber formations of the Mighty

Eighth Air Force. His war began with a ferry flight from Lagos,

Nigeria, to Cairo; to Cape Bon, Tunisia, after the Axis defeat in

North Africa; through the invasion of Sicily in July 1943 and

the long slog up the Italian peninsula in 1943-1944 including

landings at Salerno, Anzio, and the battles around Monte

Cassino, with a brief detour in support of the invasion of southern France.

While his memoir speaks of plenty of air combat with the

Messerschmitt Bf 109s and Focke-Wulf Fw 190s of the

Luftwaffe's fighter force, the greatest enemy McCarthy and his

comrades faced was German antiaircraft fire. Their unglamorous business was conducting interdiction and close air support, part of a lengthy and costly combined-arms effort to leverage the Germans out of their powerful defensive positions on

the Italian peninsula. Most noteworthy of the interdiction

campaigns was Operation Strangle (19 March-10 May 1944).

The operation's goal was "to reduce the enemy's flow of supplies

Xll
to a level which will make it impracticable for him to maintain

and operate his forces in central Italy."1Interdiction, particularly of rail traffic, was normally the specialty of medium and

heavy bombers, but for Strangle, units such as McCarthy's

57th Fighter Group and other fighter-bomber units of XII Air

Support Command would have a vital role to play as well. The

Army Air Forces' official historians observed:

The decision to employ large numbers of fighter bombers was based

upon the principle that the success of STRANGLE would depend upon

"simultaneous interdiction," a phrase which meant that, irrespective of

whether yards or bridges got top billing, complete interdiction could be

achieved only if all lines leading out from the Po Valley were cut simultaneously. It was felt that to accomplish this the work of the mediums

must be supplemented by that of fighter-bombers, which could operate on days when weather precluded missions by the mediums, cut

stretches of open track, and smash motor transport when the enemy

shifted the bulk of his supply from rails to roads. The scheme thus to

employ the fighter-bombers was one of the significant experiments of

the war in the use of a tactical air force to prepare the way for a largescale ground offensive.2

The results of Operation Strangle are still the subject of vigorous debate.3

The operation failed to achieve its most ambitious aim—the collapse of German positions in central Italy

through air interdiction alone—yet the effect ofAllied airpower

on German combat power and its ability to resist a subsequent

Allied ground offensive is undeniable. McCarthy reminds us

what this all meant for those at the sharp end—a P-40 disintegrating in the explosion of an ammunition wagon or a strafing P-47 returning to base after colliding with a 100-foot tall

pine tree. He notes starkly, "The air-to-ground environment is

brutal, life threatening, and consistently dangerous. Fighter

pilot population in our squadron changed 400 percent from

May 1943 until the end of the war in June 1945."

McCarthy notes that his combat experience validated the

central tenets of Field Manual (FM) 100-20, Command and

Employment of Air Power. The manual, issued in July 1943

after the early experiences of the Mediterranean campaign,

maintained that the missions of the tactical air forces, of

which 57th Fighter Group was a part,

xiu
consisted] of three phases of operations in the following

order of priority:

(1) First priority.- To gain the necessary degree of air superiority. . .

(2) Second priority.- To prevent the movement of hostile troops and

supplies into the theater of operations or within the theater.

(3) Third priority.- To participate in a combined effort of the air and

ground forces, in the battle area, to gain objectives on the immediate front of the ground forces.4

Air-to-Ground Battle for Italy is, at bottom, the story of how

this key Army Air Forces doctrinal concept became reality. Yet,

it tells us so much more about the difficult business of preparing for and executing combat operations. McCarthy speaks of

the rigors of training, where the washout rate was high. He

candidly describes the fear that seized him and his comrades as

they prepared to fly in combat—and how some gave into their

fears and returned to base with mysterious and nonreproducible

mechanical malfunctions. He recounts fatal errors ofjudgment—

his and others'. An example is the accident that occurred after

a seasoned flight commander "went to bat" for a talented, yet

immature, subordinate. McCarthy believed that the young

pilot was still unready for the demanding job of element

leader—yet acceded to the flight commander's wishes. The

young pilot collided with the wingman of his section leader,

killing both of them. "I blame myself for failing to follow my

own convictions," McCarthy unflinchingly recalls. "I learned from

that experience that responsible leadership demands tough

decisions. I should have intervened but I did not."

We are fortunate that Michael C. McCarthy took the trouble

to commit his combat experiences to paper. Military professionals and military historians are in his debt. He tells a story

that, while rooted firmly in the Air Force's past, is in its essential elements timeless.

Notes

1. Wesley Frank Craven and James Lea Cate, eds., The Army Air Forces

in World War II, vol. 3, Europe: Argument to V-E Day, January 1944 to May

1945 (1949; new imprint, Washington, D.C.: Office of Air Force History,

1983), 373.

2. Ibid., 374.

xiv
3. Eduard Maximilian Mark, Aerial Interdiction: Air Power and the Land

Battle in Three American Wars (Washington, D.C.: Center for Air Force

History, 1994), 160ff.

4. War Department Field Manual (FM) 100-20, Command and Employment

ofAir Power, 21 July 1943, 10-11.

xv
Chapter 1

Great Adventure Begins

Class 43-A was among the first aviation cadet classes to complete pilot training, graduate as second lieutenants, and head

for combat. We had signed up within days after Pearl Harbor.

In Boston, we were the first group exposed to the comprehensive written test designed for those with less than two

years of college. Fortunately, Boston Latin School (established

1635), the oldest public school in the country, had prepared

me very well. I survived to face batteries of mechanical aptitude and psychological tests and the most thorough physical

exams you could imagine. Of the hundreds who began this

process, only 41 made it to active duty as aviation cadets.

Our train from Boston arrived in Los Angeles on 23 March

1942. Army trucks took us to Santa Ana Army Air Base, one

of many preflight schools springing up all over the country to

process the thousands upon thousands needed to crew airplanes coming off production lines at an astounding rate.

Santa Ana was a new tent city without roads, buildings, or

amenities.

Although the wettest rainy season in memory was underway, our drill sergeants were all business with a marvelous

can-do attitude. We were absorbed smoothly into a tough boot

camp routine. The testing to identify those who would enter

pilot, navigator, or bombardier training was still our major activity every day.

After nine weeks, the process ended. I was among those ordered to primary flight training at Thunderbird One in Glendale, Arizona, northwest of Phoenix. We were pleased to find a

mature training facility with excellent buildings, hangars, and

roads. There was even a parade ground with carefully manicured grass. An Army major commanded a small, efficient

military detachment. His job was to make certain the civilian

contractor operated the base, maintained the airplanes, furnished qualified instructors, and produced graduates who met
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

Army performance standards. Military instructors flew all flight

checks to guarantee contractor performance.

This primary school was running smoothly. We were assimilated into a program that split flying and academics into half

days. We rotated mornings and afternoons with the upper

class every week. The first ride familiarized us with the airplane, area, and traffic pattern and, I suspect, identified those

disposed toward airsickness. The instructor did the flying including hard aerobatics. At 20, Roy Martin seemed young to

be an instructor. He was excellent and flew with marvelous

precision.

As students, we flew an open cockpit biplane from the rear

seat both dual and solo. Like many of my generation, I had not

been near an airplane before that first ride. Nothing in my past

could have prepared me. I adapted readily, seemed to learn

quickly, and handled air work—stalls, spins, steep turns, climbs,

and descents—satisfactorily. Therefore, I proceeded to the traffic

pattern before my classmates.

The rear instrument panel had neither airspeed nor attitude

indicator. The needle and ball was the only device on the panel

to help with bank angle and direction of turn. We judged airspeed by the sound of the airstream through guy wires holding both wings together. We used wires from the top wing to

the fuselage ahead of the front cockpit to judge angle of bank.

One wire was set for 30 degrees and another for a 45-degree

bank turn. These computations were simple, but I was lost on

airspeed until Roy helped me associate certain wind sounds

with specific airspeeds. When I made that transition, my patterns stabilized. In a short time, I could land consistently in

the right place on airspeed in a three-point attitude.

Later at our auxiliary field after three good landings, Roy

had me taxi to the windsock in the center of the landing area.

I wondered about this change in the training sequence. With

the engine idling, I held the brakes while Roy got out and secured his seatbelt. With a grin, he leaned into my cockpit, said

he had seen enough airplane abuse, told me to shoot three fullstop landings, and come back to the windsock.

On the way out for takeoff, I took some deep breaths. Everything settled down when I pushed the throttle to the stop. The
GREAT ADVENTURE BEGINS

airplane responded as if it knew only one guy was in charge. I

flew precisely, nailed airspeeds, and wound up on final with

the correct glide angle. My touchdown was soft and in the

right place. Rolling out, my attention wandered and I could not

stop a slow, steady 360-degree turn, the infamous ground loop,

a Stearman trait responsible for the failure of hundreds ofstudents throughout that aircraft's long career as the Army's primary trainer. Since neither wingtip touched the ground during

my ground loop, I continued the solo, flew the next two patterns, then returned to the windsock where Roy verified no

wingtip damage and strapped in. With a terse "I have the airplane," he flew us home without another word. His debriefing

combined an essential lesson with a classic "butt chewing" of

which there have been several in my long career, but this one

was well done. I should have returned to the windsock and let

Roy examine the airplane and decide the status of the solo.

Otherwise, my performance had been satisfactory. The lesson

was to always concentrate on flying the airplane until it is

parked safely and chocked.

After the solo, Roy introduced the whole range of aerobatic

maneuvers such as snap, slow, and barrel and aileron rolls

plus over the top loops, Immelmanns, Cuban eights, and cloverleafs. I needed a hard week of dual rides before I approached

the precision in these maneuvers that Roy considered necessary. The airplane demanded a lot of muscle before rewarding

its pilot with a well-turned aerobatic sequence.

Eventually, Roy had enough confidence in me to schedule

my first check ride, and I passed successfully. The only comment from the Army first lieutenant was a short "nice work."

Completion of the transition check let me fly solo without close

supervision.

With pressure somewhat reduced, I could pay attention to my

classmates. Many had not soloed even though they had the necessary dual rides and flying time. Now they were headed for the

"washing machine." Once on that track, most would not beat the

system. A few might slip to the next class with another chance to

fly, but the majority would become bombardiers or navigators.

The pace was demanding, and the pressure intense.
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

Daytime heat in the Arizona desert left all of us with an energy

deficit that would get much worse. Our class, accompanied by

one-half of the airplanes, instructors, and support personnel,

was ordered to open a new primary school—Thunderbird Two

in Scottsdale—now a beautiful, green, well-developed part of

Phoenix. In 1942, it was an inhospitable desert where afternoon winds felt like a blowtorch. Temperatures often reached

120 degrees. The move to Scottsdale, a distance of 60 miles,

was simple. The ground party included classmates responsible for our baggage. Others flew with an instructor. Some who

had completed the transition check flew solo behind an instructor's airplane. I had that pleasant experience.

The new base was hardly ready for occupancy. There were

shutters but no glass in the windows so dust was everywhere.

A room inspection before breakfast everyday was mandatory

and dust was an automatic failure item. Without air conditioning, nighttime temperatures hovered around 100 degrees,

so fitful sleep complicated our quality of life especially for those

in program trouble.

The attrition rate climbed dramatically. Sheer exhaustion affected that unfortunate statistic. I passed the final flight check

early, which meant I would graduate. The focus then was to

get everyone through final checks.

The rest of us were flying daily with little supervision. We

managed to abuse the privilege. Carefree, a beautiful resort

town nestled in foothills south of Flagstaff, was at the northern edge of the flying area. We decided to meet there, buzz the

town, and return to base. Surely, those nice folks would tolerate our idea of good clean fun. More than a dozen of us were

stupid enough to pull this stunt. We survived to fly again because the Army needed pilots badly. The base commander was

on the phone for hours. Carefree residents were furious. The

thorough buzz job included low passes, even low-level aerobatics from every direction, all unplanned and certainly not

briefed. Only a miracle let us avoid buildings, trees, and each

other. After landing, we were isolated. With parachutes on our

backs, we walked tours on the ramp in the heat. We would not

learn our fate for 48 hours. The base commander did not terminate us. However, we did not fly again at Thunderbird Two.
GREAT ADVENTURE BEGINS

Eveiy dirty job on the base was ours, but there were no complaints. We were thankful to be still in the program.

With relief, we rolled out of the gate headed for Marana

about 30 miles northwest of Tucson. Buses took us to the

Phoenix train station for the two-hour trip. We stopped in the

middle of nowhere, surrounded by sagebrush, with no sign of

life. After the train left, we waited in desert silence. Soon, an

approaching jeep appeared on the west side of the tracks. A

first lieutenant, calling us to attention, welcomed the first

class to Marana. He was the base commander. In trucks, we

proceeded up the hill to what was another bare base marginally ready for occupancy. The fact that our class had to deal

with primitive conditions at Santa Ana, Thunderbird Two, and

now, Marana, reflects on the tremendous mobilization capability of our great country. Only now as I remember these

events have I come to appreciate how remarkable it was that

our Army was able to produce highly qualified aircrews under

such tough conditions.

Graduates from two other primary schools joined us in the

Arizona desert 30 miles from Tucson. Despite living conditions,

the program began smoothly. The BT-13 Vultee "Vibrator" was a

low-wing, metal airplane with fixed gear, 450-horsepower engine,

complete instrument panels, radios, and sliding canopies. Army

personnel staffed Marana. Our instructors had experience in

operational squadrons. They were products of the accelerated

training system, which began when war clouds loomed over Europe in the late 1930s.

My instructor, Lieutenant Tanner, was a quiet, older man who

was an excellent instructor and a gifted pilot. The BT-13 was

not difficult to fly. A wide landing gear minimized the groundloop potential. The airplane had a nice feel, and I adjusted

quickly. Lieutenant Tanner moved me through solo, advanced

maneuvers, and the proficiency flight check ahead of his other

students. Cleared to fly solo without close supervision, I remembered Carefree and obeyed the rules with no deviation.

Although I was scrupulous with regard to duties, two incidents almost ended my flying career. In the Stearman, the

quickest, safest traffic pattern entry was to spin down from

1,500 feet above pattern altitude and recover on the 45-degree
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

leg to the downwind at the correct altitude. I used this technique

whenever I had a choice in the BT-13. Late one afternoon, I returned from the practice area 2,000 feet above the pattern,

checked for traffic, entered my two-turn spin, kicked opposite

rudder to recover, and waited for rotation to slow before popping the stick forward. Unexpectedly, the spin accelerated—

now I was in trouble—losing altitude with few options. I had to

get out. Sliding the canopy back, I opened the seat belt. As I

stood up, spin rotation slowed dramatically. I sat down, popped

the stick forward, and was out of the spin. Still in trouble with

nose pointed straight down, I pulled maximum backpressure

without stalling and managed to level off right on the sagebrush.

Needing to settle down and review these scary events, I returned to the practice area. With fuel and time available, I circled comfortably. I had applied spin procedures correctly. What

was different about this particular airplane? I was the first student to fly it. Had I missed something in the forms or the cockpit? In the center of the panel in bold red letters on a white

background was the warning "DO NOT SPIN THIS AIRPLANE."

It was impossible to miss, but I certainly did. After landing, I

saw a second "DO NOT SPIN" warning prominently displayed

in the aircraft form. How could I have missed either one? Reporting my stupidity, Lieutenant Tanner used this incident as

an object lesson for the class. Certain of these airplanes had

trouble recovering from spins. A clear entry in the form coupled

with a prominent warning in the center of the instrument panel

should allow such an aircraft to be flown safely.

The second incident was different. I found myself scheduled

for an elimination ride where the odds against survival were

very high. In the flight shack, those not on the schedule had

to sweep out the flight room, tidy up generally, and do the

same in the flight commander's private office. On this particular day all instructors were flying. We two students, not flying, split the workload. I took the flight commander's office,

left the door open, cleaned, and dusted. We finished and went

back to our studies. When flying ended, the posting of the next

day's schedule followed the usual debriefings. In the midst of

this routine, the flight commander's door flew open. Lieutenant
GREAT ADVENTURE BEGINS

Watson called the room to attention and asked those assigned

to cleanup to report to his office. We marched in, saluted, and

waited at attention while the flight commander finished paperwork of some kind. My cleanup partner was excused. I had

worked the office. His questions focused on the class grade

sheet. How did it happen to be on top of the desk when it was

supposed to be under the blotter away from the prying eyes of

students? I had not looked at anything on the desk, nor had I

disturbed anything. He did not believe my denial. Lieutenant

Watson sent me to march the ramp with my chute until the

class finished debriefings.

When I returned, my instructor told me I was scheduled for

an elimination ride with Lieutenant Watson. Lieutenant Tanner failed to persuade the flight commander to make a change.

The elimination ride was still on. Almost certainly, I was on my

way out of the program. I decided to give it my best shot. Before flight, Lieutenant Watson questioned me about every normal and emergency procedure in the book, power settings, airspeeds, and altitudes for all in-flight maneuvers, even

procedures to and from the practice areas. It was in that situation, knowing that any mistake would end my flying career,

that I learned to concentrate and refused to let fear or pressure degrade my performance. Lieutenant Watson had me

demonstrate every maneuver in the syllabus. We were airborne longer than expected. In my mind, failure was certain. I

resolved to make the last landing one to remember. It was an

absolute grease job. I could not tell when the wheels touched

the ground. After we parked, Lieutenant Watson had me continue punishment tours. Two hours later, Lieutenant Tanner

met me with the unexpected news that I had survived. Lieutenant Watson was impressed with my performance, especially under the heavy pressure of an elimination ride.

One last comment about this incident, in June 1945 after

the war, I was on my way home—a 23-year-old major with 154

combat missions and 27 months in the same fighter squadron.

At the officer's club in Naples, Italy, I saw a familiar face in the

crowd around the bar. Lieutenant Watson was now a captain.

I tapped his shoulder and enjoyed his shocked expression

when he recognized me. I chose not to mention Marana, talking
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

instead about my assignments and asked about his war. Captain Watson failed to make it in a fighter unit. He flew the C-47

in a support role during the final year of the war. I resisted the

temptation to get even. Captain Watson had kept me in the

program when he had the authority and opportunity to wash

me out.

There were no more surprises at Marana. Instrument training and formation and night flying were new and different, but

I maintained my place in the class. In due course, the end of

the basic phase found us waiting for orders to either single- or

twin-engine advanced training. I did not know how the selection process worked, but I was among those posted to Luke

Field, Arizona, an established base, northwest of Phoenix

about five miles beyond Thunderbird One. We would fly the

single-engine AT-6, with a powerful 650-horsepower engine,

retractable gear, and performance comparable to prewar fighters. It demanded care on landing because of narrow gear.

Ground loops would claim washouts in every class. The base

had permanent two-story wooden barracks, paved roads, wonderful mess halls, gyms, and base exchanges. We had returned to the real world. Luke accommodated many students.

There were more airplanes than we had seen anywhere. Like

Marana, our class was combined with graduates of other basic

schools. If, indeed, all finished this phase without further attrition, we would number almost 500 brand new second lieutenants on graduation day.

As we moved from one phase to another in pursuit of our

wings, the pressure and pace of training increased exponentially. It became clear we would be treated as professional airmen and expected to take responsibility for our own progress.

We would not be spoon-fed. If we did not keep up, there would

be no second chances. Some of us did just that and were

dropped from the program.

As we neared the end of December 1942, we wondered about

our next assignment, the next airplane, and whether we would

go to Europe or the Pacific. The rundown to the 4 January

1943 graduation date included preparation for the parade that

would precede the formal ceremony in the base theater. All

cadets would receive gold second lieutenant insignia along
GREAT ADVENTURE BEGINS

with silver wings. My class rank, cadet captain, put me among

the top dozen of 400 student pilots. It also meant I would lead

one hundred ofmy classmates in the parade. Since I was a guy

who needs a string on one hand to know the difference between left and right, my guys were likely to be out of step with

the formation.

I remember two pleasant events during those final weeks.

Four cadet officers were told to report to the cafeteria in the

base exchange where we met a beautiful young movie starlet

who would go on to a magical musical career on screen and

television—Dinah Shore. She was pleasant, affable, interested,

and aware we would soon be in combat.

In the second instance, the director of pilot training selected

me to speak to students at Marana about the advanced program at Luke. A new AT-6 was waiting for my instructor and

me at base operations the next morning. Cadets from the senior class met us and escorted us to the base theater where we

were introduced. I gave my speech—my first. I do not remember what I said but I had the good sense to keep it brief and to

the point. At lunch with their instructors, the conversation

was relaxed without the formal stiffness that often existed in

such an atmosphere. To be treated like professionals was a

privilege we cadets appreciated. Through my career, I made it

a point to treat all who fly as equal members of an elite group.

