In their own words...

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Living History Project Interview:
P-38 Pilot John Taylor

a 4 part video interview with a former p-38 pilot.

http://flightlinefabrications.com/bl...-pilot-series/

[bobbysocks]

an interview with tuskegee airman charles mcgee

Eugene Jacques Bullard, a former infantryman of the French Foreign Legion, set a precedent when he obtained his flying certificate on May 5, 1917, for it qualified him as the first black airman in American history. Significantly, however, the volunteer from Columbus, Georgia, had earned his flying status from the French Air Service, which he served as a fighter pilot in Escadrilles N.93 and Spa.85 from August 27 to November 11, 1917. Bullard's native United States would not allow black airmen to fight for their country until 1943, when the first of a contingent trained at Tuskegee, Alabama, were formed as the 99th Fighter Squadron and shipped out to North Africa. That unit and the 332nd Fighter Group that followed would prove their worth in the last two years of World War II.

Besides establishing an outstanding record for not losing a single bomber they escorted to enemy fighters, several of the Tuskegee Airmen went on to distinguished postwar careers in the U.S. Air Force. One of them was Colonel Charles Edward McGee, who shared highlights of his long career with Aviation History senior editor Jon Guttman.

Aviation History: Could you tell us something of your childhood and education?

McGee: I was born in Cleveland, Ohio, on December 7, 1919. My mother passed away at my sister's birth, when I was little over a year old. We spent time in Cleveland and with grandparents who were in Morgantown and Charleston, West Virginia. When I was in third grade, my father was teaching at Edward Waters College in Jacksonville, Florida. We spent a year there, then back to Cleveland until 1929, when he moved to Chicago, Illinois, where he was doing social work.

AH: Your father seems to have been a fairly prominent citizen.

McGee: Yes. In addition, he was an African Methodist Episcopal Church minister. We never had a lot, but I never remember being hungry or not being clean. I don't have any recollections of specific actions of bigotry, except that schools were segregated, and when we were in Florida, we lived in a small house that was out on the edge of town. Also, because of the level of schooling for blacks in the South, when we returned to Cleveland, I had to repeat third grade. I became a Boy Scout in Illinois, and when my father's ministry took him to Keokuk, Iowa, in the mid-1930s, I spent my second through senior years of high school there. In the fall of my senior year, he returned to south Chicago and I graduated from Du Sable High School in 1938. My family didn't have the money to send me to college then, so I worked for a year with the Civilian Conservation Corps in northern Illinois, where I learned engineering and contour farming. I was then able to attend the University of Illinois in 1940. I took engineering and was also in the Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) program and a member of the Pershing Rifles.

AH: What were your feelings when the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor–on your birthday–brought the United States into the war?

McGee: My father was preaching in a church in Gary, Indiana, in 1941, and I had taken a summer job in the steel mill there. I was also in the Coleridge Taylor Glee Club. We were driving to sing at a church in south Chicago at 4 that Sunday afternoon when we heard the news of the attack on Pearl Harbor. We went on with the show, but I knew that one way or another we were going to be involved in the war.

AH: When did you first become interested in flying?

McGee: I don't recall even seeing an airplane when I was young. It was about the time I was in college that the Army was beginning to recruit nonflying personnel–communications, engineering, armament and mechanics–for a one-squadron black experiment at Chanute Field. Word of that was spreading through the black community. Well, I already had a draft card, so I filled in that pilot's application. I was sent over to a couple of places in Indiana to take the examination, and when I passed that, in April 1942, I had to take a physical. I'd also been going with a girl from Champaign, Illinois, Frances E. Nelson, and that summer we became engaged. In my expectation of the call to arms, I did not go back to school in September–I continued working. Frances and I were married on Saturday, October 17, and Monday morning's mail had that letter I knew was going to come. On October 27, I was sworn into the enlisted reserve, and a few weeks later, I got the call to go to Tuskegee.

AH: What were some of your first impressions of Alabama?

