The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1945-01-19

| reaQ the teCnnlCal mes ana learned
every little item about the Allison
engine and the engine controls.
memorized the armament section Of
the book, and by morning I was
ready to put theory into practice and
test it out.
That morning I found a painter.
Buying red and white paint from the
village, I had him paint the sharks
mouth on the lower nose of the Cur
tiss Kittyhawk. On that afternoon
of April 30, / remember that as
/ waited for the paint to dry I
walked round and round my ship,
admiring the graceful lines, feel
ing Of pride in my heart. I gloried
in the slender fuselage, in the knife
like edges of the little wings. The
sharp nose Of the spinner looked like
an arrow to me-the nose that
sloped back to the leering sharks
mouth. At sight Of the wicked-look-
ing blast tubes of the six fifty-calibre
guns in the wings, ! felt my chest
expand another inch. This was
shark-nosed dynamite, all right-but
even then did not quite realize
what weapon this fighter ship could
be when properly handled.
don't know how long I walked
around the fighter admiring it and
caressing its wicked-looking body. I
know the paint on the sharks mouth
hadn't dried yet-but I'd held the
suspense as long as could. This
was as if I were rolling old sherry
around on my tongue; sometime I
had to really taste it. Now, STEP
ping on the walkway of the left wing,
I threw first one leg and then the
other over the side of the fuselage
and slid into the little cockpit of the
fighter. AS I adjusted the rudder
pedals and fastened my safety belt,
l PINNED the engine a few shots.
Turning on the toggle switches, I
energized and engaged the starter
with my foot, and now heard the
Allison break into a steady roar as
/ moved the mixture control from
"idle cutoff" Out in front of me-a
long distance, it seemed-the heavy,
eleven-foot, three-bladed prop be-
came gray blur in my vision. An
Allison, or any high-powered engine,
doesn't have to warm up, and idling
will soon foul the plugs. I was taxy-
ing almost as soon as the engine
settled down to the steady roar.
Very proudly TAXED out for my
first take-off in the new Kittyhawk.
All around me on the airdrome I
could feel the jealous eyes of every
American and British pilot, even
those of the earth-bound coolies-or
at least my ego thought it felt their
| looks.
| During the test flight over the
dark green acres of Assam tea gar
dens, sweeping low over the Brah-
maputra and then climbing steeply
for the Maya Hills, contemplated
with keen, anticipation the wonderful
days that lay ahead. Here was no
defenseless transport, no numbering
and unwieldy four-engine bomber
here was fighting weapon, with
heart and soul like the other COM
bat ships. But more than that, here
was an instrument of war with a
distinct individuality, a temporal
mental devil of the skies. Truly like
beautiful woman, it went smoothly
and sweetly at times; and then, as
speed increased, it might yaw dan.
| gerously as the pressures built up.
| Again, it could become completely
unstable. 1t had to be flown every
second of the time; ignore it for
one second and there was no auto
matte pilot to keep it on course,
no co-pilot to help you-it would fall
away and very soon would be out of
control. Yes, like a beautiful wom-
an, it demanded constant atten-
ton. There were no extra men,
bers in the crew to worry about,
and here in Assam there were no
other fighter ships to worry about.
We were both isolated individuals.
When I had landed and TAXED
back to my niche in the heavy jungle
trees surrounding the field,
climbed out and reverently patted
the ship on the cowling. The P-40
was fast becoming a personality to
me.
| NSAL Ody ISSlCQ lily guns anu
dropped aluminum-powder practice
bombs, bombs that leave a splash
of aluminium paint on the ground or
an aluminium slick on the water
where they hit, in order to show the
pilot how near he has come to the
target. / aimed at the black snags
in the river with the guns, then
came around again and tried to dive
and glide-bomb the snags with the
little bombs. / was trying to train
myself, trying to make up for the
four years that had been away
from pursuit aviation and from tao
teal training in the art of killing.
I needed lot of this gunnery and
bombing, for my life was very soon
to depend on it.
I'll never forget the first time I
pressed the trigger of my guns and
heard the co-ordinated roar of the
six fifty-calibre machine guns. Just
by pressing small black button be-
low the rubber grip on my stick I