I found a payoff in flying safety, morale, and mission accomplishment—if you respect the dignity of others.
Chapter 2

Three Musketeers Times Two

Christmas 1942 was different. We were far from home, involved in a training program to acquire air combat skills. During

those days before graduation 4 January 1943, pressure was on

Class 43-A to finish this phase. I had completed my final flight

checks. Graduation was assured. Now I could concentrate on

options to get home to the east coast. According to rumors, we

could expect a week off before reporting to the next base. When

my name appeared among those who had been assigned to the

337th Fighter Group in Sarasota, Florida, for combat crew training, I knew there would be time to enjoy home cooking and reconnect with old friends before heading south from Boston to

Florida.

An unexpected benefit of coming home in uniform was obtaining a driver's license just by showing up at the Division of

Motor Vehicles (DMV). My dad did not have a car. Our neighbor,

Arthur Murphy, volunteered his 1940 Ford, stick-shift sedan.

With me behind the wheel for the first time in my life, we arrived at the DMV doubting the success of this venture, particularly when the chief inspector arrived to administer the driving test. He saw the uniform with wings and gold bars. The test

was over when the inspector heard I was headed overseas. I

remember his shaking my hand with the comment, "If you can

fly an airplane you can sure as h— drive an automobile." With

that, he signed my license.

Sarasota was a new base with the essentials: runways, taxiways, and ramp space, but sparse permanent facilities. On the

flight line, I could see about 20 P-40 single-engine fighters plus

two familiar AT-6 trainers. Most of us—students, instructors,

and maintenance personnel—lived and worked in tents that

were adequate, but not like home. My association with the fouror six-man tent was just beginning. In Africa, Sicily, Italy, and

Corsica over the next 27 months, I would learn to love the sixman tent despite cold drafts, the pot bellied stove, and total lack

of privacy.

11
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

Forty of us, in a large tent, listened carefully as one instructor

took us through a questionnaire on the airplane to make certain

we understood its systems. The next step was a backseat ride in

the AT-6 to get a feel for the long nose on approach and landing. Two-seat P-40s were not available, so we would be treated

like young eagles, thrown out of the nest to "fly or die."

1st Lt Don Fudge, our instructor, was an experienced fighter

pilot who wanted a combat assignment, but a shortage of qualified instructors put him in a rapidly expanding training program. Lieutenant Fudge scheduled me first in the P-40. This

was a surprise because my backseat landings were a bit rough.

Perhaps my amazing recoveries impressed him. I spent time at

the airplane with a crew chief reviewing preflight and postflight procedures. Lieutenant Fudge then explained switches

and gauges, their location and function, gave me time to study

everything, and tested my memory with a blindfold cockpit

check. With these preliminaries out of the way, the crew chief

strapped me in, patted me on the back, and wished me luck.

When I started the big Allison engine, I was pleased with its

smoothness but surprised by the noise from the exhaust

stacks that were close to the cockpit on both sides of the airplane. When a pilot was on the runway preparing for takeoff,

the long nose blocked the view forward. I picked different visual cues on each side of the runway that served to keep me

on centerline. Holding brakes and stick back, I set the power

at 30 inches of manifold pressure, checked gauges, released

brakes, and pushed power to the stop. The acceleration startled

me. In fact, the airplane was climbing rapidly while I was still

mentally in the takeoff position. I caught up to this new monster,

leveled off, found out how fast it could go, did some aerobatics,

and simulated a traffic pattern to the stall with gear and flaps

down. The airplane was honest with well-harmonized controls.

Returning to Sarasota, the tower cleared me to descend. At

10,000 feet over the field, I raised the nose to 30-degrees pitch,

rolled inverted, and pulled the nose straight down. As the airspeed and altimeter spun past 400 miles per hour (mph) and

6,000 feet, I brought the throttle to idle and pulled the stick

back with five times the force of gravity to level off at traffic

pattern altitude with airspeed still above 300 mph. Following

12
THREE MUSKETEERS TIMES TWO

Lieutenant Fudge's suggestion to fly three low approaches before shooting the full-stop landing, I was rewarded with a decent touchdown at the right place, on speed, and with the correct nose-high attitude. The airplane was stable on rollout

with no tendency to stray from centerline despite the narrow

landing gear.

Within a few days, Lieutenant Fudge had us checked out.

We were ready for the main thrust of the program—to acquire

the knowledge and skills to use the P-40 effectively as a weapon

system. Before gunnery (air or ground), we had to learn the

full spectrum of formation flying. In fact, formation became a

way of life for us. We began as wingmen—always on a leader's

wing from takeoffto landing until that skill became second nature. The two-ship element was the basic combat unit. We combined two elements into a four-ship maneuvering section. Each

of us rotated through those positions until we became proficient then graduated into flying with another four-ship. We

learned different en route and attack formation options and

began to understand offensive and defensive imperatives—

how to maintain formation integrity under attack. We learned

to protect our leaders through all phases of a combat operation. This new discipline was not acquired easily. It was hard

work, but we learned.

The gunnery phase was the last program element before deployment and would be the most enjoyable. The airplane was

a stable gun platform but required close attention on a divebombing run. To hit a target, the "ball" had to be centered

(perfectly coordinated with no sideslip). At 400 mph, I had

barely enough strength in my left leg to hold the "ball" in the

center. There was a joke in those days—if a pilot's left leg were

twice the size of his right, you were looking at an old P-40 pilot

with a lot of time standing on his left rudder during high-speed

dive-bombing runs.

As we neared the end of the program, a message arrived requesting earlier deployment of pilots to fill vacancies in fighter

units on Cape Bon. We who had finished were no longer on the

schedule to make extra missions available for the others.

When the first set of orders appeared without my name, I

blamed a clerical mistake, but I knew something else was in

13
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

the offing when I missed the next list. Lieutenant Fudge told

me I would be an instructor. I was not a volunteer. When told

to fly the weather recce flight the next morning, I realized a decision had been made. Usually an instructor flew the first

flight every morning. I took off, flew the prescribed route, reported that weather would not interfere with operations, and

started back to land. The advantage of that flight was the opportunity to make a high-speed pass down the runway and

pull up vertically into a tight landing pattern. Whether I consciously intended to go beyond the allowable or not, the fact

was that I rolled into a high-speed dive at full throttle from

6,000 feet, leveled off right on the deck at 400 mph, pulled

straight up at the far end of the runway, rolled out inverted on

a very close downwind leg, dropped gear and flaps, and held

the tight turn all the way to touchdown right on the end of the

runway. The high moisture content in the air that morning allowed me to display obvious vapor trails from both wing tips

by holding high "G" forces from pull up to touchdown. Instructors, students, and the group commander had a front row seat.

The colonel was unimpressed with his new instructor and made

it quite clear in one of the classic "butt chewings" that have

punctuated my career. Before that day was done, a new set of

orders appeared and mine was the first name on the list.

Near the end of March 1943 at Dale Mabry Field, Tallahassee, we reported to an overseas processing unit with an efficient

group of hard-working administrators, doctors, nurses, and

supply personnel. They checked records; gave final physicals;

and issued uniforms, flying gear, parachutes, boots, sidearms

with holsters, ammo, belts, and footlockers for hold baggage

that would be shipped separately to our fighter squadrons. No

one expected to see the footlockers again. We were wrong.

Mine showed up four months later at a field south of Catania

in Sicily. This unit also had tailors who adjusted everything to

fit quickly and correctly which convinced me that these guys

were good. We were told to load enough stuff to last six weeks

into two duffel bags, including flying gear—our carry-on baggage. Later we boarded a waiting C-54. The aircraft commander did not disclose the final destination. We learned our

intermediate stops would be Miami for customs, a fuel stop in

14
THREE MUSKETEERS TIMES TWO

Trinidad, and a long leg to Belem, Brazil, where we would rest

before the nonstop flight across the Atlantic to Ascension Island in the Azores not far from the west coast of Africa.

The C-54 (military version of the DC-4) became operational

in early 1942. It was the first four-engine airplane with enough

range to move people and equipment across the oceans to the

combat theaters. The crew had to be careful with headwinds and

weather. In many cases, the destination was the only option. No

other runway would be within range if weather should close

the primary field.

With radio navigation in its infancy, we had a low-frequency

audio system based on two letters of the Morse Code, the "A"

(dit-dah) and the "N" (dah-dit). It was possible to align the oncourse legs with specific headings to navigate to another airport in instrument conditions. The on-course audio signal—a

steady hum—was audible in the earphones. If the pilot strayed

off the heading he would begin to hear the "A" or the "N," realize a correction was needed, adjust heading left or right to reacquire the steady hum of the on-course signal. This was only effective when ground stations were located within 200 miles of

each other. Of course, the great ocean expanses made that impossible.

Lacking a long-range navigation system, the crew used celestial navigation to pinpoint positions over the ocean. This

worked so long as we were clear of clouds and could see the

sun, moon, or stars. However, on our flight to Ascension Island, clouds obscured the sky. Without a celestial fix, the crew

estimated their course with ground speed and headings based

on forecast winds. When time expired, a weak signal from the

low-frequency radio station at Ascension Island was detected.

The crew read its Morse code identifier, solved the primitive

"build/fade" ambiguity problem, and found the only runway

within hundreds of miles.

With no maintenance problems, the airplane turned around

quickly. Our first stop on the west coast of Africa was Accra, a

major airport in the British colony known as the Gold Coast.

Although past midnight, the crew intended to fly one more leg.

While we refueled, a captain with a clipboard in hand came on

board. When he had our attention, he asked if we were P-40

15
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

pilots with our flight gear on board. That question aroused our

curiosity. It was his job to off-load new P-40s from the decks

of freighters docked at the port of Lagos, a few hours east of

Accra. His crew of aircraft mechanics would reattach wings to

each fuselage, roll the complete airplanes to a nearby airstrip

(also on the dock) refuel them, and complete the maintenance

checks. The captain would then fly each one to verify operational integrity. These new airplanes were en route to fighter

units providing air support for Gen Bernard L. Montgomery in

the campaign against the Africa Corps under Gen Erwin Rommel. The captain needed them flown to Cairo. Since we were

going to those same units, it was an easy decision for me.

About half of us on board answered "yes" to the question,

"Wouldn't you prefer to fly your own airplane to Cairo instead

of riding in this bucket of bolts?" Soon we were in Army trucks

headed east down the coast road to Lagos. A few hours later,

we rolled into a well-maintained British Army Post just as

skies were beginning to lighten in the east. We were escorted

to individual rooms, offered a delicious cup of hot British tea,

and told the houseboy would care for the baggage. The last I

remember was, "you will be awakened in time to clean up for

breakfast."

From the mess hall windows, we could see a freighter tied to

the dock. A crane operator was busy carefully lifting detached

fuselages and wings from its deck to the dock, where, just as

carefully, the captain's troops reassembled these elements

into complete P-40s, which they rolled to a parking area alongside the runway where they completed reassembly and preflight preparation.

While we were digesting this scene and the wonderful breakfast, a P-40 landed and parked alongside those ready for flight.

Our captain tossed his flight gear on the wing, joined us for coffee, then briefed us on what he expected in the effort to get these

airplanes to Cairo. Each of us was issued one new P-40 that had

been test flown. To break in the engine, we had to put 10 hours

slow time on the airplane before the engine could be exposed to

the power surges of an operational mission. A twin-engine A-20

or B-25 would arrive within a few days to lead the first 12 P-40s

across equatorial Africa to the Sudan then up the Nile to Cairo.

16
THREE MUSKETEERS TIMES TWO

The captain cleared us to get started. I took him at his word,

grabbed my flight gear, found my airplane, and began the preflight. In the midst of this, a crew chiefintroduced himself and

told me the airplane was ready. I asked him to explain slowtime procedures, power settings, and anything unusual I should

know before flight. He was knowledgeable. I was eager to learn.

He explained that with one exception all P-40s on this freighter

were "L" models. Mine was the exception—an "F" with a longer

fuselage resulting in slightly better performance in climb and

cruise. All were equipped with British Merlin engines rather

than the American Allison. Since both were built to the same

specifications, there was no difference in cockpit procedures.

According to the chief, the Merlin ran rougher but he understood it was tougher, would take more abuse, and last longer

before overhaul under combat conditions. With that, he strapped

me in the cockpit, and I fired up the P-40F. It was exciting to fly

a new airplane. Everything gleamed, and the instrument glass

was spotless. I was impressed with this crew chief. He was serious, conscientious, and thorough, qualities I found in the great

chiefs with whom I worked in my flying career.

I lifted off on that first flight in the early afternoon. The airplane performed perfectly. I stayed close to the field for two

reasons—without a map of any kind, I decided to fly ever widening circles to fix in my mind the landmarks I needed to find my

way back to the field, also clouds were building into tropical

rain showers which were part of every afternoon in this area

below the equator. I managed to put two good hours on the

Merlin before rain forced me to land. I had been the first to get

off and therefore was out front in the effort to meet the tenhour goal.

As we finished the postflight inspection, the crew chief assured me the airplane would be ready by first light the next

morning. With an early start, I could get three two-hour flights

before afternoon rains ended the flying day. True to his word,

the crew chief and the airplane were waiting for me. I was airborne in the absolute stillness of a beautiful African morning.

It seemed the whole world was asleep. Only God and I were

awake. In my mind, I was on guard. A short meditation on that

was quite refreshing. The airplane and I had bonded; we were

17
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

a team. I took the time to trim it to fly hands off. It responded

by holding altitude and heading precisely with feet off the rudders and hands in my lap. I could induce a turn just by leaning

left or right in the seat. In the smooth air that early morning

with a great running airplane, I thanked the Lord for making it

possible. After landing, the crew chief suggested breakfast while

he refueled and checked for discrepancies. At the end ofthe day,

I had logged more than eight of the 10 hours. One more flight

early the next morning completed the requirement. My airplane

was the first of our group to be ready for the next phase.

The arrival of an A-20 late in the day caused quite a stir. I

knew instinctively that it was to be the leader of the P-40 formation north and east to Cairo. The fact that it was here meant

our departure was imminent. That evening we learned that 12

P-40s and a spare had to be ready to depart the day after tomorrow. Five of us had finished our slow time. Seven had a

long day ahead to be ready. We, who had finished, took turns

relieving our classmates so they could have lunch. The rain

showers held off until the last P-40 finished.

The route to Cairo would be north to Kano, then to Fort Lamy,

northeast to El Fasher, east to Khartoum, generally northeast to

Wadi Haifa, and finally north to Cairo. Each leg would be 400 to

500 miles or two to three hours depending on winds.

There would be three four-ship sections, each with one experienced "old head" leading three of us "new guys." The three

old heads had to fly smoothly and hold a steady position on the

A-20 so that we, the new guys, could nrinirnize throttle movements to stay in position. Excess throttle excursions wasted

fuel that would be a precious commodity on this trip. I was one

of three new guys selected to be the element leader in each

section. We, with our wingmen, would take off after the lead

element and join up quickly and smoothly in one turn around

the field. If we did our job, the A-20 could pick up the destination heading and not waste fuel in a second turn around the

field waiting for stragglers. Although each of us had headings,

distances, and estimated times to each destination written on

our kneepads, we knew the A-20 represented our only chance

to survive.

18
THREE MUSKETEERS TIMES TWO

The A-20 took off first and set up a left climbing circle around

the field at an airspeed that allowed the P-40s to overtake and

join up smoothly. Whether lucky or good, we managed to get

all three sections into formation with one circle of the field and

headed directly to Kano as briefed. My section leader chose—

wisely—to hold a position up sun, a little above a 20-degree

angle behind the A-20. This let me pick a spot where I could

keep both my leader and the A-20 in sight. With an eyeball on

both leaders, I could anticipate variations in heading, airspeed,

or altitude making it easier for my wingman to hold position

without major power changes.

As I recall, Kano and Fort Lamy were British Army posts literally hacked out of the jungle. The single, narrow, dirt runways reinforced with pierced steel planking were usable in the

rainy season with marginal braking action, wet or dry. Therefore, it was wise to touch down in the right place at the correct

airspeed to minimize the need for brakes. A cardinal principle

I learned early, and still use, is to touch down in the first thousand feet, on speed, in the correct nose-high attitude regardless of runway length. There are three useless components in

any pilot's repertoire—the altitude above you, the runway behind you, and the fuel you left behind in the fuel truck. We

landed safely in the early afternoon at Kano, refueled quickly,

and were on our way to Fort Lamy within the hour. There were

no problems on arrival at Fort Lamy but we had to refuel with

hand pumps from 55-gallon drums. Since we were short on

personnel, each pilot refueled manually over the wing with

cryptic guidance from the available crew chiefs. That process

was slow. Departure to El Fasher was delayed until the next

morning to avoid rain showers that were already building late

in the day, as usual, in this part of Africa. It was dark when I

finished with the airplane. Our British hosts prepared an excellent meal from Army rations, a minor miracle. We ate with

relish and retired early because of the predawn get up time.

We did preflight procedures with flashlights before breakfast

so we could depart at first light. The plan for that day was ambitious. Our first leg to El Fasher was a long stretch. Fuel

could be a problem. The second leg to Khartoum would also be

marginal with a head wind. The narrow runway at Fort Lamy

19
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

mandated single-ship takeoffs, but everyone slid into position

on the A-20 as briefed. Eastbound flying into the morning sun

produced stress on the eyes even with sunglasses. I remember

being unable to describe the nature of the country below our

flight path because my eyes were locked on my leader and the

A-20. I was reluctant to even blink from takeoff to landing.

Without maps, navigational aids, or viable emergency airfields,

formation integrity was critical if we were to survive.

We arrived at El Fasher on schedule, set up a decent traffic

pattern, and looked professional as we taxied in and shut down.

We had been fortunate to this point, no maintenance problems. Here, at El Fasher, one airplane taxied in with a bald main

gear tire. Without a spare, the decision was made to continue

and bet on a good landing at Khartoum. As a precaution, that

airplane would land last in case the tire blew and blocked the

only runway. Pilots were not needed for refueling so we enjoyed lunch, launched in timely fashion, joined up smoothly,

and headed east to Khartoum. Now, comfortable in formation,

I relaxed enough to bring the terrain into my eye scan. The

jungles had given way to less dense forests, the more rolling

meadows that characterize the Sudan and East African states.

We were over terrain where we could survive a crash landing

with an engine failure. I drew a breath of relief as that reality

hit home.

When the last fuel check indicated we would make Khartoum easily, our leader in the A-20 decided to put on an arrival show. He positioned a P-40 section on each wing of the

A-20 with the third section in trail below the propwash of the

A-20. The P-40s were in diamond formation with "number four"

in trail behind the section leader. From my position, the spacing was excellent throughout the flyby and the landing pattern. My classmate with the bald tire made a smooth touchdown on the end of the runway and taxied in as ifsuch problems

were part of our normal routine. It was a relief to be on a base

with qualified maintenance personnel and essential spare parts.

Khartoum was a normal stop for delivery of aircraft to combat

units supporting the British Eighth Army under General Montgomery. He was driving the German Africa Corps west from

Cairo to Cape Bon. American forces had landed in Algeria in

20
THREE MUSKETEERS TIMES TWO

November 1942. They were pushing the Germans east in bitter fighting along the coast to Cape Bon. The trap was well set.

It would culminate within days in the defeat of the Africa Corps

and force Rommel's withdrawal with heavy casualties from Cape

Bon to Sicily. We, all new replacement pilots, would fly our first

combat missions on fighter sweeps against German and Italian fighter units over the Mediterranean between Cape Bon and

Sicily. We would experience our true baptism of fire when Allied

forces began the intense, full-scale, air-to-ground campaign

before the 10 July 1943 invasion of Sicily. At the moment, we

were about to complete successfully an improbable ferry mission of 12 P-40s from Lagos to Cairo.

After a night's rest, a careful maintenance check, and a final

refueling stop at Wadi Haifa, we arrived at Cairo's main airport

about mid-afternoon. We delivered our P-40s to an Army Air

Corps service group where their combat preparation would be

completed. We found our duffel bags at a waiting C-47 and

boarded quickly for the short flight to El Kabrit south of Cairo

and west of the Suez Canal. There our classmates were completing an operational training program conducted for the

57th Fighter Group by experienced pilots on a break from combat missions. The commander of that detachment, Capt George

Fairlamb, had been briefed on our trip from Lagos to Cairo.

Maybe that report explained why we late arrivals needed only

two good attack missions against abandoned tanks in the open

desert to convince Captain Fairlamb to let us travel with our

classmates.

Within a few days, the Service Group had airplanes ready

for delivery to Cape Bon. We, the last to arrive, found ourselves

back in Cairo where our familiar P-40s, now fitted with bomb

racks, belly tanks, and ammo, were among the airplanes ready

and waiting on the flight line. We were assigned to fly in fourship sections, each led by an instructor from the detachment

at El Kabrit. The 57th Fighter Group fought a remarkable engagement a few days earlier on Palm Sunday, 18 April 1943.