McGee: The trip down was my first real experience of the South. As the train left southern Illinois, you had to change your location in the car. We knew there were certain barber shops or restaurants to go to in Chicago, but you could feel the change in atmosphere and approach as you entered the Deep South–you knew that whatever happened, the law was not going to uphold whatever your position was. When you were a black man from the North, you especially had to be careful what you said and did. You learned to be extra careful when stopping to fill up your car, and even avoid some filling stations. To a degree, the southern blacks were concerned about how a northern Negro was going to act, and a lot of conversations dealt with what you needed to know and where to go to keep out of trouble. One of my classmates happened to be from a well-to-do family who owned a drug store in Montgomery, Alabama, and he helped steer me into the black community, because you didn't go into the downtown area very much.

AH: Why did the Army choose that location?

McGee: In those days, there was a great fear around the country that when you get large groups of blacks together, there's got to be trouble. There were places in the North, like Colorado, California and Illinois, that were turned down for the location. On the other hand, the Tuskegee Institute had already had a successful civilian pilot training program, so when the Army began its 99th Squadron experiment, Tuskegee, with flight instructors who began flying in the 1930s, got the contract.

AH: What was the Tuskegee training facility like?

McGee: By the time I got to Tuskegee in the fall of 1942, the airfield had been completed, although they had been training on it even while it was under construction. The 99th had completed its 33-pilot cadre by the time I got there. At that time, too, Colonel Noel F. Parrish was the white commander. The previous commander, Colonel Frederick Von Kimble, was not very supportive of the program, but he was relieved and replaced by Parrish, who had been directing operations. He believed in the program and the people.

AH: How did your training go?

McGee: I entered preflight training as part of Class 43-G, but I was one of several who skipped upper preflight, perhaps because of my college studies, and ended up graduating in Class 43-F. Primary training was at Moton Field, a grass strip just outside the city of Tuskegee, in the Stearman PT-17. We then went on the Army airfield, which was where our white instructors were. We did basic training in the Vultee BT-13A and advanced training in the North American AT-6. My wife came down and worked as a secretary for a Dr. Kenny in the Tuskegee Institute hospital while I was going through training, but I usually only saw her on Sunday afternoons.

AH: How did you do in training?

McGee: I remember having a queasy stomach in the first few flights and talking to the flight surgeon, who just said, 'Quit eating fried foods for breakfast.' I did, and I never had another problem. My first check was on February 11, 1943, and the lieutenant said it was unsatisfactory. I had two more flights with an instructor, then tried again on February 14 and passed the check. We used Eglin Army Air Field in Florida for gunnery training. I finished my last flying in the AT-6 on June 25, graduated on June 30, and on July 6 I had my first Curtiss P-40 ride. I also took blind flying in the AT-6, to improve my instrument proficiency. I qualified as expert in gunnery but not nearly as well with handguns.

AH: Where did you go from Tuskegee?

McGee: I left Tuskegee in August for squadron and group formation flying and aerobatics at Selfridge Field, Michigan, where the 100th, 301st and 302nd squadrons of the 332nd Fighter Group were being formed. We were fully combat ready in the P-40L and P-40N by October–and that's when the decision was made that the group was going to fly the Bell P-39Q. It had the engine in the back and had less horsepower than the P-40, but we young pilots just used to say, 'If the crew chief can start it, then I can fly it.' We trained on P-39s through November, and in early December we left Selfridge Field by train under classified orders, arriving at Newport News, Virginia. We left Newport News on a big convoy that zigzagged across the Atlantic and into the Mediterranean. My ship, with the 302nd Squadron, went to Taranto, Italy, then we trucked over to the Naples area, where we began flying from Montecorvino.

AH: When did you begin combat flying?

McGee: We began operations on February 14, 1944, patrolling Naples Harbor to the Isle of Capri, and we also did coastal patrol. My first patrol was on February 28. We moved up to Capodichino on March 4, and did the rest of our tactical patrolling from there. The P-39Q was too slow and essentially a low-altitude aircraft–we flew at 10,000 to 15,000 feet, and by the time we reached even that altitude to intercept intruders, they were usually back in Germany. It was frustrating. Meanwhile, the men of the 99th were flying their P-40s with the 79th Fighter Group and shot down several aircraft over Anzio, earning the right to be called fighter pilots.

AH: When did that situation change for you?

McGee: In May they decided we were going to go to the Fifteenth Air Force. As the Allies advanced north, the bombers came up from Africa to bases in Italy, but they were getting their tails shot off over targets like Ploesti, so four single-engine fighter groups were picked for the escort. There were the candy-striped 31st, the yellow-tailed 52nd, the 'checker-tail clan' of the 325th and the red-tailed 332nd.

AH: How exactly did the 332nd choose red?

McGee: As I understand it, red paint was what was readily available. I think on the first couple of planes they just painted the rudder, but one of the pilots in the 332nd said, 'That's not enough.' As it turned out, the gunners on the Boeing B-17s and Consolidated B-24s loved it because they could easily tell who was friendly at high altitude over the target area.

AH: I notice that May 5 in your flight log has a star beside it.

McGee: That was the day I first flew the Republic P-47D Thunderbolt. An even bigger day was May 23, when the group moved to Ramatelli on the Adriatic side and we began long-range escort flights. They took a farmer's field, set up headquarters in the farmhouse, laid down pierced-steel planking, set up a couple of squadrons on one side of the field with their tents, and one on the other. P-47D No. 280 was assigned me for most of my flights at that time. It was just after that time that the 99th was assigned to the 332nd Fighter Group, so all four of the black squadrons were together.

AH: I understand that the 99th was not happy with that?

McGee: Well, you see, they had been in combat about a year, and we had only been there five months. They also felt that they had achieved a certain degree of integration by flying with the 33rd and 79th groups. Even though the 33rd's commander, Colonel William Momyer, didn't like them and his reports were all mediocre, the 79th's Colonel Earl E. Bates saw them as more pilots for his group and let them operate alongside the rest of his squadrons. The 332nd Group's commander, Colonel Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., had commanded the 99th, and they were pleased to be serving under him again, but there was a little resentment among their more experienced pilots over the fact that the other squadron commanders and group staff had already been picked. But B.O. [Davis] was very strong, sincere and severe–he laid down the law and things moved along.

AH: When did you fly your first escort mission into Germany?

McGee: That was a mission to Munich on June 13, and my feeling was, 'We're finally doing the job we came to do.' We were still flying the P-47, and for such long-range penetration missions, we'd usually have a group carry the bombers out and another group would take them back. The P-47 was fine with B-24s, but not so good with the B-17, which could fly higher in an attempt to avoid anti-aircraft fire. We always liked to be a couple thousand feet above the bomber stream to do our S-turning, but even when its supercharger cut in at 19,000 feet, the P-47 would become sluggish trying to get above the highest B-17s. All that changed on July 1, when I took my first flight in the North American P-51C-10. I flew my first long-range mission in the Mustang on July 4, escorting bombers to Romania. We could take a P-51 up to 35,000 feet and it would still be maneuverable.

AH: Were you assigned a particular plane?

McGee: My usual P-51C was 42-103072, which as I recall bore the 'buzz number' 78. I christened it Kitten, which was my wife's nickname, and my crew chief, Nathaniel Wilson, kept it purring, too.

AH: What was the squadron's makeup?

McGee: Usually, each squadron would have 18 aircraft take off–16 and two spares. If everything went well as we climbed and formed up, the group leader would tell the spares to go on back to base. But if anyone was having engine trouble, then the spares would go wherever needed. The commander of the 302nd was Captain Edward C. Gleed. After he became group operations officer, the squadron was led by 1st Lt. Melvin T. 'Red' Jackson, then V.V. Haywood. In September 1944, I was promoted to first lieutenant and became a flight leader.

AH: Who led the missions?

McGee: Sometimes the squadron commander or operations officer led the formations, sometimes the group operations officer, and when the leader had a problem, someone next in line would be designated to assume the lead.

AH: Do any particular missions stick out in your memory?

McGee: They were all long flights, usually five hours and at least one I recall that was six hours. On those flights, you find that the cockpit really gets small and you can sweat through a leather flight jacket sitting up there under the sun. We were glad when we got off the target and we could be less rigid in keeping formation with one another. Fighter sweeps were great fun.

AH: When did you initially encounter aerial opposition?

McGee: I first saw Messerschmitt Me-109s over Markersdorf, Austria, on July 26, 1944. In his briefings, B.O. was very explicit about the way we operated. If enemy planes appeared to attack, the flight commander would designate who would go after them. The rest of us stayed with the bombers, doing S-maneuvers, and we were glad that we weren't bomber pilots, who had to hold a tight formation as they made their final runs over the target, through enemy flak and fighters. On this occasion, the Germans didn't attack the formation. In another sighting, 2nd Lt. Roger Romine was told to get them and got a kill.