Off Cape Bon in the most successful air battle of the African

campaign, the group had shot down 75 German aircraft,

mostly Ju 52 transports similar to our C-47, but also including Me 109s, Me 110s, and a few Ju 88s and Fw 190 fighters.

21
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

The Luftwaffe paid a heavy price in a vain effort to protect the

withdrawal of Rommel's forces from Africa to Sicily.

All three squadrons of the 57th Fighter Group were now at

Kairouan near Sousse and Sfax on the east coast of Tunisia.

The pace of operations had been hectic for months as British

forces slowly but steadily won the advantage in brutal tank

battles that raged on the African desert through Egypt, Libya,

and Tunisia. Our P-40s absorbed heavy damage in the daily

air-to-ground missions that contributed to the hard-fought

victory. Pilots, maintenance troops, and airplanes needed time

to recover. This was an appropriate time to recharge batteries.

During this pause in heavy operations, we flew into Kairouan

with sparkling new P-40s and a significant number of newly

minted pilots produced by the expanded training program initiated after Pearl Harbor. We arrived in four-ship sections. I was

on the leader's wing in the P-40F. Over the radio, the leader

hoped rather wistfully that we could hold a decent show formation and not embarrass him on arrival at Kairouan. We came

in low on the deck holding steady in beautiful echelon formation. Our smooth leader had planned to pull away from the

new guys, but we stuck to him like flypaper. The result was a

spectacular four-ship pull up where all of us put gear and

flaps down together while inverted on the downwind leg and

landed four abreast still in perfect echelon formation, much to

the surprise of our leader.

Like many airfields in this part of the world, Kairouan had

been open desert until leveled and smoothed for military use.

The civil engineers made the landing area a mile square to permit four or more to take off or land abreast. We were met by crew

chiefs in open jeeps who led each airplane to dispersed, camouflaged parking spots. Sandbags and slit trenches were available at each parking area. German Ju 88s or He Ills had been

bombing and strafing randomly most nights to cause damage

and harass our troops. Maj Buck Bilby, commander, 64th

Squadron welcomed us, introduced our tent mates, and told

us to get settled and meet the squadron at dinner.

The changing of the guard began slowly with our arrival at

Kairouan a few days after the Palm Sunday Massacre. Within

days, the group had added a dozen new guys to each squadron

22
THREE MUSKETEERS TIMES TWO

bringing the group to full strength. Perhaps the commander

shuddered at the mixed blessing this represented when he realized that one-third of his combat capability was now in the

hands of "Sprogs" as he named his new guys.

The air-to-ground campaign through Egypt, Libya, and

Tunisia had been tough on personnel and airplanes. The Luftwaffe could still battle ferociously for control of the airspace

which meant the 57th pilots had to fight their way back to

base low on fuel and ammo. Several pilots with battle-damaged

aircraft had to bail out or crash land on the way home, some

more than once. Even though the P-40 was at a disadvantage

against the Luftwaffe under those conditions, our guys managed more than their share of victories against Me 109s, Fw

190s, and Me 110s and some became aces, notably George

Mobbs, Lyman Middleditch, Rocky Byrne, and Gerry Brandon,

to name those I knew personally. Original squadron members

could now rotate home as it became clear that the "Sprogs"

could get the job done.

My new tent mate, Stovebolt Marcum, was unique. He was one

of those pilots who had flown off the aircraft carrier Ranger,

the only enlisted pilot in the group, and soon to be commissioned as a warrant officer. According to Stovebolt, the only

advantage of his commissioning was that he would be a legal

member ofthe officer's club and, by proclamation, a gentleman.

With my gear, we arrived at a tent surrounded by sandbags

and foxholes. That first night I learned why a total blackout

was enforced. After midnight, the drone of a twin-engine Ju 88

flying low and fast awakened us. When we heard him turn

around, Stovebolt hit his foxhole telling me to do the same or

my career might be quite short. The "bed-check Charlies" continued to visit us sporadically until we moved to Cape Bon.

With the group off operations for a few days, each squadron

used the time to learn how well the new guys could handle the

aircraft and the environment. The squadrons scheduled us

twice in 12-ship formations with different section and element

leaders in the afternoon. We tested under conditions close to

actual combat. At day's end, our flight commanders would know

us. We neither expected nor received any quarter. I flew again

in the P-40F on the flight leader's wing. No one else knew

23
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

about the extra acceleration available in that airplane so my

ability to hold position despite a deliberate effort to lose me on

takeoff added to a reputation for excellence in formation. We

passed the test, and that afternoon the experienced pilots

showed us the nuances of battle formations that had evolved

during the desert campaign.

After that flight, the group accepted us as "Black Scorpions."

Later Maj Buck Bilby introduced our group commander, Col

Art Salisbury. Just 26 years old, he was already an outstanding

combat leader and would command a fighter wing (two fighter

groups) when Allied forces invaded Europe 6 June 1944, to

begin the final assault that eventually ended the Nazi atrocity.

He laughed easily, had a word for each of us, asked about our

families, and seemed genuinely interested in our backgrounds.

After the war, Colonel Salisbury and I were stationed together

by chance at Air University, Maxwell Air Force Base, Montgomery, Alabama, and at USAF Headquarters, Washington,

D.C., although in different areas. Fortunately, this remarkable

combat leader asked for me by name when he assumed command of the 20th Tactical Fighter Wing at Wethersfield, England, in 1955 during a crucial period in the Cold War.

Our first missions from Africa in 1943 were fighter sweeps

over the Mediterranean between Cape Bon and Sicily. Luftwaffe squadrons were flying far out on the horizon. They

stayed several thousand feet higher than we were at 14,000

feet and seldom moved offensively towards our P-40 formations even though they had us outnumbered with a clear altitude advantage. I remember the tension growing as the minutes passed with Me 109s maintaining separation between

two formations. Our leader did his best to narrow the altitude

difference, but the P-40 was simply out of its element above

15,000 feet. The Germans could begin the dogfight when conditions were favorable. If they could position themselves up

sun and well above us, an attack was almost certain. It would

begin with one or two of them diving through our 12-ship formation hoping to catch us unaware. They wanted to avoid a

turning engagement with the P-40 whose strengths were the

ability to dive away from trouble and out turn both German

fighters. The Me 109 had a treacherous stall characteristic in

24
THREE MUSKETEERS TIMES TWO

a tight left turn. Experienced Luftwaffe pilots could maximize

the turning ability of the Me 109 without stalling but they

could not out turn a properly flown P-40. We had to be disciplined in the cat-and-mouse game with German formations. If

we failed to be vigilant in scanning the sky, the enemy almost

certainly would attack from out of the sun. We had to know

where they were every moment to time the "break" call (turn

hard into them) so we could bring guns to bear and shoot. Although we had many sightings during those early missions

and several break calls, there were few opportunities to force

the turning dogfight.

One day, a few weeks later, we packed cots and sleeping and

musette bags behind the seat, flew the last fighter sweep from

Kairouan, and landed on the large lakebed on Cape Bon east

of Tunis. The ground party was already on its way from

Kairouan with a rag tag convoy ofArmy vehicles supplemented

with captured German and Italian jeeps, staff cars, and trucks.

They transported support equipment, tents, trailers, baggage,

and supplies with the efficiency gained from moving every two

weeks or so as the campaign moved toward Cape Bon from

Cairo. This was yet another example of American initiative,

creativity, and driving determination to get the job done. The

57th Fighter Group's reputation for "scrounging" and "midnight" requisitioning was notorious.

Cape Bon marked the beginning of a new chapter in the Allied effort to increase pressure on the Germans from every

angle. Clearly fighting a defensive battle, they were losing the

logistic race with the Americans, South Africans, Australians,

Brits, and Canadians. Our tremendous productive potential, not

yet realized, meant that Germany could not recover the offensive initiative or the logistic capacity to support an all-out war

on three major fronts.

Airplanes were arriving daily on the large lakebed at Cape Bon.

Soon we had three Spitfire squadrons from the 51st Fighter

Group with Canadians, Americans, and Brits flying together.

The 79th and 324th Fighter Groups also arrived. Equipped

with P-40s, they had been part of the American offensive from

Algeria to Tunisia. Still another P-40 group, the 325th, moved

onto an airfield nearby. A significant force was assembling for

25
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

the next major operation. In a short time, a fourth squadron

joined the 324th Group, the 99th Fighter Squadron, manned

by the first African-American fighter pilots trained as a unit in

Tuskegee, Alabama. As I recall, Lt Col Ben O. Davis, who would

quickly become an able combat leader, commanded them.

The squadron living area at Cape Bon was on a hillside east

of the airfield in a pleasant grove of trees previously occupied

by a Luftwaffe squadron. In their hasty departure, they had

left behind personal articles including letters to and from family members. My exposure to the German language at Boston

Latin School was good enough to let me translate a few wellwritten letters between hardworking, honest people much like

us. That experience made me realize in a powerful way there

are no winners in war. Ordinary people, the most unselfish and

often the best and most promising in each country, are those

who fight the battles, place themselves in harm's way, and

make the supreme sacrifice.

Our daily missions were undergoing some change. The Luftwaffe squadrons were no longer visible on every mission. They

were pulling back to airfields in Sicily or Italy closer to their

source of supplies, places where they could sustain combat

operations during the inevitable Sicilian invasion. Our first exposure to dive-bombing and strafing took place against German antiaircraft gun emplacements on the small island of

Pantelleria, perhaps 30 miles off Cape Bon on the direct route

to Sicily. The 88-mm guns were dangerous at altitudes where

the P-40 was comfortable. The Germans had abandoned that detachment and could not resupply it. Nevertheless, they defended

ferociously their gun positions against our dive-bombing attacks until we destroyed those batteries. Within days, the detachment on Pantelleria surrendered to an Allied fighter pilot

who, with a laboring engine, had to make a precautionary

landing on the airfield.

Those of us from Class 43-A had now integrated into each

squadron. Flying missions on a regular basis, ourjob was simple—be the best wingman on every mission every day. Twelve

of us were on the schedule frequently on the same missions.

Paul Carll, Bruce Abercrombie, George Blednick, Bill Nuding,

Charlie Neese, and Gus Keller were sharp formation pilots. We

26
THREE MUSKETEERS TIMES TWO

were comfortable flying together. It was natural to gravitate to

the same off-duty pursuits and choose tent mates from among

the same group when that opportunity presented itself later in

Sicily. Big Bill Nuding and I stood alert several mornings at

Cape Bon. We were up with our crew chiefs long before dawn

preflighting our two P-40s in case a German Ju 88 decided to

drop in unannounced. Bill was an outstanding pilot, but he

was an even better mechanic. He had liberated two pristine

BMW motorcycles, both of which needed his talents. He managed to get them running before dawn one morning on alert.

Things were quiet, no sign of enemy activity. We decided to

race around the perimeter road with those two big bikes and

were almost back to the airplanes when the scramble siren

went off. In the rush to the airplane I got my front and rear

wheels caught in two different ruts which flipped me to one

side landing hard on my right shoulder. We reached the airplanes at the same time, got them started, and took off with

me on Bill's wing. The Ju 88 was unfindable, so we returned

to the field. In the 30 minutes we were airborne, my shoulder

stiffened so much I could not use my right arm. Bill flew my

wing. I landed with my left hand on the stick, switching awkwardly from stick to throttle but managed to arrive safely. Our

flight surgeon, Capt Risley Haines, recovering from a late night,

dismissed the injury as an effort to avoid the next mission.

Fortunately, I regained the use of my shoulder quickly but that

was the last time I put myself in the seat of any motorcycle.

That painful shoulder dislocation healed without medical attention, thanks to Dr. Haines. I played championship quality handball for years after the war without pain but the indentation in

the shoulder is obvious to this day.

The fighter sweeps from Cape Bon did not produce a turning dogfight or a real opportunity to claim a victory for either

side. Bill Nuding, flying wing for Rocky Bryne, was involved in

an incident where with some miraculous shooting at extreme

range, he shot down an Royal Air Force (RAF) Spitfire mistaken

for an Me 109. The Spitfires were on the deck over the water

heading west. Rocky Byrne's section, at 14,000 feet heading

east, identified the Spit formation as Me 109s. They rolled in

on the attack but could not close to shooting range after leveling

27
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

out on the deck. Bill had the fastest of the four P-40s, so Rocky

cleared him to chase and shoot. He could not close the gap

and was still out of range but decided to shoot anyway. His

long burst hit the Spitfire with disastrous and fatal results. Investigation of the unfortunate incident absolved Bill, questioned Rocky's leadership decision, but did not assign any

criminal negligence. It certainly strained the healthy relations

we had enjoyed with our RAF friends.

The 57th Fighter Group established a very wise command

philosophy that required proven ability in combat, not rank nor

time in the unit, be the basis for selection of element, section,

flight, or squadron leaders. We followed that policy without exception during my 27 months with the group. In some cases, a

captain or major, newly assigned, might fly a complete tour as

a wingman and fail every chance to lead an element or a section. It was odd to see a squadron of 16 ships led successfully

by a young first lieutenant with a field grade officer riding his

wing but the policy saved lives, put the strongest pilots in lead

positions, and produced exceptional combat results.

We were to operate from Cape Bon until the last week in June

1943, then move south to the Causeway, an airfield on the beach

west of Tripoli. Our maintenance troops supplemented the service group located there to repair battle damage, change engines

and guns, and complete other necessary tasks in a major effort to have all aircraft ready for the Sicilian invasion. Our

ground troops with equipment, vehicles, and supplies were

scheduled to ship out with the invasion convoy from Tripoli,

land in Sicily, travel by road to Pachino, our next airstrip on

the southern tip of the island, prepare it for operations and, of

course, set up housekeeping for group headquarters and the

three squadrons.

Only pilots, crew chiefs, armorers, and airplanes remained

at the Causeway. C-47s arrived in adequate numbers to transport maintenance troops to Malta to support flight operations

from there until the runway at Pachino became available.

28
Am-TO-GROUNP MITII

FOR ITAIY

PHOTO SECTION
Author solo in formation flying a BT-13A Vultee, Marana, Arizona, July 1942

Three Bostonians who were part of the original 41 who traveled

from Boston to Santa Ana on 18 March 1942; left, Mike McCarthy;

center, Bob; and Nick; Luke Field, Arizona, November 1942

30
Mike McCarthy at the new primary base.ThunderbirdTwo, Scottsdale, Arizona, June 1942

Father and son, Mike McCarthy and Miah McCarthy,

Boston, summer 1941

31
Mike McCarthy, first graduating class,

Marana, Arizona, September 1942

New basic school; four from Boston, kneeling left to

right: Bob Chesney, Bill Crowley; standing left to

right: Ed Kinchla, Mike McCarthy, and "Pappy" SaBich

from Sacramento; Marana Air Base, August 1942

32
33
First P-47 Razor Back at Amendola, Italy, near Foggia, October 1943

Three of six class and tent mates: left to right: Gus Keller, Bruce Abercrombie, and Paul

Carll; Amendola, October 1943. First Coke in months! Most photos in this collection were

the work of Bruce Abercrombie; center above

34
f

mm » i

V

*%

^^^ws^^^^^^j^^^l^^^ 6JJL, l^^PS»^W^^!Sp^|3^

On the town; left to right: Lou Frank, Gene Kowalski, Gus Keller, Jim Novy, Mike McCarthy, Bill Nuding, Buck Bilby, Ed Fletcher, Moe Raskin, and Rocky Byrne; Valletta,

Malta, late June or early July 1943

ie ./'

Left, George Blednick and Mike McCarthy

shortly before leaving for Malta and the invasion of Sicily; near Tripoli, Africa, June 1943

35
Playing Pinochle while waiting, three tent mates from Class 43-A; left to right: Gus Keller,

Mike McCarthy, and Moe Raskin. Photo made shortly before Moe was lost at Ancona,

Italy. Amendola, October 1943

t J ,~^"'!äiü^,

T^Sfe^*"3**

$fe>

Ed Liebing flying number 10 and Mike McCarthy flying number 19, probably

Sicily, July 1943

36
Happy day! Day off, first shower in months and clean

uniforms, Mike McCarthy, Amendola, October 1943

Award of the Distinguished Flying Cross, Mike McCarthy, Corsica, May 1944

37
Pre-mission photo op, Mike McCarthy, Grosseto, Italy, late 1944 or early 1945

64th Squadron commander, left, Bob Barnum; and 64th Squadron

operations officer, Mike McCarthy; Grosseto, late 1944

38
Author's P-47D-30, number 31, Grosseto, March 1945. This photo was taken by Capt Fred

Ryan, engineering officer, 64th Squadron

Miah McCarthy, sergeant in the US

Army, volunteer World War I, served,

wounded, in France. My Dad!

39
Mike McCarthy, just before invasion of Sicily, probably "Causeway" west ofTripoli, July 1943

My P-47 crew chief Sgt Santamaria on the wing of the Maggie Hogan, Grosseto, September 1944

40
Author's P-47, the Maggie Hogan, and the group B-25 in the background, Grosseto, September 1944

Author and first P-40 crew chief, Buck Denneler, Atlanta reunion, 1992

41
Fastest P-47 in the squadron—high speed peeled the red nose paint job! Grosetto, September 1944

Ready to start engines, author's second airplane, dive-bombing with two 250-lb bombs

centerline; Foggia, October 1943

42
Left, George Berglund and E. R. Brown, first Coke! Italy, 1943-

1944

43
Group photo of surviving members of 64th Squadron Black Scorpions at a reunion in San Antonio between 1992-1995 before losses accelerated due to age

and failing health. Included are both officers and enlisted personnel—pilots,

crew chiefs, armament guys, line chiefs, administrative personnel, and refuelers. My crew chief, third from the right, bottom row, Buck Dennler is holding a

plaque. Second row from the bottom, third from left and second from right are

the Fox brothers, both line chiefs.They stayed with 64th Squadron until the war

ended. Far right, second row from bottom, 64th pilot Chuck Sawicki. Left end,

third row, Paul Carll, my tent and classmate. Left end, fourth row George Wilson, another tent mate. Third row from top, first three from left are Bob Barnum, Art Exon, and George Berglund; numbers five and six are Bruce Abercrombie, and Mike McCarthy. Second row from top, fourth from rightis George

Mobbs, one of our aces with victories during the tough air-to-ground battles

against the Africa Corps and General Rommel.

44
Chapter 3

Air-to-Ground Battle for Italy

The invasion of Sicily began 10 July 1943. It was the first

coordinated offensive action by Allied forces since the Africa

Corps withdrew in defeat from Cape Bon six weeks earlier. This

invasion marked the beginning of the Italian campaign.

Gen Bernard L. Montgomery, commanding the British Eighth

Army, planned to move up the east coast through Catania past

Mount Etna driving German forces into the straits of Messina.

American Gen George S. Patton Jr., responsible for the British

flank and the west half of Sicily, had a longer march, rougher

terrain, and a more difficult task. His route was through

Palermo on the northwest corner of this triangular-shaped island, then east along the northern coast, forcing the Germans

to retreat until they too reached Messina Straits. The British

general was conservative, had a tremendous ego, had little respect for the American's aggressive tactics, and did not expect

him to be in position to reach Messina before the British would

get through Catania, but that happened. This added further

consternation to an already strained relationship between two

super egos.

The German supply line extended from the fatherland through

Bavaria, Brenner Pass, the Po Valley, the entire Italian peninsula, then across Messina Straits into Sicily. Fighting on three

fronts, Germany could barely provide the logistic support

needed for one. It was virtually impossible to bring supplies by

ship through the Allied naval gauntlet in the Mediterranean

Sea, so the most feasible route was by rail or road down the

spine of Italy.

The Allies knew how vulnerable German supply lines were

to air attack. For the next two years, our principal targets would

be roads, bridges, rail lines, marshalling yards, and everything

that rolled on them. We would not ignore airfields, ports, or

shipping, but the most lucrative targets would be found on

roads and railroads. The Germans were smart and tenacious,

took advantage of terrain, used antiaircraft weapons with

45
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

maximum effect, and gave ground only when it could not be

avoided.

Our three squadrons flew to Malta from the African coast

three days after the invasion and began operating from that

historic island in support of the Eighth Army until 20 July when

the 57th ground party reached Pachino, our next airstrip, located on the southern tip of Sicily. We began operations the

next day. The only runway wide enough for two-ship takeoffs

was 5,000 feet long and covered with pierced steel planking

(PSP) to allow flying to continue in muddy conditions although

braking on PSP was marginal, wet or dry.

The front lines were fluid—positions frequently changed. We

had many targets of opportunity, including shipping traffic in

the harbor at Catania. With Pachino close to the action, we

could turn around with fuel, ammo, and bombs within an hour.