AH: What about your aerial victory?

McGee: That was during the bombing mission to the Czechoslovakian oil refinery at Pardubice, north of Vienna. Their tactic on that occasion was to try to fly through the bomber stream and keep on going. We were pretty much over the target area when we spotted a Focke Wulf Fw-190 and I got the word, 'Go get him.' I fell in behind him, and he took all kinds of evasive action, diving for the ground. We were down over the local airfield–I remember seeing a hangar on fire out of the corner of my eye–when I got in behind him and got in a burst that must have hit something in the controls. He took a couple more hard evasive turns and then went right into the ground. I stayed low getting out, to stay out of the sights of enemy groundfire. During that time, I saw a train pulling into a little station, so I dropped my nose and made a firing pass at the engine. Then, when I thought I'd pulled away from where I thought all the ack-ack was, I began climbing back up. Romine was my wingman on that occasion, and somewhere in all that jinking he had lost me and had gone up to rejoin the formation. He saw the Fw-190 crash, though, and confirmed the victory for me. [McGee's opponent was from Jagdgeschwader 300, three of whose Pardubice-based Fw-190As attacked the 5th Bomb Division and damaged two bombers before being driven off.] The 302nd's 1st Lt. William H. Thomas got another Fw-190 and 1st Lt. John F. Briggs of the 100th Squadron downed an Me-109 on that mission. Unfortunately, Romine got killed after his 97th mission–in an on-the-ground accident in his airplane–in November 1944.

AH: Your flight log also credited you with an enemy plane on the ground at Ilandza, Yugoslavia, on September 8.

McGee: Yes, on some days, we were assigned a fighter sweep over an enemy airfield to go in and catch anything we could there. I was only credited with destroying one, but we damaged a great number of enemy aircraft on the ground.

AH: How many missions did you fly?

McGee: I flew a total of 136, of which 82 were tactical and 54 were long-range, high-altitude missions. I flew my last mission over Brux, Germany, on November 17, 1944, and it was a long one–about five hours, 45 minutes. Then, on November 23, I was shipped back to Tuskegee to replace a white twin-engine instructor. Training was now taking place for the 477th Bomb Group. I learned a number of years later that in 1945 the 302nd was disbanded; the 332nd went back to being a three-squadron group and its aircraft were assigned to the other squadrons. My Kitten went to the 301st Squadron, was renumbered 51 and flown by Lieutenant Leon Speers, who was shot down on April 24, 1945, and taken prisoner.

AH: What was it like teaching bomber pilots back at Tuskegee?

McGee: I think the first twin-engine instruction had already begun in the summer of 1943. Twin-engine pilot training started in the Beech AT-10 Wichita–what a clunker–then we switched to the North American TB-25J, a stripped-down B-25J. That was a marvelous plane, with great big radial engines, a lot more power–a wonderful training platform.

AH: What did you do later?

McGee: After Germany surrendered on May 8, 1945, the 332nd Fighter Group was disbanded and the 477th was preparing for the Pacific. At that time, the group was under a white commander, who told the black pilots that as trainees they could not use the officers club and he was designating a separate club for them. He ended up having 101 of the officers arrested for refusing to sign the paper stating that they had read and understood his directive on the use of clubs. The investigation that followed led to the commander's being relieved, and Colonel Davis was brought in. Under B.O.'s leadership, the 477th was made into a composite group, with two squadrons of B-25Js and two squadrons from the 332nd Group, the 99th and 100th, flying P-47Ns. Shortly after Davis took over the group, it was moved to Lockbourne Air Base in Ohio, but the war in the Pacific ended on September 1, 1945, before the group was deployed. As the U.S. Army Air Forces started to close the Tuskegee facility, I joined the 477th Group at Lockbourne as assistant base operations and training officer in 1946. About the time that the U.S. Army Air Forces became the U.S. Air Force in 1947, they deactivated the composite group and reactivated the 332nd Fighter Group.

AH: What were your duties after World War II?

McGee: I had gone to Atlanta, Georgia, to take the examination to become a regular officer. I never heard a thing from it, but I was enjoying the flying, so I stayed in the Air Force as a reserve officer. They told us that we couldn't fly all the time, so I picked the maintenance officer school at Chanute Air Force Base [AFB]. When I graduated, I got orders to go to my first integrated assignment–Smoky Hill AFB, at Salina, Kansas, as officer in charge of the base maintenance shops for the Boeing B-29 equipped 301st Bomb Wing of SAC [Strategic Air Command]. All the officers and technicians were white, but I got along perfectly fine with them. You wore your ribbons on your uniform in those days, and they knew I was a combat veteran.

AH: What were you doing when the Korean War broke out?

McGee: In May 1950, I got orders to go to the Philippines. I was grounded in a pilot reduction, but I had taken the flight officer's program exam and had a 'hip pocket warrant' in operations, so I ended up as a base operations officer at Clark Field. Then, on June 25, the North Koreans invaded South Korea, and anyone who had experience on the P-51–or F-51, as it had been redesignated–was put on flight status. I was assigned to the 67th Fighter Bomber Squadron [FBS] of the 18th Group, which, with the group's 12th FBS, was sent to Johnson AFB, Japan, to pick up F-51Ds without transition–because the F-51s given the Philippine air force were in such condition that it would take $1,500 each to put them in safe shape. On July 29, 1950, I took my first flight in a Mustang since November 1944. We flew to Ashiya, across Tsushima Strait from Korea, and began flying bombing and strafing missions while the Corps of Engineers built a strip for us outside Pusan. I flew to the K-9 strip to check on construction progress and spent the night under the wing of my plane.

AH: What were your combat activities once K-9 was established?

McGee: We'd be bouncing all over the place, flying interdiction missions against bridges, trains and trucks. I expended lots of bullets, napalm and rockets against supplies, troop movements, etc. The North Koreans fired as much at us as we fired at them, the heaviest fire coming from emplacements overlooking the valleys. I was the 67th's maintenance officer. Then, on August 5, 1950, our CO, Major [Louis J.] Sebille, was fatally hit by anti-aircraft fire near Hamhung and crashed his Mustang into a concentration of enemy ground troops, for which he was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor. After that, [Major Arnold] 'Moon' Mullins became CO and I became the operations officer and continued flying missions. During an attack on the Kigye Valley on September 16, I was hit in the wing. I got back to Pusan with a 1-inch hole and damage to the left wing spar–it needed major repairs.

AH: Where did you go after the United Nations counteroffensive broke out of Pusan in September 1950?

McGee: We flew out of a forward strip in Pyongyang–until the Army got to the Yalu River and the Chinese intervened in late November. We then operated out of our main strip at K-10 in Suwon, where we were joined by No. 2 Squadron, South African Air Force, also flying the Mustang. I helped give them their first theater indoctrination, then they flew their own missions. I also spent 30 days serving as air liaison for the 19th Infantry Regiment of the 24th Division.

AH: Did you have any problems with the South Africans, given their policy of apartheid?

McGee: No, I actually made some good friendships among them. We built a comradeship from the commonality of flying and fighting side by side.

AH: Did you have trouble with Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-15s?

McGee: No, we didn't think about enemy planes–most jets were flying at high altitude.

AH: How long were you in Korea?

McGee: On February 20, 1951, I flew my 100th mission, then went back to the Philippines for assignment to the 44th FBS as operations officer. There, I checked out in Lockheed F-80s. I loved jets from the first roll–I'd just read the tech order and was ready to go flying after 13 landings. After a couple months of flying, I became the CO and my wife was on her way. During that time, too, we had a West Pointer from the Thirteenth Air Force assigned to my squadron, 2nd Lt. Frank Borman. A nasal problem had grounded him, and the flight surgeon was reluctant to release him. I bootlegged some time for him and got the flight surgeon to put him back on flight status. Borman worked out all right and later became one of the early astronauts.

AH: Did you still fly missions?