However, we were plagued until the end of the war by German

antiaircraft batteries that concentrated fire with exceptional

accuracy. We took hits on every mission. Even our group commander, Col Art Salisbury, leading a dive-bombing mission

against marshalling yards in Catania, took an 88-mm shell in

his engine and bailed out over friendly territory. He was recovered with minor injuries.

Messina Straits was both the German escape route from

Sicily to Italy as well as their supply route. They massed a

tremendous number of 88-mm guns, dangerous at our best altitudes between 8,000-15,000 feet. An array of 40- and 20-mm

guns, deadly below 8,000 feet, made the combination an effective defense system. Our most important targets, flat-bottomed

boats and barges, brought troops, tanks, trucks, and heavy

equipment through the straits.

I was now Maj Buck Bilby's wingman. This day we had already flown two dive-bombing missions against shipping in

the straits through flak so heavy we were diving through black

clouds with vivid red centers as shells exploded. Indicative of

how naive I was at that point in the war, I liked my front row

seat for the fireworks display. On this third mission, flak was

worse. Following Buck with flak bursts surrounding his P-40,

I knew why those who pursued this occupation were unlikely

to grow old. Dropping our bombs, we continued to the water

46
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

to minimize exposure to enemy fire. Looking back at the target, I saw direct hits.

As I pulled into formation on Buck's wing, his airplane

trailed white smoke indicating a rupture in his coolant system.

Liquid-cooled engines overheat quickly and seize without an

intact radiator. I called Buck to suggest we stay high enough

for him to bail out. His engine seized promptly. Setting up a

glide, Buck got out with a good chute at 3,000 feet. We were

over water south of the busy shipping channel between Sicily

and Italy. I followed the chute to the water and circled while

Buck inflated and crawled into his dingy. My element leader

told me to stay until relieved. A RAF "Duck Butt" (rescue biplane)

was on the way and a fresh P-40 element would replace me.

Meanwhile, the Germans had a boat underway to capture

Major Bilby. Having plenty of ammo, I destroyed the heavily

armed boat. It was listing with no sign of life or power on my

last pass overhead. Fuel was getting low, but I stayed until the

rescue amphibian and the P-40s arrived. Both showed up

within minutes of each other. I left when they found Buck's

dingy. He was safe and my part of the job was finished.

After landing, it was clear my airplane could easily have

been in Messina Straits. Flak damage was everywhere. My

crew chief shook his head at the extent of the repairjob. Major

Bilby suffered from hypothermia. The solution for him was

rest and recuperation prescribed by the flight surgeon effective

immediately.

In a few days, the front lines stabilized further north. The

plain southwest of Catania was now available, offering bases

closer to better targets. We would be able to spend more time

behind enemy lines and cause more damage. As soon as the

engineers had a runway, taxiways, and parking areas operational, the 57th Fighter Group moved to Scordia where we

would operate for several weeks before moving to the boot of

Italy to continue our pursuit of the German Army.

We had plenty of space in this piece of farmland but no usable buildings. We set everything in tents including cover for

our maintenance guys to work on airplanes out of the weather.

We pilots shared four- or six-man tents. In fact, everything

including the mess hall, kitchen, and administrative space was

47
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

housed in a tent. Four of us who had been together at Luke Field

and Sarasota, Paul Carll, George Blednick, Bruce Abercrombie,

and I, jumped at the chance to share a tent. When a six-man

tent became available at Amendola in the Foggia area of Italy,

we added two more guys from Class 43-A—Moe Raskin and

Gus Keller.

The final mission over Messina Straits completed Major Bilby's

tour. He had been in combat since Cairo. His performance had

been steady and his leadership exemplary. After the war, Lieutenant Colonel Bilby, on the faculty of the Air Command and

Staff School at Maxwell Air Force Base, was killed in a T-33

accident.

Capt Art Exon became the next squadron commander, moving up from the operationsjob. He was the first new pilot to be

assigned when he arrived in Africa at the end of 1942.

The complexion of our squadron was now different than at

the end of the African campaign. Those who flew from the aircraft carrier Ranger in July 1942 and who had chased General

Rommel's Africa Corps from Cairo to Tunis had finished their

missions. Replaced by us new guys, the first graduates of the

post-Pearl Harbor expanded training program, the old guys returned home for rest and reassignment. Many of them brought

valuable combat experience to another theater of operations in

a new airplane. Others added their unique knowledge and skills

to our understaffed training system.

The effectiveness of enemy antiaircraft fire meant aircraft

damage was probable every time we attacked ground targets.

This demanded a mindset that was not easy to acquire, especially when we knew of no way to minimize exposure except by

avoiding the mission. This desire for avoidance was a natural

survival instinct.

Field grade officers from group headquarters were divided

among the squadrons to fly. One day at Pachino shortly after

the invasion, a major in this category led a four-ship, divebombing mission against German shipping in Catania harbor.

I was the major's wingman. He flew smoothly and I enjoyed flying his wing. The targets, important flak batteries, were aggressive and accurate. Their shells burst at our altitude while

we were still too far out to roll in on the steep dive that would

48
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

enable us to hit our targets. Instead of driving in to that point,

the major rolled in early in a shallow dive. Consequently, he

released his bomb too far out. We may have killed some fish,

but we certainly did not damage the target. The major avoided

heavy fire, but in his heart, he knew we wasted an excellent

chance. The major's failure was the reason why selection of

combat leaders based on performance rather than the accident of higher rank became group policy.

The air-to-ground environment is brutal, life threatening, and

consistently dangerous. Fighter pilot population in our squadron

changed 400 percent from May 1943 until the end of the war in

June 1945. We lost airplanes and pilots on a regular basis. We

changed tactics, varied approaches and routes to targets, and

emphasized surprise at every opportunity. In the end, we

learned that you must fly down the enemy's gun barrel to destroy the target.

On every bomb run or rocket attack during my 154 missions, I fired my six guns on the P-40 or the eight guns on the

P-47 at the bad guys. At least that might keep some heads

down, disrupt concentration, and possibly reduce their numbers. Hitting anything was a bonus. I felt better knowing I had

done everything possible.

Fear was a reality. In our hearts and minds, we had to find

a way to manage it. That way would be unique for each pilot.

Not one of us was immune. The major from our group had

failed to find a way to deal with our personal problem. In another example, a classmate found his terror early in those

tough missions against Messina Straits. He reported a rough

engine on the climb to bombing altitude. The flight leader sent

one of us with him back to base. Maintenance found nothing

wrong with his engine. One of us test-flew his airplane over the

field through all altitudes trouble-free. On his next mission,

my classmate panicked, left the formation, and returned to

base without permission or a radio call. He made a bad landing, bounced, lost directional control, ran off the runway, and

flipped over. Fortunately, there was no fire and we pulled him

clear without injury. His problem was obvious, but no one

could help this excellent pilot find his way to control his fear.

49
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

He flew a few more missions but was never reliable or effective

and had to be reassigned.

This failure was not confined to my classmate. Supervisors,

commanders, and flight surgeons shared responsibility to be

alert, recognize symptoms, work the problem, find a solution,

and counsel the pilot before the situation grew out of control.

Unfortunately, the idea of a team approach to understand and

resolve such personal difficulties was still far in the future.

Within days, I had an engine malfunction on a mission where

circumstances pointed to the possibility I had succumbed to

fear. On climb out, my engine became rough at 5,500 feet and

got worse until it quit at almost 7,000 feet. The flight leader

put someone with me in case I had to ditch or bail out. Descending through 5,000 feet, I reset throttle to idle hoping to

restart. The engine came to life accelerating normally. On the

ground, my crew chief and the engine specialist followed troubleshooting procedures but could not explain the incident. The

aberration occurred again on the next mission. This time the

engine did not revive until I passed through 4,000 feet. I could

tell from the skeptical looks of those on the ground that they

thought that I was the problem. I suggested to the engine specialist that we leave my chute behind and fly with him sitting

in the seat and me on his lap. We would fly the profile and see

whether the engine would repeat its behavior. He agreed, motivated in part by the chance to get a P-40 ride. We climbed

normally over the field through 5,000 feet. The engine then got

rough, getting worse as we climbed until it quit at 6,500 feet.

I had regained power previously and expected to do that again.

As we glided silently through 3,500 feet, I was now looking at a

power-out landing with two lives needlessly in danger. Thankfully, the engine came to life on final. I dropped gear and flaps

and managed a smooth touchdown. The engine specialist was

impressed and convinced. Minus test equipment, we could not

identify the altitude compensator in the carburetor conclusively

but it was the likely culprit. The engine specialist still comes

to our reunions. His memory of this event is vivid.

In recalling the events of my 25 months in Africa, Sicily,

Italy, and Corsica during this remarkable period in our history

I have forgotten much of the detail, but the major highlights

50
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

have returned with surprising clarity even to the original emotional impact. How did I control fear that became a dominant

factor in the daily and nightly tensions of a fighter pilot's life

in months of continuous combat? I remember something my

mother impressed on me as a young lad. We were a Catholic

family. My five sisters and I went to Saint Gregory's elementary school in Dorchester Lower Mills about eight miles south

of Boston. My wise mother told me prayer was an essential

part of life. She emphasized that I should complete everything

under my control before asking God for help. We, in those depression years, had enough to eat but no extras. Nevertheless,

Mom sent me to school with black patent leather shoes, white

silk knee-length stockings, velvet shorts, a white silk shirt,

and curly hair. The two-mile walk to school was through territory dominated by some very tough kids—the Cedar Street

gang. Those guys saw me and licked their chops. Protocol required me to fight until I won to continue to school. I had to face

this combat situation every day. I learned to pray and fight. Finally, the advantage of quick hands coupled with a good offense

enabled me to win most of the battles, and the Cedar Street

gang backed off. I learned early that uncontrolled fear always

deprived me of my physical and mental assets and doomed excellent performance and any chance of victory. That building

block taught me to keep fear in its appropriate place. Later my

mother backed off the sissy clothes and that let me blend in

with the rest of my classmates at Saint Gregory's.

In preparing for each mission, our crew chiefs would preflight; load bombs, rockets, and ammo for the guns; and place

a hot round in the chamber of each gun. They taxied each airplane to a position near the end of the runway and parked

them in their correct sequence for takeoff. In summer heat,

the P-40 radiator did not tolerate extensive ground operation

without overheating. An hour or so would let the glycol temperatures return to normal. After the mission briefing, we

would go to our airplanes. My crew chief, Buck Denneler, was

always there to strap me into the cockpit after which we would

talk about anything to keep my thoughts off the mission. Buck

was also from Boston. We became great friends who stayed in

that special relationship until Buck passed on a few years ago.

51
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

Buck knew I needed private time before the start-engine signal. That quiet period was my chance to meditate. I started the

conversation by reminding God that we had completed all preflight items to the best of our abilities. I promised to fly my absolute best and asked Him for His special protection. I understood the most important part of this relationship was that

time spent just listening to God. The rosary marked the end of

my meditation. Buck seemed to know when God and I were

finished. These conversations and meditations have always

been and continue to be part of my life since I was that little

lad in Dorchester 70-plus years ago. The difference between

those who perform at their best under pressure and those who

freeze or wilt under the stress is simply the ability to control

irrational fear. The way we achieve that is different for each of

us. Prayer was always part of my mission preparation and the

longer I stayed in combat the more essential the process became for my well-being and ability to perform.

We had been flying missions steadily. The operations officer

needed three airplanes flown back from a service group located

east of Tripoli on the Mediterranean coast. Paul Carll, George

Blednick, and I jumped on the C-47 mail plane with flying gear,

sleeping bags, and mosquito netting. After a turbulent ride in

the summer heat, we off-loaded at a remote site east of Tripoli

where an Army service group did their best to return weary,

battle damaged airplanes to operational condition.

Two P-40s were ready with the third promised for the next

morning. Transient facilities were not available. We improvised

by hanging mosquito nets from the wings of an airplane, setting up our sleeping bags, and spending a cold night in the Sahara desert. We were ready by noon.

George Blednick wanted to go directly north to Sicily—the

quickest route but over water all the way. Paul Carll, always

prudent, pointed out that we knew nothing about these airplanes. If we flew the coast to Cape Bon and had a problem,

we might find an airstrip or land on the beach. I agreed with

Paul. George saw the logic. With me leading, we headed west

along the African coast to Kairouan then to Cape Bon where

we turned northeast on a direct over-water course to Sicily.

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

Paul's airplane ran a bit rough before leaving the African

coast but settled down so we continued. Out of sight of land,

George reported his engine losing power steadily. We turned

toward a small, uninhabited island, Lampedusa, with a short

runway used for a time by the Germans. When George arrived

overhead with enough altitude to make the field, I told him to

belly land on one side of the runway to give me room to land.

The approach was clear of obstructions, and the runway was

relatively free of debris. The combination of a decent headwind

and a minimum approach speed with a touchdown on the end

would let me stop with room to taxi back and pick up George.

I accomplished that and set the parking brake with the engine

running. George threw my chute away, stepped in behind me,

and sat in the seat with me in his lap. I ran the power up to

full throttle, released brakes, accelerated, waited until the last

second, and raised the gear and nose gently. We cleared the

far end with no room to spare. Paul, who had been circling

with guns ready in the event any leftover Germans threatened,

led us to Scordia. On the deck, we made it with no further difficulty. George and I landed easily, but Paul, without hydraulic

pressure, had to pump his gear down, which was a lot of work

at the end of a tough day. It was an example of the sad mechanical state of these airplanes.

Our innovative decisions were reviewed and then endorsed,

since we got the job done and brought every one home. In fact, I

established a deliberate policy during my combat tour to do my

best to hit every target and never lose a wingman. I cannot say I

hit every target, but everyone with me had an excellent chance

to do just that. However, I always brought my wingman home although some, badly shot up, needed tender care to get back.

Like Major Bilby, Capt Art Exon selected his wingmen from

among the guys he considered the most reliable, especially when

the mission looked tough. The four in our tent were often on his

list. We could hang on any wing and knew where we were and

how to get back to the base. In addition, each of us established

a reputation for reliability—the ability to think under pressure

and find a way to get the job done. Because circumstances

pushed us into flight situations that required decisive action

from each of us, we were the first of the new guys to climb the

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

leadership ladder. By the end of the Sicilian campaign, we found

ourselves performing as element or section leaders.

In my case, the original section leader aborted after takeoff

on a 12-ship armed reconnaissance mission from Scordia to

the Naples area. As the element leader, I took over the section

of three. We slid smoothly into the correct en route tactical

formation position and handled the turns from one side of the

formation to the other without difficulty. South of Naples, the

leader took his section down to a lower altitude from where he

could see vehicles and trains on the major railroad that ran

from Naples to Foggia. The other two sections stayed high to

provide cover and search for enemy aircraft. The terrain was

rough with coastal mountains and many turns as the roads

followed the easier path. After several minutes with no sign of

activity, we rounded a low mountain, broke into a wide valley,

and there on a straight stretch of track was a long train loaded

with flat cars carrying tanks and trucks, as well as heavily

loaded freight cars. The double locomotive was moving fast toward the safety of a tunnel at the end of the valley. The leader

immediately rolled in with his section and attacked the locomotives with 50-caliber machine guns leaving telltale steam

spewing from many holes in both boilers. We rolled in to cut

tracks with bombs and managed direct hits ahead and behind

this train. Now we had this juicy target trapped, but the Germans had flak batteries hidden in freight cars. As we came in

to strafe, the sides of those freight cars collapsed, and a powerful low-altitude arsenal came to life with great intensity. Our

third section still had bombs. They knocked out two flak cars

while we concentrated on the others. With the train stopped

and their flak guns muted, we set about the task of destroying

trucks, tanks, fuel, and supplies that were visible on flat cars.

We were careful of time and fuel because Scordia was quite a

stretch and there were no friendly gas stations along the way.

On my last pass, I shot at a part of the train all of us had

overlooked. When I was satisfied with my angle, airspeed, and

a steady pipper, I fired a long burst. Then I saw the red cross

on a white square, the sign of a hospital train. I knew my aim

was perfect on this strafing pass and I had just violated the international code. At that moment, the hospital car erupted in

54
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

a tremendous explosion that meant the Germans had ammo

or explosives instead of patients on board. That explosion took

care of all remaining targets.

We arrived back in Scordia, short of fuel, with most of us

displaying flak holes. We had inflicted substantial damage on

German forces by destroying that particular train loaded with

essential supplies. My gun-camera film clearly displayed the

cross on the white square, my pipper on dead center, and the

resulting magnificent explosion. After that mission, I took a

regular turn as section leader and was the first of the new

guys to lead the squadron when my flight had its turn to lead

the mission. This was near the end of August 1943. We had

acquired a certain level of combat experience, had demonstrated

reliability, and were fully accepted in the squadron. Perhaps

our promotions to first lieutenant effective 21 August 1943

meant we were no longer "flippen" new guys (FNG).

When the German position in Sicily became untenable, their

retreat across Messina Straits up the boot of Italy did not provide them with defensible positions until they reached a line

from Naples to a point north of Foggia on the Adriatic coast.

We moved from Scordia to a strip on the sole of the boot close

to the beach where we operated for a week or so before moving again to keep up with the fast-moving front lines as the

Germans fought a well-thought-out delaying action. They traveled at night; stayed off roads during the day; and camouflaged tanks, trucks, and gun emplacements.

Except for an occasional major effort, the Luftwaffe was seldom seen. Fully involved with Allied forces operating from

Britain, they also had more than they could handle on the Russian front. The growing American threat from England added to

their difficulties. The production capacity of American industry

coupled with the ability to produce well-trained flight crews

meant air superiority would remain with the Allies through the

end of the European and Pacific campaigns.

In the last days of the battle for Sicily, there were occasional

appearances ofthe Luftwaffe as they tried to protect their ground

forces. It was obvious from the few airplanes in the area that

the effort was unlikely to succeed. I was flying Captain Exon's

wing on a search and destroy mission north and west of

55
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

Mount Etna late one day. We had bombed and strafed a flak

battery, several freight cars, and a locomotive with fire in his

boiler. As we headed back to Scordia, we ran across a truck laboring up a narrow, twisting, mountain road. He was caught

with no place to hide. Captain Exon rolled in then strafed the

truck while I covered for him. When the truck exploded, there

was no need for me to add to his misery.

We joined up and continued our armed recce of the road

north of Mount Etna. I caught a glimpse of two Me 109s diving on us from our left side and pointed them out to Captain

Exon. He waited momentarily then called a hard break into

them. That disrupted their attack forcing them into a turning

battle. The lead Me 109 wanted no part of a P-40 in a dogfight

and climbed away. I tried to climb after him but the German's

acceleration advantage left me behind. His wingman either

missed the signal from his leader or thought he could take

care of two P-40s by himself. Captain Exon was able to out turn

the German managing to get enough of a lead to knock pieces

off his tail. The Me 109 was hit but still flying. He rolled inverted headed for the deck with two P-40s on his tail. In a good

position, Captain Exon fired a short burst. His guns jammed.

He cleared me to finish the job. I positioned my P-40 behind

the German on his right side, fired a burst, and saw pieces fly

off the fuselage aft of the cockpit. I moved the pipper forward

pressing the trigger again, but my guns did not fire. Both of us

were out of ammo. The German was still flying although not

likely to get back to his base. I rejoined Captain Exon and we

turned back to Scordia, short of fuel, out of ammo, and frustrated. It had been a productive mission even though we could

not confirm the Me 109 had gone down. The next day, the

Army reported an Me 109 had landed wheels up on the beach

northeast of Catania with his tail and fuselage full of holes.

With the Wehrmacht out of Sicily and pulling back to better

defensive positions and the Italians out of the fight entirely, we

were in an operation that changed almost daily.

The Americans landed an amphibious force at Salerno

southeast of Naples early in September before the Germans

could consolidate their new defensive positions. They reacted

with a counterattack. We joined in the heavy Allied air attack

56
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

against the buildup of German tanks, artillery, and infantry.

Our forces repelled this determined German effort. We had excellent targets on the roads leading into the beachhead area as

the Germans tried to drive the American amphibious troops

into the sea.

Fortunately, the Salerno beachhead succeeded in complicating an already difficult defensive operation for the Germans in

Italy. We were flying from strips hastily hacked out of sandy

areas near the water on the sole of the "boot." In normal times,

these places would be resort areas for the rich and famous.

Vacation homes stood behind our airstrip. We used a few of

them for housing and the mess hall. We were able to sleep,

bathe, and eat in almost civilized conditions again.

The airstrip at Rocco Bernardo lacked prominent side markings. The surface was firm sand that generated clouds of blowing dust whenever we took off. It was difficult to see enough of

the runway to verify that it was clear. We shared this strip with

an RAF fighter squadron. One Hurricane landed just before a

four-ship of ours rolled into position for takeoff. The Hurricane

generated a dust cloud on the rollout. Instead of waiting until

visibility improved, the leader of our flight with my classmate,

Gene Kowalski, on his right wing began the takeoffroll. Within

seconds, there was a fireball followed by an explosion. The

dust cloud obscured the tragedy. The RAF pilot had pulled off

the runway to the right. He parked facing the runway at a safe

distance, and shut down his engine. The two P-40s drifted

enough to the right in dusty conditions to allow Gene Kowalski, eyes correctly focused on his leader, to smash into the

Hurricane, destroying two aircraft and pilots. Oblivious to the

P-40s, the RAF pilot was still in his cockpit filling out aircraft

forms and never knew what hit him. Kowalski was buried with

full military honors near the airstrip where he died. After the

war, his body was shipped home to his final resting place. He

was our first classmate to make the supreme sacrifice. Others

would join him before the war in Europe reached its conclusion in May 1945.

We continued to combine search and destroy missions in

support of Allied advances toward the next major German line

of defense. German forces continued their withdrawal northward

57
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

from Messina to the Gustav line, which stretched from a point

north of Naples to Termoli on the Adriatic coast northeast of Foggia. We inflicted substantial damage on German tanks, trucks,

and artillery as well as the trains and locomotives used to return their forces to the next line of defense. It was hard to believe the Germans could tolerate significant losses of men and

equipment without losing combat integrity. This characteristic of

the German military machine would be central in their stubborn

defense of the Italian high ground between Naples and Rome, a

process that lasted from October 1943 until June 1944.

By the end of September 1943, the German withdrawal

reached high terrain north of Foggia. Part of the British Eighth

Army landed at Bari southeast of Foggia. That action accelerated the German retreat and gave us Foggia with its many airfields. The pace of our operations had been hectic since the Sicilian invasion. We welcomed the opportunity to stay in one place

for more than a few days. As it turned out, we would spend the

winter in this fertile plain around Foggia at Amendola.

Our airplanes tolerated the high flying rate but not without

incurring discrepancies. The repair of nongrounding problems

had been postponed, but these problems needed to be fixed.

Our lower rate of operational missions allowed maintenance to

do that while we caught up on housekeeping and laundry and

reclaimed long-separated baggage. Mine had remained on the

same truck since we left Africa for Malta. Constantly on the move

with limited access to hot water or showers, we discovered that

a sponge bath out of a helmet liner was not sufficient.

An Army service group arrived in our area as part of the

support structure for Fifteenth Air Force B-17s and B-24s that

were arriving as engineers completed airfields and facilities.

Those engineers were also winterizing fighter airfields. Foggia

would be home for this new bomber force. Fighter units from

Britain, Australia, South Africa, Canada, and the United States

shared the area. We were delighted to find a shower facility in

the service group with unlimited hot water plus a steam room

with no time limit. Happiness for the 57th Fighter Group was

almost complete. We were issued new winter uniforms, jackets,

gloves, flying boots, socks, and long Johns. We discarded gladly

the clothes we had been living in for so many months.

58
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

Changes were on tap. The last of the originals, the group who

performed well as wingmen and element and section leaders

were finishing their missions as flight commanders, assistant

operations officers, and operations officers. It was time for them

to transition to the United States, and it was our turn to assume

responsibility. Those of us who had been acting as assistant

flight commanders were named flight commanders. Paul Carll

and I came out on orders as flight commanders. George Blednick

and Bruce Abercrombie became assistant flight commanders.

Our tent was well represented in the new leadership structure

of 64 Squadron, the Black Scorpions.

Although the pace of operations subsided to a rate we could

sustain over the long haul, our targets focused on major communication hubs, marshalling yards in major cities, bridges over

rivers, and power generating plants. The interdiction effort was

designed to destroy the enemy's ability to resupply their forces.

Other targets appeared for us. From Foggia it was about a

40-minute flight across the Adriatic Sea to Yugoslavian ports

where German freighters were often detected by Allied intelligence.

The approach of winter brought a change in weather patterns over the Italian peninsula. We frequently had persistent

rain with low visibility and layers of cloud extending from the

ground to 20,000 feet making air-to-ground operations impractical. Lacking a precision instrument recovery system on

the ground or in our airplanes, we could not return safely to

base. At times weather over the Adriatic coastline was flyable.

When Foggia weather permitted, we would attack shipping in

Split Harbor or Dubrovnik. Luftwaffe Me 109s and Fw 190s

operated from an airfield at Mostar not far from Sarajevo, and

fairly close to the Adriatic coast.

I led 12 P-40s (three sections of four) and found a freighter

unloading at a dock in Split Harbor. As usual, antiaircraft fire

was intense and accurate. I set up the steep dive angle I like

from a point directly over the ship, held the nose steady on

the stack, fired my six guns, and released my bombs precisely

on airspeed. They hit next to the stack followed within seconds

by a big explosion. My wingman had a direct hit, and the

other two sections scored well. The cargo must have included

59
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

munitions since there were subsequent explosions. That ship

sank where she was tied up to the dock.

The Luftwaffe reacted to these attacks against shipping with

combat patrols over the coast well above our operational altitudes of 12-15 thousand feet. We added a four-ship section

without bombs as top cover to protect the 12 P-40s with bombs.

The next time weather was suitable, my flight had the top-cover

task. I led the four clean P-40s. We stayed with our bombing

brothers until they had released their bombs. As expected, the

Luftwaffe formation of nine stayed high, did not attack, but

sent single airplanes in vertical dives through our formation

tempting us to chase the decoys. After the P-40s completed

their dive-bombing, another single Me 109 dove through us. I

signaled my wingman to stay with me. We rolled inverted after

the German who hit the deck toward Mostar. My P-40F, faster

than that of my wingman, was unable to close to shooting

range even with the war boost on the Merlin engine. My wingman lost me. The German was leading me to his airstrip where

flak guns would give me a very warm reception. Discretion in

this case was the better part of valor. I turned back to the

coast, staying on the deck. When I reached the coast, I throttled back to conserve fuel and headed directly for the Manfredonia peninsula beyond which was our landing strip. My wingman, who caught the formation halfway across the Adriatic,

landed with them almost 30 minutes before me. He and I had

a private discussion about the basic responsibilities of a wingman to his leader. We then reviewed the essence of that with

the rest of our flight. The message was simple, "You follow

your leader even if he leads you into the fires of h—!"

The Foggia area buildup was similar to the one in Britain in

preparation for the invasion of Europe in June 1944. Our new

force of bombers became operational. They flew missions against

heavily defended oil refineries in Ploesti, Romania, along with

those in conjunction with Eighth Air Force missions against

targets in Germany. We had been using the Foggia number

eight runway while engineers completed a permanent runway

at Amendola a few miles south. In preparation for winter, we

acquired a six-man tent with an oil stove, an asset we appreciated as colder weather approached. Moe Raskin and Gus Keller

60
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

from Class 43-A joined us. A Virginian, Gus was quiet with an

easy southern accent. Moe, from Sioux City, Iowa, was part of

a meatpacking family that survived the depression and prospered in the postwar years. We welcomed both as part of our

family—two guys from Pennsylvania and one each from Minnesota, Iowa, Virginia, and Massachusetts.

We moved to Amendola when the engineers finished their

work and the persistent rains let up. A squadron project to

build an officer's club out of brick and stone with a working fireplace became a popular pastime for everyone. We contracted

with an Italian stonemason to provide materials and skilled leadership while we provided labor. I had mixed cement for my Dad

and hauled bricks one summer while he built fireplaces and

chimneys. It did not take long for me to remember why I chose

not to do that kind of work for a living. The club came together

quickly. The fireplace had a perfect draft. That building was

warm and comfortable throughout a cold, wet winter.

During those bad weather periods, the Germans accelerated

their resupply efforts on the roads and railroads. We knew

they were busy when bad weather kept us on the ground. Our

weather guys worked hard to forecast conditions reliably. This

inexact science did not cooperate often, but once in early November we got a break. We briefed an armed recce mission before dawn hoping the Foggia area would clear and stay clear.

Our weather recce reported flyable weather within 40 miles of

the base and a solid overcast to the north with tops at 10,000

feet. We launched three sections of four P-40s with bombs

headed north climbing above the clouds looking for breaks in

the overcast as we penetrated deeper into enemy territory. After

30 minutes, we found occasional breaks that revealed the Italian coastline on the Adriatic Sea. Within minutes through a

larger hole in the clouds, we recognized the port city ofAncona

with its distinctive road and rail complex leading to the dock

area. Our timing was fortunate. A train with a double locomotive, heavily loaded flat cars, and many freight cars was moving slowly out of the station south toward the Gustav line. We

knew we had surprised the Germans because we attacked

without the usual intense 88-mm flak. The lead section cut

tracks on both ends precluding further movement of the train.

61
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

My section concentrated on the double locomotive, destroying

both boilers. The others strafed the freight cars. I followed behind the last element on their right side so we could attack

"fresh meat." As I rolled in, the P-40 ahead flying low and fast

was about to pass over the freight car he had been strafing when

a tremendous explosion erupted. I was just far enough away

to avoid the center of the burst but my airplane was blown

straight up flipping end over end for what seemed an eternity.

I reached relatively smooth air where I regained control. The

engine was running and control response was normal. We rejoined out to sea with one of us missing. Moe Raskin had been

the P-40 directly over the center ofthat explosion. The railroad

station was between two low hills, 600-800 feet in height. A

RAF recce pilot managed to take damage pictures the next

morning. The entire area was flattened. Those two hills with

the station had disappeared. There was no sign of Moe's P-40

which had probably disintegrated. My airplane was full of

holes but I got back to base again with another aircraft that

had flown its last mission. I wrote Moe's family in Sioux City,

Iowa. Because of wartime security, I did not describe the details of his final mission but talked about his tent mates, our

friendship, and the fun we had together.

Late one afternoon in November, the operations officer told

me our first four P-47s were on their way. It was my job to

choose three of my guys; meet the airplanes; pick the brains

of the ferry pilots; and learn what we could about airspeeds,

power settings, and other essential information. It was less

than two hours before sunset when four P-47s peeled up from

the deck to make decent landings on the Amendola runway.

Our crew chiefs parked them wingtip-to-wingtip. We jumped

up on the wings, leaned in to the cockpits, and watched while

the ferry pilots went through their preshutdown checks. We

found out what we needed to know. All were in commission

with enough fuel for another hour of flight. The ferry pilots

monitored the engine starts and we flew the four new airplanes before dark.

This huge airplane weighed seven tons, had a four-bladed

propeller, and a 2,000 horsepower Pratt and Whitney R-2800

engine with water injection to boost the maximum thrust

62
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

another 500 horsepower. It purred like a smooth-running Cadillac. The cockpit was large and comfortable with a logical, welllaid-out instrument panel. Power was impressive as was the

acceleration. Top speed in the few minutes I flew at full throttle was close to 450 mph. Reluctantly, I returned to base on

the deck, pulled up to a close down wind, and slowed to geardown speed. With full flaps I slowed to the ferry pilot's recommended approach (over the fence) speed, raised the nose,

brought the throttle to idle, and touched down smoothly.

After that checkout, the four of us volunteered to fly top

cover in these new airplanes on the first P-40 mission to Yugoslavia the next morning. Operations approved. We made certain the guns were functional and full of ammo. The predawn

briefing for that armed recce P-40 mission included four clean

P-47s. We were last off the ground since our climb speed allowed us to overtake the P-40s easily. We were guessing at

power settings and hazy about the function of some switches.

I had asked the ferry pilot about them. His reply was "I did not

need them, so don't mess with them." In retrospect, it was a

poor decision to fly a combat mission after one short ride in a

new airplane. We should have taken the time to verify combat

readiness of our new airplanes. Nevertheless, we flew a decent

mission, provided effective top cover against an aggressive group

of Me 109s, and dispersed them with no disruption to the attacking P-40s. The Germans, surprised by the P-47, were startled to find us closing on them when they climbed away after

diving through the P-40 formation. We expected our bullets to

hit where we put the pipper, but our guns had not been harmonized. I had a deflection shot within range on one Me 109

with the pipper where I wanted it. By the time I realized my

bullets were hitting wide left and low it was too late. I adjusted

the sight picture and hit that German but not enough to bring

him down. My element leader was also in position on another

Me 109 only to find his bullets off the mark. Both Germans

lived to fight another day.

We learned a lesson. From that point on, our armorers did

not clear an airplane unless every aspect of its armament system had been checked and verified.

63
Chapter 4

Operation Strangle

The Italian winter settled in with extended periods when we

did not fly because heavy clouds covered the target areas. At

times the local weather allowed each squadron to continue the

check out of all assigned pilots in the P-47. During this process,

the group remained combat-ready with the P-40 while we experimented with tactics for the "Jug." In Britain, the P-47 flew

fighter escort missions to bomber targets in Europe but had

not yet been tried in the air-to-ground role. While excellent in

air combat against German fighters, the P-47 was limited as a

long-range escort. On the other hand, the P-51 could stay with

the bombers all the way to their targets. We demonstrated in

Italy that the P-47 was an almost perfect air-to-ground instrument. It could absorb heavy flak damage and still fly. The big

Pratt & Whitney engine was incredibly tough.

I flew one from Italy to Corsica taking 45 minutes with zero

oil pressure minus two top cylinders. The engine ran until I

pulled the throttle back for landing. That was not a fluke. Paul

Carll repeated it later without three top cylinders and zero oil

pressure. The secret was not to change the power setting.

The Jug was a great dive-bomber because of excellent stability at all speeds. It was easy to center the ball, trim, and keep the

nose on the target. It was a relief not to stand on the left rudder

just to keep the airplane from slipping sideways in a dive. This

natural stability enhanced an excellent gun platform. Strafing

a fast-moving train in the Po Valley later in the war, I hit the

locomotive with the cone of my eight guns knocking it completely off the tracks while the rest of the train, minus its locomotive, rolled on with no hesitation.

Our group commander, Col Art Salisbury, remembered the

work we were doing with the P-47 when his fighter wing in

Britain was getting ready for Operation Overlord in spring 1944.

He sent six of his flight commanders, two with each of our

squadrons, to fly missions with us to observe how we used the

P-47 in in the air-to-ground role during Operation Strangle.

65
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

During winter 1943 in Foggia, I learned that I am not indestructible, far from it! All the way through Africa, Malta, Sicily,

and now Italy the flight surgeons had us on a daily dose of

Atabrine to avoid malaria or minimize its impact. Quinine, the

preferred medication, was in short supply. I remember the Sicilian mosquitoes being very aggressive. They could find a hole

in any mosquito netting no matter how careful we were. The

pace and tension of combat operations, the less than appetizing and unchanging rations (British bully beef, dried eggs, and

our own US Army Spam} resulted in my dropping 30 pounds

from a weight of 165 pounds. I succumbed to two malaria

episodes within a month. The field hospital treated malaria with

Quinine, and provided a better diet plus bed rest. Yellow jaundice complicated my recovery and triggered a third round with

malaria. The flight surgeon sent me to a newly established Army

rest camp on the Isle of Capri along with others who suffered the

same afflictions. I was captivated by the wonderful mountaintop hotel, luxurious rooms, unlimited supply of hot water, great

food, fresh milk, Coca Colas, fresh bread, eggs, bacon, and

steaks. Jaundice may have stolen my appetite in Foggia but

Capri and its wonders soon brought it back. The Italian girls

were beautiful, friendly, unfortunately heavily chaperoned, and

they loved to dance. My high school Latin, French, and German

did little to improve communication, but the effort kept everyone amused. Two weeks including Christmas and New Years

on beautiful Capri brought me back to health; renewed a zest

for life; and let me appreciate the benefits of excellent meals,

a great library, and the luxury of lazy days. I promised myself

to return to Capri after the war to recapture the magic of that

special place. Regrettably, family priorities and demanding military assignments kept that promise in the dream category.

When our health returned to normal, we checked out of the

Capri rest center, returned to Capadochino airport in Naples,

and caught the C-47 shuttle to Amendola. The squadrons we

had come from were just completing the P-47 checkout. Winter

weather was still in control during this first week of January

1944.

Operations had been spasmodic while we were away. The Germans still held the high ground from a line north of Naples to the

66
OPERATION STRANGLE

Adriatic coast at Termoli. Firmly established on Monte Cassino,

they retained control of the coastal plain to the Mediterranean.

They defended brilliantly the nearly impregnable monastery. The

impasse continued. Perhaps the promise of better weather, additional troops, and dedicated air support would make it possible

to break the German stranglehold.

We now had too many airplanes. We had a full complement

of P-47s plus about 15 P-40s for each squadron would soon

arrive at the depot at Capadochino. When the weather broke

shortly after the rest camp guys returned to Amendola, the

group decided to deliver those 45 P-40s to Naples in one day.

I led the 64th Squadron with three sections of four plus one

section of three. We joined up smoothly, a section on each side,

the fourth in trail behind my lead section. The air was smooth

with everyone evenly spaced holding excellent position. We had

agreed to make a flyby down the runway if the formation met

our own high standards. The leader of the last section, who

could see the entire formation, called saying "We look great.

Mike, take us down the runway." Our maintenance guys, who

take pride in their work, expect us to fly the airplanes properly. When we returned to Amendola our crew chiefs met us

and complimented the "good show."

After four months at Amendola, everyone welcomed the news

that we would move again. Our ground echelons packed waiting to learn where and when. Within a few days, the convoys

departed west toward Naples to Arcola on the northwest slope

of Vesuvius where engineers were completing a runway, taxiways, and other facilities. Workers were completing similar facilities for medium bomb groups on the northeast slope of this

slumbering volcanic giant. I believe one or two fighter groups

also moved to strips around the perimeter of Vesuvius. All

were to be part of the air support package for the spring offensive. Air staff planners who selected the slopes of Vesuvius

for air bases could not have guessed this volcano was about to

have another eruption that would affect our air-to-ground battle

for Italy.

The 57th Fighter Group flew from Amendola to Arcola on 16

January 1944, with three squadrons of P-47s. All of us, officers and enlisted, were housed in the nearby village located up

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

the slope above the airfield. Our lodging was a square, twostory building with a courtyard in the center. The rooms faced

the outside of the building with a hallway overlooking the

courtyard. During the next few weeks, our missions focused

on escorting B-25s or A-20s attacking entrenched German defensive positions including the garrison at Monte Cassino and

then converting to armed recce looking for movement on roads,

railroads, artillery positions, certain bridges, and railroad marshalling yards. The reason for this concentration became clear

on 22 January when Allied VI Corps, under the command of

US Maj Gen John P. Lucas, landed an amphibious force behind German lines at Anzio. The landing had little opposition.

For a time, the road to Rome was open. With 50,000 men and

3,000 vehicles ashore, General Lucas dug in and missed a

short window of opportunity to strike inland from the beaches.

German opposition built up rapidly. The fierce German resistance stymied the Allied effort to make significant gams for four

more months. Backed by massive artillery support, 10 German

divisions attacked the beachhead compressing the Allied line

with a wedge over a mile deep. A tremendous effort by our fighter

and medium bomber units forced the Germans to withdraw

after three days on 19 February. In support of the Allied landing force during that battle, we attacked enemy troops, artillery

positions, and tanks and faced the usual fierce, accurate antiaircraft fire. In this operation, the P-47 proved its incredible

ability to sustain major damage and still fly. We found it to be a

far more efficient weapon delivery system against all types of

targets than the P-40 or any other fighter aircraft assigned to

the air-to-ground role.

Classmate Ed Liebing decided to give his crew chief a ride in

the new P-47. Leaving the pilot's chute behind, his crew chief

sat in the bucket seat. Ed sat in his lap. Because there was

more space in this cockpit than in the P-40, the procedure

should have been more comfortable and safer. Ed, one of our

best stick and rudder pilots, was careful and thorough but did

not see an unmarked cable extending from the top of a mountain to a power plant on the coast south of Vesuvius. We lost

the airplane and two lives. That ended the practice of two in a

single-seat airplane.

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OPERATION STRANGLE

During this period when most of our missions were devoted

to attacks against the German effort to drive Allied amphibious forces off the Anzio beaches, we flew four-ship sections

rather than the usual 12- or 16-ship formations. It was common to have more than one four-ship section working the area

at the same time responding to calls for close support from our

troops on the ground.

We could see our own volcano from many miles in the distance. On a clear day, we could identify and use Vesuvius as

a homing device from 75 to 150 miles especially if we were flying above 10,000 feet. A little cloud caused by hot gases condensing in the colder air surrounding the volcanic opening

often capped the mountain. As the weeks passed, the smoke

flume became heavier forcing the distinctive cloud formation

to resemble vertically developed cumulus clouds that often accompany thunderstorms. I was fascinated with the rumblings;

mini-earthquakes that made me wonder whether this ancient

volcano would reassert its ability to influence events in the

Italian peninsula. I made it my custom in returning to Arcola

to circle Vesuvius with the formation in trail to let everyone see

what was evolving day by day. Our weather forecasters were

interested in our reports particularly as the indications of volcanic activity became obvious.