McGee: We flew air defense missions for Formosa in our F-80s in 1951 and 1952. They used to love us to fly up and down over the rooftops of the capital city of Taipei–it showed our presence. They had an airstrip where we'd land to refuel. We'd stay three days, then fly back to the Philippines. The 44th did a lot of transition and theater training for recalled pilots on their way to Korea. I came home in May 1953, went to staff school and served in the United States, flying Northrop F-89 interceptors and Lockheed T-33s. In 1959, the exams I took back in 1945 finally caught up with me, when I got a letter saying, 'Would you like to accept a Regular commission?' I was then a colonel in the reserve, but I so enjoyed flying that I accepted the Regular USAF rank of lieutenant colonel and went to Italy to assist in Jupiter missile deployment. After two years commanding the 7230th Support Squadron at Gioia del Colle Airbase near Taranto, I came home again, to Minot, North Dakota. A significant sign that times were changing was the assignments I received. They were based on background experience. In 1964, I was assigned to Tenth Air Force headquarters at Richards-Gebauer AFB near Kansas City, Missouri, and my wife and I received on-base housing more openly than the first time. Then, in 1967, I got an assignment to the Pentagon, but those orders were changed to Vietnam. It involved training for two complete squadrons in the McDonnell RF-4C. I ended up commanding the 16th Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron [TRS] at Tan Son Nhut AFB, near Saigon. The other, the 12th TRS, went to Udorn, Thailand.

AH: How long did you fly recon missions over Vietnam?

McGee: One year and 173 missions, predominantly over the northern part of South Vietnam. Some were over Laos and North Vietnam, but we didn't get to MiG Alley–the folks from Thailand got that run.

AH: What were the greatest dangers for an unarmed reconnaissance plane?

McGee: The worst place was Mu Gia Pass when it was raining and foggy, and you relied strictly on your radar operator in those mountains. In the RF-4C, speed was our only protection when the Viet Cong or North Vietnamese threw groundfire at us. During night flights we'd see the tracers coming up behind us. Often, too, we'd get to the target area at high altitude, then we'd go down and fly at 360 knots at low altitude, in patterns to photograph the area. We'd raise that speed to 420 or 460 knots over a highly defended area.

AH: Were you ever hit?

McGee: Late in 1967, I was flying a day recon mission over one of the roads in Laos. It was a suspected infiltration route, but I'd received no intelligence of heavy defenses. As I was letting down, however, I took a high-caliber hit in my left wing, which left a big hole. I was losing fluids, though I couldn't tell which ones. I had to divert to the nearest base on the coast, Da Nang, and it was the only time I had to make a front-end engagement landing, using my tail hook to make sure we wouldn't run off the runway. It turned out we needed major repairs. I took the film out of the plane and hitched a ride with a general who happened to be going to Saigon in a twin-engine North American Rockwell T-39. When I got back, I turned in the film and resumed flying the next day.

AH: Were you concerned about your plane going down?

McGee: Well, the shooting got your adrenaline up–you'd put on more speed, which was about all you could do. Was I scared? Our military training set us up with the idea that you're trained to do a job. You were too busy to dwell on the danger while you performed. Hopefully, you would get home in one piece.

AH: Were you at Tan Son Nhut when the Communist Tet Offensive broke out on January 31, 1968?

McGee: When the Tet Offensive broke out, most of the squadron pilots were at our walled compound off base. There were only six of us on base, and for three days we flew all of the squadron's missions, since there was no movement allowed off base. We didn't lose a mission. Soon hutches were built for us to live in on the base. At one point, the VC started mortaring the place. We had foxholes, but I'd just put my helmet over my head and stay in bed. Who knew where a round would land? Six or seven of the 16th's planes were hit in revetments–some burned, some sustained shrapnel damage.

AH: When did you leave Vietnam?

McGee: My tour was up in May 1968, and after being given the choice, I went on a wonderful year's tour in Heidelberg, Germany, as air liaison officer to Seventh Army Headquarters. I was promoted to colonel and became chief of maintenance for the 50th Tactical Fighter Wing. I got to fly F-4C Wild Weasels, F-4E air defense fighters and the F-4D, which I flew at Mach 2. Eventually, back in the States, Maj. Gen. Paul Stoney, commander of Air Force Communications Service, asked me if I'd like to take command of Richards-Gebauer AFB. I'd always wanted this administrative task, so on June 24, 1972, I got my opportunity, and with it came getting a 'key to the city of Belton.' It ended too soon, though. Due to a mandatory retirement policy based on 30 years unless you were made a general officer, I retired on January 31, 1973.