We learned that Corsica would be the next site for our operations. Engineers were expediting completion of the airfield

plus other support facilities. Corsica would bring the Po Valley

as well as all major supply routes from Germany within range

for the P-47 and us. Vesuvius, operating on its own timetable,

had convinced our headquarters troops that our airplanes on

its slopes could become curious artifacts for some future civilization as Pompeii did for our civilization. Accordingly, our advance ground parties were ordered to pack and move to the

port of Naples to await sea transport to Bastia on the island of

Corsica. In the meantime, we continued to provide air support

for the fierce battle against the Germans still entrenched on

the high ground. The front lines moved daily but real progress

was difficult to measure.

An indication of the importance the German high command

placed on preventing Allied forces from breaking out of the box

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

defined by Monte Cassino and Anzio was the appearance in

Italy of the famous Yellownose squadron with Fw 190s. They

retained a highly experienced group of flight leaders who had

survived despite heavy losses, superior numbers, better airplanes, and well-trained US fighter pilots. Their nickname was

the Abbeville boys, after their airfield in France. We could tell

the difference. These guys were aggressive, flew excellent formation, climbed quickly to attack out of the sun, maintained

two-ship integrity, and avoided the turning dogfight unless they

had the advantage. I remember turning with one on the opposite side of the tight circle, 90-degree bank, neither gaining on

the other. I saw gun flashes from his airplane, thought to myself, no way, but he actually put three shells on my P-47—one in

front of the windshield and two more behind the cockpit. That

is the lowest percentage shot in a dogfight, requiring the maximum lead and a full 90-degree deflection. I was impressed. We

would contend with the Yellownoses over the next three months

and take their measure in some memorable encounters.

Like Julius Caesar who found the Ides of March a time of

mortal danger, Allied fighter and medium bomber groups arrayed around Vesuvius became victims of a sardonic geologic

timetable that picked the Ides of March in 1944 for the next

volcanic eruption. For weeks, our maintenance guys worked

nights to ensure every airplane was flyable. We were not going

to leave one behind when Vesuvius erupted.

We were awakened before dawn on 24 March 1944, with the

news that lava, six-feet deep and moving slowly and steadily

downhill, had entered our village. We loaded the trucks. I remember watching the lava flow enter the courtyard. It was

moving so slowly that we had time to knock the ash off the

red-hot coals and light our cigars. The 57th Fighter Group, located on the upwind side, avoided the smoke flume with the

hot ashes that damaged B-25s on the east and northeast slopes.

Flight controls, ailerons, flaps, elevators, and rudders were made

of thin aluminum and were easily punctured by red-hot embers dropping on horizontal surfaces of B-25s parked on that

side of Vesuvius. Those airplanes would not fly again without

replacement of their control surfaces.

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OPERATION STRANGLE

We departed Arcola in four-ship sections with our personal

gear in the cockpit and two 500-pound bombs on the wing stations. We were available for close air support (CAS), if needed.

Most of us flew armed recce missions looking for road convoys

or trains. I found a railroad bridge we destroyed earlier in the

month. The Germans had rebuilt it, and it appeared to be operational. We set up the steep dive-bombing pattern that produced the best chance to hit the target and scored two direct

hits that knocked the bridge with its new railroad bed into the

water. We searched roads for truck movement but found nothing. We rejoined, headed for Corsica, and landed at Alto south

of Bastia where the engineers had declared the runway with

its PSP surface usable.

Our squadrons made the transition from Arcola without incident. Advanced parties had been in place long enough to set up

tents and prepare mess halls, clubs, and maintenance facilities.

Since they had been doing this for most of two years, they knew

all the short cuts and problem areas. In fact, the 57th Fighter

Group had a well-earned reputation as the best scroungers in

the theater. If we needed something and could not borrow or

buy it, we had a midnight requisitioner who would steal it. Our

road convoys were so diverse that it was difficult to identify the

national identity ofmost vehicles. We had more German, Italian,

and British rolling stock than American.

We were to be a major player in Operation Strangle, the next

big air-to-ground operation in the Italian theater. The plan called

for full-scale interdiction ofroads, railroads, bridges, marshalling

yards, shipping lanes, ports, and airports from the northern Po

Valley south through the Appenines, the Arno river cities, and all

roads south of Rome used to bring essential supplies to the German army. We would carefully avoid targets near historic sites in

Rome, Florence, and Pisa.

Photo recce units worked night and day to find suitable targets for fighter-bomber groups and our medium bombers. We

would sustain this concentration of force for as long as necessary to deny the enemy any new supplies from the Fatherland.

It was useful to have photo confirmation in advance that targets selected for each day's operations were worth striking. In

addition, target photos showed the location of antiaircraft

71
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

guns and enabled the attacking leader to select a route in and

out that would minimize the guns' effectiveness and facilitate

the element of surprise. The presence of Luftwaffe squadrons

with a new willingness to attack required us to add top cover.

The area north of Rome seemed to be where German defenses

were concentrated in an effort to get their supply convoys

through unscathed.

The commander of the 64th Squadron, Maj Art Exon, was

hit on a low-altitude strafing pass. He was too low to bail out

and crash-landed his burning P-47 not far from the coast. His

wingman saw no sign that Major Exon survived but, fortunately, he escaped the airplane. Enemy troops captured him,

and he spent the rest of the war as a prisoner in Germany.

Capt Lou Frank, operations officer, moved up to be acting

commander of the 64th Squadron.

The last days of March and the month ofApril 1944 were hectic and fast-paced. There were many heavily defended, though

lucrative, targets. We flew several missions a day to destroy

German road convoys. Power stations, marshalling yards, and

bridges also received close attention. On one mission, leading

three sections of four, we destroyed a power plant, a factory, two

steam locomotives, an electric-powered locomotive on another

train, several loaded freight cars, and found and strafed a motor

convoy loaded with troops. We destroyed every target on that

particular mission. The group selected me for the award of Distinguished Flying Cross.

On another mission against heavily defended marshalling

yards and communications facilities north of Rome, I led the

top-cover section of four protecting three sections of four with

bombs. A mixed formation of Me 109s and Fw 190s were following high and behind, crossing from one side to the other. I

could tell they were ready to play hardball.

Chad Reade, my wingman on this mission, was in the latest

group of new guys to join the squadron. I remember he had

the light touch of an angel despite the fact that he was a big

man well over six feet and strong as a bull. He flew beautifully

in formation, kept his wits about him, understood his role as

a wingman, and seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.

Just as the three sections with bombs were peeling off on their

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OPERATION STRANGLE

dive-bombing runs, Chad reported one Me 109 diving on the

last P-47s as they settled on their attacking run. I picked up the

Me 109, rolled inverted, pulled in trail, and closed easily to

shooting range while Chad covered me. I held my breath with

the pipper steady on the fuselage and fired a long burst. The

cone of bullets from my eight guns hit the cockpit and engine.

The airplane disintegrated, bursting into several flaming pieces.

In a steep vertical dive, I watched the smoking wreckage falling

into Lake Bolsena northwest of Rome. With Chad in trail, we

converted that dive into a vertical climb back to what had become quite a turning fight. With that extra speed, I caught sight

of a single Fw 190 crossing above me. I fired a burst, a low percentage high-angle shot that probably missed. The Germans

chose not to stay with 16 P-47s.

We rejoined after the engagement that lasted about five minutes with no losses and four victories. It was always amazing

to me how quickly the air battle comes together with airplanes

in all sectors of the beautiful, blue sky. In another instant, the

enemy disappears without a trace. We regrouped after another

significant mission with serious damage inflicted on German

resources, both air and ground. Heading back to Corsica, we

took turns checking each airplane visually for leaks or airframe damage caused by heavy antiaircraft fire. There were no

problem airplanes on this mission.

My section was last to take off and would be last to land. I

took normal spacing behind the third section putting my guys

in echelon. The smooth air was ideal for close formation flying

so we had a nice tight, steady group of four flying perfect formation. We came over the runway at 3,000 feet. At midfield, I

rolled smoothly into a 30-degree bank. We held that beautiful

echelon formation all the way through the 360-degree turn

losing altitude to roll out wings level perfectly lined up on the

runway heading. We accomplished that without so much as a

minor jiggle. I gave the usual hand signal for landing, pulled

up to a close downwind leg, did a victory roll just as I reached

gear-down speed, threw gear and flaps out, continued the

turn slowing to final over-the-fence speed, and touched down

softly at the right place on the correct side of the runway. It is

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

unusual to have a flight go as planned, but from takeoff to landing, this was one of those rare events.

In the face of stubborn German resistance, Operation Strangle began to show positive results. Interdiction of supplies,

ammo, food, and other essentials forced the German high command to move their road convoys and trains during daylight

hours risking certain air attack from our fighter-bombers—

A-20s and B-25s. Targets were plentiful although German defenses continued to be determined, fierce, and effective.

In our squadron, we took advantage of the heavy pace of operations to check out new element, section, and flight leaders.

Flying as section leader, I would have a new guy on my wing

while monitoring how a new flight leader was performing.

One such flight to that area north of Rome produced a crisis that could easily have resulted in a new guy being lost on

his first mission. Second Lieutenant Brown had flown the usual

practice missions off the coast of Corsica using rocks visible

above the surface as bombing targets. He demonstrated formation skills and handled the airplane well. This mission was

an effective dive-bombing attack against marshalling yards followed by armed recce until the flight leader found a train moving in the open along a straight stretch of track. The flight

leader deployed his assets to destroy the steam locomotive and

cut tracks on both ends of the long train in excellent fashion.

I set up my section to strafe freight cars immediately behind

the disabled locomotive.

I told my wingman to take enough space, keep me in sight,

pick his own freight car, and do some damage. We were taking

some light flak, less intense than usual. My wingman stayed

much too close to me on the first strafing pass, so close that

his bullets flew over the top of my right wing, shooting at the

same freight car. I moved him out further so he could concentrate on his own target, put his pipper on dead center, and get

some worthwhile results. His spacing was better on the next

pass, but he had lined up on the only obstacle within miles, a

lone pine tree, perhaps 100 feet tall, without branches. Lieutenant Brown, who never saw that tree, hit it dead center with

the hub of his four-bladed propeller which sawed through the

pine tree, sprung both wings back, and filled the engine

74
OPERATION STRANGLE

spaces full of wood chips and sawdust. The combination of

luck, remarkable resilience of this tough airplane, and the

grace of God let Lieutenant Brown stay airborne. Understandably, he was in total panic. I caught sight of the airplane in a

slight climb heading north, pulled up on the wing, and surveyed the damage, amazed that any airplane could fly in that

condition. I talked calmly on the radio telling my wingman to

look at me on his right wing; we would keep climbing; and he

should not touch the throttle. I would tell him when to turn

left back to Corsica. After a few minutes, Lieutenant Brown did

look at me. Now that he realized the airplane was still flying, I

told him to turn gently left to a heading that would bring us

back to the coast. If the controls responded well enough and

the engine continued to run without drastic overheating, I

planned to climb high enough to allow a safe bail out over

water in case the engine quit. We had alerted the air rescue

guys about that possibility.

The collision had crazed Lieutenant Brown's windshield and

covered it with oil and debris. I told him that I would navigate

back to base. As minutes passed with the damaged airplane

still flying, it was likely we would get home, but that raised a

question. How do we get this wreck safely on the ground? Over

the field at 6,000 feet, I told Lieutenant Brown to drop the gear.

Without hydraulic pressure, the main gear fell out of the gear

wells and seemed to lock down. I sat on Lieutenant Brown's wing

as we descended circling to a position on final where I hoped

we could retard his throttle without killing the engine. Fortunately, he was able to do that, and I moved forward where he

could fly formation on me since he could not see the runway

through his windshield. By watching my wheels approach the

runway, Lieutenant Brown could judge his round out to a successful landing after which I went around to fly my own pattern. Lieutenant Brown handled himself with courage and

skill but decided his luck was gone. He did not fly another mission and neither did that airplane.

Additional fighter units joined Operation Strangle including

France's Lafayette Esquadrille who had brand new P-47s and

flew with us from Alto, Corsica. Pressure by Allied air forces was

producing results. German defenses around Monte Cassino and

75
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

Anzio were cracking. US forces now saw a chance to break out

of the beachhead after almost four months since landing 22

January 1944. We expanded our operations to the Po Valley between Bologna, Turin, Milano, and the main railroad line running through its center along the Po River. German supplies had

to transit through this rich, fertile, industrialized part of Italy

to have any chance to benefit their forces holding the Allies at

bay south of Rome. Activity in the Po area was incredible. Marshalling yards in each city were bustling where the Germans

assembled trains during daylight hours to travel at high speed

during darkness hoping to avoid air attacks.

Promotion to captain on 13 April 1944 was unexpected. Paul

Carll, Jim Novy, and I were flight commanders on squadron

orders and in line for promotion. Capt Lou Frank, now in command of the squadron, selected Jim Novy to be assistant operations officer. Lou and Jim were tent mates and close friends

so that selection was an obvious choice. We three members of

Class 43-A were completing one year in the squadrorf. Approaching 100 missions would qualify us for rotation to the

states. Instead, squadron officers asked us to accept a 45-day

rest and recuperation back home then return for another combat tour. Jim Novy, Bruce Abercrombie, and I chose that new

program, but Paul Carll decided to finish his tour and go home.

Jim Novy's promotion came through first. We both returned to

the states with new captain's insignia.

We were finding the Luftwaffe in the skies ready to attack

our air-to-ground fighter-bombers almost every day. Shortly

before the end of April, Paul Carll and I led separate armed

recce missions to the area between the Arno River and Rome

where enemy air units were most sensitive to our operations.

It happened that RAF Spitfires made a low-level attack against

the airfield from which Fw 190s and Me 109s were operating,

flushing them like hornets from their hive. Angry, looking for

revenge, they found Paul and his guys in the midst of their

bombing attack against a railroad bridge. Some distance away, I

heard Paul's section leaders call out many bandits on the attack. Paul turned into the attacking Germans and told me his

location while asking for help. Jettisoning our bombs, we

turned immediately to join the fight. In minutes, we saw the

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OPERATION STRANGLE

swirling dogfight with airplanes turning, diving, and climbing

in a scramble that typifies the life and death battle between

fighter pilots determined not to be the ones who lose. By the

time we reached the area, the Germans had enough of the

P-47s. Paul had two Fw 190s to his credit but told me on the

radio that they had heavily damaged his airplane. I found him

circling with his wingman in the area just vacated by those involved in the dogfight. One 20-mm shell had knocked out his

instrument panel leaving him without airspeed, altimeter,

compass, or engine performance gauges. The second shell hit

his right wing ammo compartment, exploding many 50-caliber

bullets, forcing the door from its normal horizontal position to

a vertical position, disturbing aerodynamic flow across the wing

making the airplane fly in a severe crab. This was another example of a P-47 defying the principles of flight, flyable despite

serious airframe damage. After examining the airplane from

every angle, I told Paul it was not leaking fluids and had no obvious structural damage other than the right wing and the

cockpit area. We decided I would lead back to Corsica with

Paul on my wing. Because of the deformed right wing ammo

compartment, we needed to identify the airspeed at which the

airplane would stall so we could pick a final approach airspeed

for landing. At Alto, we circled the field high enough to permit

a safe bailout. In the landing configuration, I slowed from 220

mph calling the airspeed in 5 mph increments. The prestall

shudder began just below 170 mph so we chose that speed for

our final approach. I held 185 mph as we turned to line up on

final slowing very smoothly to 170 mph as we crossed the fence.

Paul held excellent position, rotated, and touched down nicely

with plenty of room to slow to taxi speed on the available runway. One distinguishing characteristic of our performance in

the 64th Squadron was the willingness to take care of each

other. True leadership is unselfish. When you take risks to

care for your people, the attitude is contagious and will always

pay dividends far beyond your expectations. The fallout in loyalty, respect, dedication, and esprit de corps contributes to the

ability of the unit to get tough jobs done with better results.

Before leaving Alto in a C-47 for Naples en route to the

United States, one of our general officers arrived to award

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

many of us the Air Medal and the Distinguished Flying Cross

to those who had earned it. All three squadrons assembled in

clean rumpled uniforms at attention with an honor guard. The

ceremony was impressive.

In Naples, we caught a waiting B-17 for a long flight to Oran.

We were processed quickly and boarded a Navy transport for

the seven-day voyage to Norfolk, Virginia.

Thirty days on leave at home in Boston enabled a great reunion with family, friends, and my girl, Margaret Hogan. She

had joined the Coast Guard Women's Reserve, or SPARS (an

acronym taken from the Coast Guard motto "Semper Paratus,

Always Ready"), finished her boot camp in Palm Beach, Florida,

and was on leave in Boston en route to her first duty assignment in Philadelphia. We postponed wedding plans until after

the war because we were both in service and I was returning to

the 57th Fighter Group for another combat tour. In Boston, a

fourth malaria attack was resolved quickly at the Army base

clinic with Quinine. That incident in 1944 was the last time the

Sicilian mosquito had its way with this fighter pilot.

Margaret reported to her Coast Guard "ship," one of the nice

hotels in downtown Philadelphia. I reported to a personnelprocessing center located in a hotel on the boardwalk in Atlantic City where we were assigned to a ship scheduled out of

Norfolk, Virginia, for Oran and Naples. Jim Novy, Bruce Abercrombie, and I were on orders to the same troop ship heading

back to the squadron. Before leaving Atlantic City, Paul Carll

walked in to the lobby with Marian, the hometown girl he wed

on his return from Corsica. Paul finished his tour three weeks

after we left for the United States. His next assignment was a

staffjob at Mitchell Field on Long Island. He did not expect another combat tour.

The rest and relaxation in the United States, the excellent

food, and enjoyable friends and family had done wonders for

my state of mind as well as my physical well-being. I was almost back to my fighting weight of 165 pounds.

Squadron members appreciated our return because a shortage of experienced leaders added new tension to operations in

the Po Valley where targets were plentiful and important. German defenses finally broke under heavy pressure around

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OPERATION STRANGLE

Monte Cassino and Anzio in the middle of May followed early

in June by the Germans pulling back from the Holy City of

Rome. It was important to shut off resupply of essential fuel,

ammo, and parts to the German army. Offensive pressure by

Allied forces pushed the Wehrmacht back to the Appenines

north of the Arno River where they could again use high terrain to delay the Allied advance despite our greater numbers,

excellent weapons, and air superiority. In this final year, the

Germans took advantage of bitterly cold winter weather to prevent the Allies from breaking over the Appenines into the Po

Valley. Efforts to dislodge German defenses along the east

coast also would not succeed until brutal winter weather of

1944 loosened its hold on the Italian peninsula.

I came back to flying missions with no drop off in efficiency.

We had several new guys who demonstrated the ability to

learn, showed leadership potential, and had the courage to endure fierce enemy antiaircraft fire whose effectiveness continued to be awesome. I was not surprised that my airplane took

heavy damage on my first missions to marshalling yards in Po

Valley cities. The Germans were serious about making us pay

for the privilege. My reaction to facing lethal antiaircraft fire

again startled me. I found my system for dealing with personal

fear during my first year in combat needed some "tinkering" to

be effective during this last year. The fact that I chose to come

back to this dangerous occupation led me to wonder whether

God was ready to continue His role in keeping me safe. I finally

realized God was very good at His job. He did not need my help.

When I left everything in His hands, quit worrying, and slept

soundly, I regained my ability to control fear.

The Normandy landings on D-Day, 6 June 1944, gave Allied

forces a foothold on the European continent that they would not

relinquish. Coupled with Russian pressure on the Eastern front,

the southern France landing, "Operation Anvil," 15 August 1944,

tightened the noose on the Fatherland. The 57th Fighter Group

joined the Lafayette Esquadrille among other fighter units on

Corsica in supporting the southern France invasion.

I led the first of four sections of four P-47s on a night takeoff from Alto timed to arrive in the target area 30 minutes before dawn. I had as my target the road and rail complex near

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

Aix, a town northeast of Marseille, where there were a supply

depot and German troops. The railroad marshalling yard was

busy with trains preparing to depart. I identified the supply

depot from a target photo as we approached from the south.

We caught antiaircraft defenders napping so we rolled in on an

ideal dive-bombing run. We put eight 500-pound bombs directly

on the target destroying it.

Off the bomb run, I had seen a long train moving out of the

marshalling yard. I told Chad Reade, my wingman, to take

spacing. We would hit the train with two or three strafing

passes. I stopped the double locomotive on our first pass and

continued around for another. Until now, the Germans had not

subjected us to defensive fire. There was a dry riverbed south

of the track leading out of town. I was low and very fast, just

lining up my firing pass when I saw a huge barn door moving

away from a gun emplacement hidden in the riverbed. As I

passed directly over that spot, a 40-mm gun fired several

rounds, one of which hit my airplane somewhere behind the

cockpit. I felt the airplane shudder; the cockpit filled with smoke.

As I rolled the canopy back, the smoke cleared. Chad pulled up

on my wing, told me there was a large hole over the supercharger on the fuselage, forward of the tail. He could see daylight from one side to the other. When hit, I was about to stand

up to bail out but realized I was much too low. The engine was

still running. Chad saw no more smoke so the fire was out. We

decided to turn gingerly back to Corsica in a gentle climb. We

suspected the gunfire had damaged the control cables for rudder and elevators in that area. In fact, only one each elevator

and rudder cable continued to function. Still in one piece, the

airplane was flyable. To get it home would require a very gentle touch on the controls. Once again, we alerted the air rescue

guys to the possibility of a bail out rather than a safe landing

with this new but badly damaged P-47. We decided not to increase airspeed in the descent because the now fragile tail section might separate from the fuselage. Chad told me later there

was no sign of structural support that he could identify from

his examination of the damaged area. When I put the gear handle in the down position, the main gear fell out and locked but

the tail wheel remained up and locked. Hydraulic fluid from

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OPERATION STRANGLE

lines in the area of the supercharger had caused the fire and

smoke. We let the others land, then, with Chad on my wing, we

came around for a smooth no-flap touchdown. I held the tail off

the runway as long as possible. When it finally dropped, the

fuselage buckled at the point where the 40-mm projectile hit

the airplane. Chad's comment about no visible means of support was accurate. This airplane had flown for the last time. Although the P-47's structural integrity survived another test, I

believe God cushioned that airplane in the palm of His hand to

get us home safely.

The invasion of southern France made German defensive

positions along the Rhine river untenable, forcing them to retreat northward to avoid being cut off by Allied armies advancing broadly from west to east through France and the low

countries. Air support by our fighter units based in Corsica

now required a long haul rendering the effort impractical, so

we returned to the battle for Italy. In fact, most of our missions

against targets in the Po Valley required a much longer haul

than we preferred while we were operating from Corsica.

Engineers were preparing the airfield in Grosseto for the

57th Fighter Group. Allied air attacks had heavily damaged the

airfield while the Luftwaffe occupied it. We completed the move

to Grosseto in two steps, first, to Ombrone, a secondary airport further inland from Grosseto, on 17 September then to

Grosseto on 25 September 1944. The 57th Fighter Group operated from Grosseto through winter 1944 and the first four

months of 1945. A few miles away on the beach at Marina Di

Grosseto all three squadrons occupied beachfront properties

where we established our clubs and squadron headquarters.

For the first time since Vesuvius, we were not going to live in

tents. Changes in the command structure within the 64th

Squadron were in process. Maj Bob Barnum, an original Black

Scorpion, who had flown a P-40 off the aircraft carrier Ranger

across Africa to Cairo, was returning to replace Capt Lou Frank

as commander. Jim Novy had lost some enthusiasm for the

operations job and the pressure to put himself on the mission

schedule was beginning to wear thin. As his assistant, I ran

the shop, dealt with the flight commanders, scheduled myself

regularly on missions to represent the command section, and

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

flew with Major Barnum to acquaint him with the airplane as

well as changes since his first tour. Barney and I hit it off from

the first day. He made me his operations officer and the relationship became stronger every day through the final months

of the war in Europe.

Summer 1944 brought much change in personnel. Our sixman tent began at Amendola in October 1943 with Paul Carll,

Gus Keller, Bruce Abercrombie, George Blednick, Moe Raskin,

and Mike McCarthy. Of that group, Abercrombie and McCarthy

were back for second tours. Carll and Blednick returned to the

states. Moe Raskin was lost in the massive train explosion at

Ancona in October 1943. The population of our tent in Corsica

before the move to Grosseto included three 43-A originals, Keller,

Abercrombie, and McCarthy plus our flight surgeon, Lester A.

"Doc" Wall and George Wilson who had joined us at Amendola

in January 1944. We had one spot open, but the move to Marina Di Grosseto made that a moot point. Doc Wall was a great

asset to the flying community with a wonderful sense of humor.

More importantly, he understood the need to know each of us

who were under the pressure of daily combat missions. Doc,

Barney, the flight commanders, and I met often to discuss how

to track and help those who were showing signs of combat fatigue. We used a team approach, a concept far ahead of its

time, in finding ways to keep pilots healthy under stressful flying conditions.

The airfield at Grosseto had been home to several Luftwaffe

units during the past two years. Many damaged hulks, which

would never fly again, were silent witnesses to its operational

history. Ju 88s, He Ills, Fw 190s, and Me 109s were scattered around the airfield. One of our crew chiefs met me after

a test flight on a P-47 shortly after our arrival. On the way

back to operations, he showed me a B-25 which had landed

with a single engine functioning and had been abandoned or

forgotten by its squadron. The airplane was in nearly perfect

flying condition needing only an engine change and a test hop

to be operational. Apparently, a new engine was on order and

had just arrived along with P-47 engines for the 57th Fighter

Group. This crew chief had worked on B-25s before he left the

states, was familiar with the airplane, and had found flight

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OPERATION STRANGLE

and maintenance manuals on board. In addition, the previous

squadron had removed armor plate, guns, and ammo. No one

would be likely to use this airplane in a combat role again, but

it could be an ideal administrative support airplane for our

group. On that basis, I sold the idea to Barney and group operations. Our maintenance guys replaced the bad engine, reinstalled the propeller, ran up both engines, checked radios as

well as instruments, and found everything operational.

Before flying this airplane for the first time, I wanted to be

sure the landing gear system worked properly. The crew chief

was far ahead of me. He had scrounged a set ofjacks and a hydraulic mule from the service group and already had the airplane up on those jacks in a clean spot in our only hangar. The

landing gear functioned as advertised with gear doors closing

and opening smoothly in the correct sequence. I studied the

flight manual, which was quite skimpy in terms of essential information, but it outlined emergency procedures to follow for

engine failure, feathering of a propeller, fire in flight, and how

to extend the landing gear if the normal system failed.

The crew chief and I decided to make the first flight with me

in the left seat since there were no volunteers. Our preparations were adequate. We fired up both engines, cycled the radios, and received permission to high-speed taxi down the active runway to give me a feel for acceleration and braking. Now

there were only two unknowns—whether the new engine would

accept full takeoff power and could the guy in the left seat get

the airplane airborne and back on the runway safely. At the

absolute end of the runway, I held the brakes, ran both engines up to 30 inches of manifold pressure, rechecked gauges

in the green, released brakes, and moved throttles smoothly to

full power. Acceleration without armor plate, guns, or ammo

was impressive. We were off within 2,000 feet of runway. The

B-25, which I flew for 10 years in all weather conditions,

comes close to being the most responsive to a delicate touch of

all aircraft I have flown over some 60 years. I felt at home immediately. We wanted to put time on the factory new engine at

fairly high power settings. While waiting for engine temperatures to come back to normal levels indicating the engine was

breaking in correctly, I flew landing patterns well above the

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

airfield with gear and flaps down to confirm pattern speeds. I

also needed a precise final approach airspeed because this airplane was much lighter without armor plate, guns, and ammo.

I flew a final traffic pattern in the landing configuration, leveled off, brought the nose up, reduced power slowly, and held

the landing attitude until the airplane stalled. Now I had good

numbers for final approach and over-the-fence speeds. I flew

a slightly larger pattern for this first landing so we could stabilize airspeeds, note power settings, and select an approach

angle which would allow me to flare with power in the overrun

for a smooth nose-high touchdown in the first 1,000 feet. That

happened in large part because the airspeeds were perfect.

The last piece to the puzzle was to decide when to fly the nose

wheel down to the runway. This procedure had to begin before

the elevator lost effectiveness or the nose would fall some 15

feet to the runway risking collapse of a relatively fragile nosewheel strut. The crew chief and I built a set of checklists for

those in the group who would maintain or fly the B-25. I flew

with one pilot from each unit. They were responsible to familiarize their guys. The crew chief followed a similar procedure

in assembling a maintenance team. Our checkout procedures

worked well. Until the war ended, the 57th flew that B-25 without an accident or incident over the Mediterranean to Malta,

Cairo, Nice, Tripoli, Rome, and Naples.

We were heading towards our second Italian winter. There

were differences. We had made much progress. The Wehrmacht had been dislodged finally from high ground north of

Naples and pushed beyond Rome past the Arno River cities of

Pisa and Florence to the Appenines where their stubborn defense of mountainous terrain would again delay significant Allied advances to Bologna and the Po Valley until spring 1945.

After the war, I was assigned as the first Air Force instructor (since Gen Hap Arnold in 1939) on the staff and faculty in

the department of Tactics at the Cavalry School, Fort Riley,

Kansas. In reviewing my experience in Italy to find examples

to explain the basic principles of airpower, I came to appreciate the wisdom of our air commanders who retained control of

all air units in the theater.

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OPERATION STRANGLE

Instead of allocating the air assets to various Army units,

planners applied our resources against the enemy in accordance with these principles. First, establish and maintain air

superiority. Second, interdict the enemy's logistic capability and

lines of communication. Third, provide close air support (CAS)

to our own ground forces in direct contact with enemy forces.

With the Luftwaffe only an intermittent threat to Allied air

superiority in the Italian theater, we focused on attacking his

logistic base especially lines of communication from Germany

through the Brenner Pass and the Po Valley to minimize resupply of his defense forces. Except for Salerno and Anzio

beachheads, Allied forces had not requested application of airpower in the role of CAS of troops in contact with enemy forces.

Now the American Tenth Mountain Division, determined to

break through German defense of high ground north of the

Arno River, wanted fighter-bomber units available on airborne

alert to provide accurate, heavy firepower against dug-in enemy

positions. Army and air commanders approved the concept in

a top-level meeting. Implementation was delegated to a team

composed of the Tenth Mountain Division operations staff and

operations representatives of those fighter groups tasked for

close support. We had delivered firepower earlier in the Italian

campaign close to our own troops but only with clearly identified targets and known friendly troop positions. In mountains

north of the Arno River, it would be difficult to mark enemy

targets or know with certainty the position of our own units.

The effort to provide more accurate CAS included such

equipment as an Army jeep equipped with air and ground radios and the addition of an experienced fighter pilot (either a

flight commander or operations officer) from a participating

squadron to act as the forward air controller (FAC). Hisjob would

be to communicate with frontline division command posts

about their priority targets and pass on accurate descriptions

and location coordinates as well as information on the closest

friendly troops to an airborne P-47 formation. The tough part

was to mark the target with smoke for the P-47 leader. That

exercise usually required repetition to be certain the target remained identified. Twelve fighter squadrons tasked for close

support operations took turns deploying the FAC to frontline

85
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

units engaged in the ground battle. The air commander reserved the right to reallocate airpower assets to air superiority

or interdiction targets. My turn to be the FAC came in January 1945. The Tenth Mountain Division had trained in winter

conditions. They were at home in bad weather on slippery

slopes and knew how to operate on snowshoes. All were proficient skiers. Comfortable in mountainous terrain, they were able

to pressure the Wehrmacht enough to force a slow, steady retreat. During winter 1944, the Germans held high ground, sustaining the stalemate, until the Allies mounted effective operations in better weather. We developed new operating procedures

to respond to close air support requests in timely fashion. Normally, armed recce missions to Brenner Pass and Po Valley targets consisted of 12 or 16 ships. Approaching the Arno River,

the mission leader checked in with the FAC who would assign

popup targets (if any) to one four-ship section. In most cases, the

remaining 12-ship formation would continue to the Po Valley.

Another option was to include CAS missions as part of a specific ground offensive operation and schedule four-ship sections

each day on airborne alert to be available when needed.

I remember reporting for FAC duty to the frontline division

command post. I joined the division staff meeting at night in

total darkness, convinced that a productive result under such

circumstances was impossible. I underestimated my hosts.

With flashlights for illumination, they pinpointed current positions on detailed maps, outlined the next day's objectives,

and assigned potential targets for the P-47s allocated to the

close support mission. Professional and efficient, primitive accommodations available on the front did not deter them. I

found it difficult to adjust to visual limitations at ground level.

Although the learning curve was steep, I found a way to relate

specific positions in mountainous terrain to available maps.

A standard P-40 bomb load was two 250-pounders carried

on fuselage centerline. The P-40 wing stations could not carry

weapons or fuel tanks without major redesign of the entire

weapon system. The P-47 carried two 500-pounders easily,

one on each wing station. In its evolution as the most effective

fighter-bomber of the war, we added two and one-half inch

rockets with plastic tubes but found that accuracy was poor

86
OPERATION STRANGLE

due to deformation of tubes in flight. It was common to have

one of six rockets perform an aerobatic loop instead of tracking to the target. Accuracy improved when metal rails replaced

plastic tubes. Anticipating the need for more firepower, we

tested 1,000-pound bombs, one on each wing station. Our armament section modified bomb racks for the larger bomb.

After World War II, the Air Force assigned weapons test and

development to a specific organization capable of doing the right

things to marry weapons with air vehicles to assure aerodynamic compatibility. In winter 1944, combat units in Europe

did not have access to that kind of data unless we developed

it on our own. Our testing was reduced to finding whether or

not the air vehicle could get off the runway with full fuel and

two big bombs, whether the bombs would release safely and

reliably from wing stations, and what sight adjustments were

needed to hit a target.

My P-47 was new and fast with a smooth-running engine

that performed well on a morning mission to the Po Valley.

Flak was heavy and accurate as usual. On landing, halfthe flight

had damage. For the first time in several missions, I had escaped. For the test, both bombs were unfused. On run-up—

everything was normal—gauges were in the green and the engine

was smooth and responsive. At full throttle, manifold pressure

was a tad low but I hit the water injection switch anyway. The

engine surged normally. I released brakes, but my acceleration peaked before reaching takeoff speed. Unable to stop or

fly before the end of the runway, I jettisoned the bombs and

leaped into the air with ease. After landing, a careful inspection revealed bullet holes in the fuselage skin and internal

punctures in the turbocharger that explained the critical loss

in acceleration. My airplane had not escaped damage on that

morning trip to the Po Valley.

Another set of bombs on a different airplane gave us the anticipated outcome. After takeoff, I accelerated to climb speed,

flew past Napoleon's exile island of Elba toward Corsica, and

set up a dive-bombing pattern to those isolated rocks we used

for bombing practice when we flew from Alto. Using the release

airspeed and sight picture that worked well with smaller

bombs, I put both 1,000-pound bombs on target. Now we had

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

increased the capability of the P-47 to destroy a wider range of

targets and inflict more damage.

During early spring 1944, while operating from Corsica, we

modified several airplanes in each squadron with color cameras in the wing pylons to record actual battle damage for use

with the documentary movie, Thunderbolt, directed by William

Wyler. The movie focused on the excellent air-to-ground work by

the 57th Fighter Group during Operation Strangle. We found the

photos valuable in assessing mission effectiveness, especially

the need to restrike important targets. Long after the Thunderbolt film was finished, the modified pylons continued to be a

positive combat tool that we used through the rest of the airto-ground war.

We had learned how to avoid many of the German flak batteries en route to target areas. Over the front lines, the Brenner

Pass, and certain parts of the Po Valley, the Germans had become more accurate with 88-mm guns using proximity fuses set

to explode as shells came close rather than only on contact. Our

world had become more dangerous. Even though the Wehrmacht was retreating across all fronts in Europe, German forces

were still capable of major offensive operations like the Battle

of the Bulge in the Ardennes, and the famous siege of Bastogne during terrible flying weather in December 1944. The

end of this Second World War was no longer in doubt. The Allies would certainly prevail, but the German ability to fight the

defensive battle with ferocious stubbornness would persist

until its final days.

In this last Italian winter of the war, clouds layered to 20,000

feet often characterized typical wet, cold weather. Although we

did not have an instrument recovery system on the ground or

in the airplanes, we were still able to fly effective missions despite pervasive instrument conditions. If cloud tops were low

enough to let us identify the Appenines' peaks south of Bologna

and the Alps near Brenner Pass, we could find Po Valley, pick

safe headings, and usually descend with reasonable room and

visibility to find, bomb, and strafe targets. The Germans did not

expect us to fly in such weather. Also we had a target option if

cloud layers obscured mountain tops.

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OPERATION STRANGLE

A primitive radio direction finding system allowed two or

more radio transmitters to pinpoint the formation and provide

headings to Bologna where we would release bombs on a

countdown. Railroad marshalling yards in Bologna were the

target of choice. It was a matter of luck, certainly, but we did

some real damage at least once with this system.

In instrument conditions, the key survival skills were leaders who could fly smoothly, think clearly, hold accurate headings, and keep track of time down to seconds. Wingmen had

to have the concentration and faith to hold close formation for

extended periods in heavy weather. When it was time to head

home from Po Valley, we rejoined in four-ship sections to climb

on top of the clouds, collect the three or four sections of aircraft,

orient ourselves with mountain peaks for the return heading,

then start back to Grosseto. Grosseto's ground radio transmitter

had direction-finding capability. Within range, the tower operator could determine the compass reading of our transmissions

and tell us when we passed the airfield. At that point, it was

safe to lose altitude on that outbound heading over the Mediterranean Sea.

My technique in penetrating the overcast was to place the

three or four sections in trail flying close formation. Below the

clouds or at a specific altitude, I rolled into a 30-degree right

bank for 90 degrees of turn then rolled into a 30-degree left

bank for 270 degrees of turn to reverse course back to the

coastline and then to the airport. In this way, we invented procedures to let us penetrate weather safely to find the airport

despite lack of navigational radios or a precision instrument

recovery system. Of course, there were many days when weather

conditions were literally impossible across the entire Italian

peninsula, southern France, and the Mediterranean and Adriatic Seas. During those extended bad weather periods, even

sea gulls had the good sense to stay on the ground. I remember coming home on top of a solid undercast hoping to hear

Grosseto radio tell me when I was in range that their ceiling

was at least 1,000 feet with two miles of visibility underneath

the clouds. That was marginal, but anything worse would

make recovery of 12 to 16 airplanes, all low on fuel, a dangerous operation. The fact that we always found the field in bad

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

weather without losing anyone is clear evidence that the age of

miracles and the power of prayer were both alive and well during that period and are, in my mind, available today to those who

pray with faith and a sincere heart.

In these last months of the war, targets in the Po Valley and

the Brenner Pass became critical to the ability of the German

forces to keep the lines of communication to and from Germany open. If the Allies succeeded in shutting down the road

and railroad complex through the Brenner Pass, the Germans

could no longer resupply their forces in Italy. More importantly, those forces would be unable to return home except by

crossing the Alps—a frightening prospect for every conqueror

throughout European history. In their determination to keep

the pass viable and open, the Germans literally lined the sides

of the Alps looking into the pass with their best guns in quantities we found unbelievable. It became virtually impossible to

dive-bomb bridges, trucks, trains, roads, marshalling yards, or

power plants effectively without accepting certain damage on

nearly every P-47 in the attacking formations. We tried every

trick in the book to disguise our intentions but without success. Finally, we sent at least one section with rockets and

guns to attack defensive positions on mountainsides just as

our dive-bombing sections were rolling in, disrupting concentration of some batteries. Brenner Pass remained the most dangerous target area any air-to-ground fighter pilot had ever seen.

The P-47 took those 88- and 40-mm shells, not with impunity,

but more often than not, flew back home when any other machine would have quit. We lost airplanes and pilots, certainly,

but we destroyed our targets in the Brenner Pass in spite of innovative, stubborn antiaircraft defenses.

I remember one dive-bombing run. After releasing two good

bombs on a bridge with excellent results, I decided to continue

down the pass retaining my high speed instead of losing it by

climbing, our usual tactic. Telling my guys to follow, I went full

throttie, saw almost 500 mph on the airspeed indicator, flipped

the water injection switch on the throttle to get another seven

inches of manifold pressure, and dropped the nose a tad to get

even more speed. Now I was flying faster than these gunners

expected from the P-47. Their inability to adjust quickly let me

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OPERATION STRANGLE

literally outrun the shells. I knew there was a break in the

mountain on one side that would lead me to one of the Italian

lakes away from those persistent gunners. When my fiveminute water tank ran dry, I lost the extra thrust and my airplane slowed perceptibly. I looked around in the cockpit for

any way to get more speed. With everything full forward, I

wound the clock on the panel knowing it was fruitless, but I

felt better because I had done everything possible. I found the

mountain pass to the lake, continued down to just above the

water, eased the throttle back, and looked out on both sides to

find the rest of my section still with me rejoining smoothly in

formation. We surprised the Germans, hit our targets, and

avoided serious damage. It was a great mission. Climbing out

of the Po Valley to cross the Appenines on the way home, each

of the guys pulled up on my wing to give me a "thumbs up"

signal, an unexpected, yet deeply appreciated gesture.

The combination of instrument flying conditions and difficult navigation to and from dangerous targets protected by determined antiaircraft batteries kept stress levels high for all

those who had to deal with these tough missions. Barney, Doc

Wall, and I looked for ways to relieve the pressure and agreed

that a Christmas party might be a wonderful, enjoyable experience for everyone. Counting 1942 at Luke Field, this would

be my third year-end holiday away from home. Many of the

hardworking enlisted guys would be looking at their third consecutive year in this combat area as would Jim Lynch, executive officer; Fred Ryan, engineering officer; and Peter Mitchell,

armament officer. Doc Wall knew the nursing staff at our USA

military hospital in Grosseto and would invite them to a formal evening at our officers' club on the beach. I offered to fly

the B-25 to Malta to pick up "essential" liquid refreshment for

all three squadrons. Malta had been home to worldwide traders

throughout its history and had demonstrated on this trip its

dedication to perpetuating that legacy by delivering to the airplane the best available product for the best price, on time, as

promised.

The flight down the Italian coastline over the beautiful

Mediterranean was smooth with a high overcast and good visibility in steady light rain. I chose to cruise at 5,000 feet and

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

trimmed the B-25 carefully so that it held its heading and altitude with little attention from the guy in the left seat. I synchronized the props so that both engines were turning at exactly the same revolutions per minute (RPM). With both engines

humming without the annoying audible beat of one out-of-sync

prop and the air smooth as silk, it was an opportunity for the

guys to get a much-deserved nap. I told my copilot to do the

same, that I would wake him in 40 minutes to get a share of

that delicious nap while he took care of the flying. We were far

from the fighting with no need to search the skies for the Luftwaffe on our way to a night on the town in Valletta. We planned

to enjoy the hospitality that Malta extended to traders throughout its history.

Our Christmas party was a wonderful evening. All the officers

wore class A uniforms which had been cleaned and pressed

especially for this event. The nurses from our hospital were also

dressed to the "nines" adding a festive note to the happy occasion. Barney unveiled a plaque that listed the names of all officers who had been part of the Black Scorpions including

those lost in action, missing, or prisoners of war. It was a particularly emotional part of the evening as we paid tribute to

those who served our country unselfishly.

I had picked a young, bright first lieutenant to be my assistant operations officer. He had been an outstanding flight commander who took care of his guys and demonstrated unusual

leadership qualities. P. M. Hall also seemed to be a magnet for

88-mm flak. He had already brought two heavily damaged P-47s

back to Grosseto that could not land safely on the runway. He

belly-landed both beautifully on the beach at Marina Di Grosseto

within walking distance of our squadron building. Before the

war ended, "Pranger" Hall would add two more P-47s to his victory list. P. M. survived the war but continued his penchant for

crash landing good flying machines and, finally, bailed out of

a P-80 in Alaska in frigid winter conditions. He did not survive.

The country lost another great fighter pilot.

Not long into the New Year, Barney called all officers to a

special meeting. This was unusual. I could not remember

when it had happened before. Barney opened with the latest

news about Allied problems in Europe with winter weather,

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OPERATION STRANGLE

the Battle of the Bulge, and the surprising ability of the Germans to mount a viable offensive effort when they should have

already depleted their resources. With that out of the way,

Barney called me to the front of the room, put me in a brace,

and talked about my shocking inability to complete even the

simplest tasks on time, but he was willing to give me a second

chance. Maj Jim Lynch then read the official order promoting

this guy from Boston to major. Barney and Jim each donated

a set of gold leaves along with the admonition to get into the

proper uniform.

As the calendar moved toward spring, flying weather improved and the pace of operations increased. We needed to upgrade more element and section leaders in accordance with

our long-standing policy. Wingmen had to demonstrate the

ability to handle additional responsibility. My strongest flight

commander had a young, exuberant second lieutenant assigned

to him. The lieutenant flew the airplane well, but his lack of

good judgment—the ability to think and make good decisions

under pressure—marked him as immature, not ready for leadership. His flight commander, believing recent performance

merited another shot, scheduled him as element leader on the

next mission to Brenner Pass. Watching closely as the formation joined up smoothly in one circle around the field I noticed,

with growing concern, the last element closing quickly with too

much of a cutoff angle. Fortunately, 'Tail-End Charlie" was unable to catch this element leader and that saved his life. In the

next seconds, our young element leader, with an excessive closure rate and too much speed, slammed into the section leader's

wingman. Both airplanes locked together, fell away from the

formation, burst into flames, and hit the ground. Neither pilot

had a chance to escape. We lost two pilots and two airplanes

in the space of one minute. Fortunately, four unarmed 1,000-

pound bombs did not explode in the midair collision or our

losses would have been catastrophic. I blame myself for failing

to follow my convictions. I learned from that experience that responsible leadership demands tough decisions. I should have

intervened, but I did not.

It was clear from Allied advances in Europe that Germany,

facing certain defeat, could not continue much longer. Until

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AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

they ran out of antiaircraft ammo, every mission into Brenner

Pass would be dangerous. Heading into the Easter weekend

there was no let up in daily missions. Good Friday, 30 March

1945, was just another day with a full schedule. I led the first

mission with a crack-of-dawn takeoff, hitting the target area

with the sun low in the east and our target for the day still in

darkness. I decided to approach from the east, fast, level with

the tops of the Alps hoping to take advantage of the early hour

to maximize surprise. Passing over a distinctive mountain peak,

beyond which was our target railroad complex at the bottom

of the pass, we pulled up sharply, rolled inverted into our steep

dive, surprised the gunners, managed several direct hits, and

escaped down the pass at high speed avoiding much of the

heavy flak. Rejoining over my favorite Italian lake, we stayed

low searching for rail and road traffic. At that early hour, we

found the Germans cheating by staying out past their dawn

curfew. We strafed trucks and several motorcycles including

one hiding in a haystack that departed just as I was passing

by. He was no match for a short burst from my eight guns. We

happened upon a train with one steam locomotive moving fast

in the open. I rolled in, fixed the pipper on his smoke stack,

squeezed another short burst, and watched with amazement

when my bullets hit the locomotive dead center, knocking it off

the track while the rest of the train continued as if the locomotive were still attached. In a short time, we destroyed the

rest of that train and rejoined while climbing out of Po Valley

heading to Grosseto. Our second mission to the pass was rolling

in on their attack as we reached cruising altitude on the way

back to Grosseto. The German flak batteries were fuUy awake.

One of our guys was hit badly. His airplane was still flying but,

listening to the radio chatter, there was doubt about making it

back to friendly territory before crash landing or bailing out.

We got back to Grosseto, landed without incident, debriefed,

and waited for the next mission to return. Leroy Hall nursed

his damaged P-47 to a point between Bologna and Florence in

the Appenines in friendly territory. He bailed out with a good

chute but broke a leg landing in the rough terrain. An Army

field hospital in the immediate area, alerted to the emergency

bail out, picked up Leroy within minutes. We had a message

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OPERATION STRANGLE

through channels a short time later confirming that Leroy was

in that field hospital and his leg would heal normally without

surgery.

Doc Wall, worried about one of his guys, asked me if he could

borrow a jeep with a driver to visit the hospital, a difficult trip

by road. We learned that the hospital, located at the 7,000-foot

level, had a functional ski-jump-type airstrip used to airlift patients, other personnel, or supplies. We had a small single engine L-5 in which I was current. There was plenty of daylight

left for the two-hour trip. With Doc Wall in the back seat, we

flew to Florence and landed at a racetrack to refuel at an Army

artillery observation unit. The commander graciously pinpointed

the hospital airstrip on a detailed map and reminded me to

land into the mountain and depart down the ski jump. The

weather was clear with excellent visibility. I found the airstrip

easily, circled carefully, and set up my approach to land. As I

rolled out on final, a strong crosswind blowing from right to left

made it obvious that I could not land on that approach. With

full throttle at that high altitude, the L-5 was working hard to

hold flying speed just above the treetops. We were holding our

own, gaining speed as we turned right to the downwind for a

second approach. At that critical moment, the struggling engine

quit. I brought the stick back to give us a nose-high landing

attitude and we settled into closely packed tree tops, perhaps

the best landing I could have made under those conditions.

There was no fire, the engine came back almost to my lap. Doc

hit the X-shaped cross bar between the seats. No broken bones,

but collision with the glare shield forced the rim of my sunglasses to split my left eyelids above and below the eye with no

damage to the eye itself. Fortunately, at this remote location,

one of the few surgeons capable of delicately reconnecting the

myriad oftiny muscles necessary for a functioning eyelid system

was available and operated on me successfully. When I awakened after surgery, Doc, Leroy, and I were side by side. My last

memory of the accident was the silence after the engine quit

as we settled into the trees. Because of the delicate nature of

the surgery, I remained in the field hospital until my surgeon

was satisfied that no further surgery would be necessary. Doc

and Leroy were released in a few days to return by ambulance

95
AIR-TO-GROUND BATTLE FOR ITALY

to Grosseto. That little L-5 is the only airplane I did not bring

back to a runway in a flying career that has lasted 60 years

and continues to this day with more than 14,000 hours. I suspect the engine was the victim of carburetor icing due to my

mismanagement of the carburetor heat control and complicated by operating at the unusual 7,000-foot altitude of that

mountain airstrip. It proves the accuracy of a familiar adage,

"Aviation is terribly unforgiving of any mistake especially those

of the stupid variety." I was under medical observation until

the end of April 1945.

When the world learned of the death of President Roosevelt

on 13 April, I remember wondering about the impact of that

event on the resolution of the peace process following the end

of this climactic world war. During the month of April, the

three squadrons flew from Villa Franca north of Venice close

to Brenner Pass, a location that enabled missions to be flown

into Bavaria if required. By the time I returned to flying status

at the end of April, our three squadrons came back to Grosseto where we remained through Victory in Europe (VE) day

and the celebrations that followed. The 57th Fighter Group,

selected to be part of the support package for the invasion of

Japan, was on the high seas en route to the Pacific when the

Japanese surrendered 15 August 1945. Rerouted to Boston, the

group arrived a few days later in time to participate in one of

the great celebrations of the twentieth century. I left the group

after VE day, arrived in June, processed through Atlantic City,

and found myself scheduled to be a FAC in the air support

package for the Japanese invasion force. My life expectancy

improved dramatically while attending the air ground operations school at Key Field, Mississippi, when Japan quit after

two nuclear bombs were dropped at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

96
Index

20th Tactical Fighter Wing, 24

324th Fighter Group, 25

337th Fighter Group, 11

51st Fighter Group, 25

57th Fighter Group, 21-22, 25, 28, 47,

58, 67, 70-71, 78-79, 81-82, 88, 96

64th Squadron, 22, 67, 72, 77, 81

99th Fighter Squadron, 26

A-20, 16, 18-20

Abercrombie, Bruce, 26, 48, 59, 76, 78,

82

Africa, 11, 15-16, 19-22, 24, 45, 48, 50,

58, 66, 81

Africa Corps, 16, 20-21, 45, 48

air superiority, 55, 79, 85-86

Aix, 80

Algeria, 20, 25

Allied VI Corps, 68

Alto, 71, 75, 77, 79, 87

Amendola, 48, 58, 60-62, 66-67, 82

American Tenth Mountain Division, 85

Ancona, 61, 82

antiaircraft weapons, 45

Anzio, 68-70, 76, 79, 85

Appenines, 71, 79, 84, 88, 91, 94

Arcola, 67, 69, 71

armed recce, 56, 61, 63, 68, 71, 74, 76,

86

Arno, 71, 76, 79, 84-86

Arno River, 71, 76, 79, 84-86

AT-6, 8-9, 11-12

Atlantic City, 78, 96

Australia, 58

B-17, 78

B-24, 58

B-25, 16, 68, 70, 74, 82-84, 91-92

Bari, 58

Barnum, Maj Bob, 81

Bastia, 69, 71

Bavaria, 45, 96

Bilby, Maj Buck, 22, 24, 46

Black Scorpions, 24, 59, 92

Blednick, George, 26, 48, 52, 59, 82

Bologna, 76, 84, 88-89, 94

Bolsena, Lake, 73

boot camp, 1, 78

Boston, 1, 11, 26, 51, 78, 93, 96

Boston Latin School, 1, 26

Brandon, Gerry, 23

Brenner Pass, 45, 85-86, 88, 90, 93-94,

96

Britain, 55, 58, 60, 65

British Eighth Army, 20, 45, 58

BT-13 Vultee "Vibrator", 5-6

Byrne, Rocky, 23, 27

C-47, 8, 21, 52, 66, 77

C-54, 14-15

Cairo, 16, 18, 20-21, 25, 48, 81, 84

Canada, 58

Capadochino, 66-67

Cape Bon, 13, 20-21, 23-28, 45, 52

Capri, 66

Carefree, 4-5

Carll, Paul, 26, 48, 52, 59, 65, 76, 78, 82

Causeway, 28

celestial navigation, 15

Class 43-A, 1, 11, 26, 48, 61, 76

close air support (CAS), 71, 85-86

Coast Guard Women's Reserves, 78

Corsica, 11, 50, 65, 69, 71, 73-75, 77-82,

87-88

Dale Mabry Field, 14

Davis, Lt Col Ben O., 26

DC-4, 15

D-Day, 79

Denneler, Buck, 51

dive-bombing, 13, 26, 46, 48, 60, 71,

73-74, 80, 87, 90

Duck Butt, 47

Egypt, 22-23

Eighth Air Force, 60

Eighth Army, 20, 45-46, 58

El Fasher, 18-20

El Kabrit, 21

Exon, Capt Art, 48, 53

Exon, Maj Art, 72

Fairlamb, Capt George, 21

fear, 7, 49-52, 79

flak, 46-48, 54-56, 60-61, 65, 74,

87-88, 92, 94

Florence, 71, 84, 94-95

Foggia, 48, 54-55, 58-61, 66

formation flying, 13, 73, 89

Fort Lamy, 18-19

97
Fort Riley, 84

forward air controller (FAC), 85-86, 96

Frank, Capt Lou, 72, 76, 81

Fudge, Lt Don, 12-14

Fw 190, 21, 73

Glendale, 1

Gold Coast, 15

Grosseto, 80, 82, 92

gunnery, 13

Gustav, 58, 61

Haines, Capt Risley, 27

Hall, 1st Lt P. M. "Pranger", 94

He 111, 82

Hogan, Margaret, 78

Hurricane, 57

Italy, 2, 4, 6-8, 11-12, 14, 16, 18, 20,

22, 24, 26, 28, 45-63, 65-68, 70, 72,

74, 76, 78, 80-82, 84, 86, 88, 90, 92,

94, 96

Japan, 96

Ju 52, 21

Ju 88, 23, 27

Jug, 65

Kairouan, 22, 25, 52

Kano, 18-19

Keller, Gus, 26, 48, 60, 82

Key Field, 96

Khartoum, 18-20

Kowalski, Gene, 57

L-5, 95-96

Lafayette Esquadrille, 75, 79

Lagos, 16, 21

Lake Bolsena, 73

Lampedusa, 53

Libya, 22-23

Liebing. Ed, 68

lines of communication, 85, 90

logistic capability, 85

Los Angeles, 1

Lucas, Maj Gen John P., 68

Luftwaffe, 22-26, 55, 59-60, 72, 76,

81-82, 85, 92

Luke Field, 8, 48, 91

Lynch, Jim, 91, 93

Malta, 28, 46, 58, 66, 84, 91-92

Manfredonia, 60

Marana, 5, 7-9

Marcum, "Stovebolt", 23

Marina Di Grosseto, 81-82, 92

Marseille, 80

Martin, Roy, 2

Maxwell Air Force Base, 24, 48

Me 109, 24-25, 27, 56, 60, 63, 73

Me 110, 21, 23

Messina Straits, 45^9, 55

Miami, 14

Middleditch, Lyman, 23

Milano, 76

Mitchell, Peter, 91

Mobbs, George, 23

Monte Cassino, 67-68, 70, 75, 79

Montgomery, Gen Bernard L., 16, 45

Mostar, 59-60

Mount Etna, 45, 56

Murphy, Arthur, 11

Naples, 7, 54-56, 58, 66-67, 69, 77-78,

84

navigation, 15, 91

Neese, Charlie, 26

Novy, Capt Jim, 76, 78, 81

Nuding, Bill, 26-27

Ombrone, 81

Oran, 78

P-40, 11-13, 15-16, 18, 20, 23-26,

46-47, 49-51, 56, 62-63, 65, 68, 81,

86

P-47, 49, 63, 65-66, 68-70, 72, 77,

80-82, 85-88, 90, 94

Pachino, 28, 46, 48

Palermo, 45

Pantelleria, 26

Patton, Gen George S. Jr., 45

photo recce, 71

pierced steel planking (PSP), 46, 71

pipper, 54-56, 63, 73-74, 94

Ploestl, 60

Po Valley, 45, 65, 69, 71, 76, 78-79, 81,

84-91, 94

Pompeii, 69

radio navigation, 15

Ranger, 23, 48, 81

Raskin, Moe, 48, 60, 62, 82

Reade, Chad, 72, 80

Rocco Bernardo, 57

Rome, 58, 68, 71-74, 76, 79, 84

Rommel, Gen Erwin, 16

Royal Air Force (RAF), 27-28, 47, 57, 62,

76

Ryan, Fred, 91

98
Salerno, 56-57, 85

Salisbury, Col Art, 24, 46, 65

Santa Ana Army Air Base, 1

Sarajevo, 59

Sarasota, 11-12, 48

Scordla, 47, 53-56

Scottsdale, 4

Sfax, 22

Shore, Dinah, 9

Sicily, 11, 14, 21-22, 24, 26-28, 45-47,

50, 52, 55-56, 66

Sousse, 22

South Africa, 58

SPARS, 78

Spitfire, 25, 27-28

Split Harbor, 59

Stearman, 3, 5

Suez Canal, 21

Tanner, Lieutenant, 5-7

Tenth Mountain Division, 85-86

Termoli, 58, 67

Thunderbird One, 1, 8

Thunderbird Two, 4-5

Thunderbolt, 88

Trinidad, 15

Tripoli, 28, 52, 84

Tunis, 25, 48

Tunisia, 22-23, 25

Turin, 76

Tuskegee, Alabama, 26

United States, 58-59, 77-78

Valletta, 92

Vesuvius, 67-70, 81

Victory in Europe (VE), 96

Villa Franca, 96

Wadi Haifa, 18, 21

Wall, Lester A. (Doc), 82, 91, 95

Watson, Lieutenant, 7

Wehrmacht, 56, 79, 84, 86, 88

Wethersfield, England, 24

Wilson, George, 82

Wyler, William, 88

Yellownose Squadron, 70

99
Air-to-Ground Battle for Italy

Air University Press Team

ChiefEditor

Emily J. Adams

Copy Editor

Lula Barnes

Cover Art and Book Design

Steven C. Garst

Illustrations

L. Susan Fair

Composition and

Prepress Production

Vivian D. O'Neal

Print Preparation

Joan Hickey

Distribution

Diane Clark
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Brig Gen Michael C. McCarthy wrote this World War II memoir

^ofä^ißrperspective as a fighter pilot who flew two years with one

.^'si^atifpn first in the P-40 then P-47. During the war, he pro-

^ssed^tträMajor and acting squadron commander. He began

^,^uÄürfi'ng^a|t^ggart'Harbor in the Army Aviation Cadet program

s» M*«srfÄ&ed'with P-40 training in Florida. With some of his

n i.~.» classmates;- he traveled through equatorial Africa ferrying P-40s

,. to Cäirb arid Cape Bon to join the 57th Fighter Group. This

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^9^*,--fnree-part story, set primarily in Italy, captures fears, uncertain-

^^^^^^^^•ac'cöinplishments of ordinary Americans involved in ex-

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Brig Gen Michael C. McCarthy, USAF,

retired, a Bostonian, enlisted in the Aviation Cadet program after Pearl Harbor,

completed training, and joined the 57th

Fighter Group in Africa in April 1943.

After two years of combat flying in the

P-40 and P-47, this 23-year-old major

stayed in service and completed 30 years

with many command, staff, and operational assignments. During the Cold War,

this jet fighter squadron commander

stood alert with his pilots during the Suez

crisis in 1956 while two superpowers

pondered nuclear devastation. Promoted

to general officer in 1969, he retired in

1972.

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