AH: What did you do as a civilian?

McGee: I spent 8 1/2 years in business and became vice president of real estate for the Interstate Securities Company, where my administrative training in the military fit in perfectly. After the corporation was sold, I got a degree in business administration; then I became director of Kansas City Downtown Airport. After a second retirement, I was selected as a member of the Aviation Advisory Commission. After my wife passed away in 1994, I moved east to live with my daughter, who is a television editor, here in Maryland.

AH: I presume you've kept in touch with fellow Tuskegee Airmen?

McGee: I was national president of the association from 1983 to 1985, and was a charter board member when Tuskegee Airmen, Inc., was established in Washington, D.C., in 1972. I've attended all but two annual conventions since then. I also do church work and participate in the Air Force association. My approach to life was, and still is, 'Do while you can.'

[bobbysocks]

and lastly a video interview with another tuskegee pilot herbert e. carter

http://www.knowitall.org/tuskegeeair...y/hcarter.html

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an extremely "colorful" recounting story of ju 87 pilot Hans-Ulrich Rudel.

http://www.badassoftheweek.com/rudel.html

actually their are a ton of these on the main site....if you like the guy's writing style..lol

http://www.badassoftheweek.com/list.html

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now this is pretty cool!! a site called EyeWitnessToHistory. gives first hand..."in their own words" accounts of all kinds of events in history from the ancient world to the middle ages to the us civil war...ww1 and 2.

http://www.eyewitnesstohistory.com/index.html

[bobbysocks]

Hermann Graf: World War II Luftwaffe Ace Pilot

German Luftwaffe members Erich Hartmann, Adolf Galland and Johannes Steinhoff achieved a measure of immortality for their flying and fighting prowess during World War II. A name missing from many histories of that conflict, however, is Hermann Graf — with 212 confirmed victories, one of the most decorated aces in the Luftwaffe.

Born on October 12, 1912, in Engen im Hegau, Germany, Hermann was the youngest of three sons. Aviation fascinated him from his youth; he was only 12 when he made his first glider flight. While still in school, Graf earned his 'A,' 'B' and 'C' glider certificates. According to Christer Bergström, author of Graf & Grislawski: A Pair of Aces, young Graf first worked as a locksmith apprentice, then later as a public assistance clerk apprentice. Many accounts incorrectly report he apprenticed as a blacksmith, emulating his father.

By 1936, Hermann Graf had applied for and was accepted as a reservist in the Wehrmacht. His dream was to qualify for the new Luftwaffe, which Adolf Hitler defiantly resurrected despite the strict military restrictions that the Treaty of Versailles imposed on Germany at the end of World War I. In 1939 Graf took the Luftwaffe NCO course, thus becoming a reserve officer candidate. He joined the Aibling Fighter Wing one month before the outbreak of World War II.

As a member of the Aibling Wing, Graf saw little action. He flew 21 missions over France without a single shot being fired, then was transferred to the 9th Staffel (Squadron) of Jagdgeschwader 52, or 9/JG.52, on October 6, 1940. His combat debut came in 1941 on the Eastern Front. On August 4, he shot down a Russian Polikarpov I-16 fighter for his first confirmed victory.

Graf went on to be the first fighter pilot to score 200 official victories — a feat he accomplished within the span of just 13 months. To put that into perspective, William Nagle, curator of the Commemorative Air Force in Mesa, Ariz., explained: 'Most American pilots would have fewer than 30 kills in their careers. The German pilots would fly morning, noon and night for five years accumulating numbers in the hundreds. These pilots were absolutely courageous. With that many kills, I'd brand [Hermann Graf] top drawer.'

By January 24, 1942, Graf had scored his 41st victory and earned the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross. Four months later, on May 17, the Oak Leaves to the Knight's Cross were bestowed on him when he achieved his 104th victory. The Swords to his Cross came two days later.

That fall, Graf dominated the air over Stalingrad in his Messerschmitt Me-109. In 30 days, he shot down 62 Soviet aircraft. After his tally reached 172, Graf was awarded the Diamonds to the Knight's Cross on September 16, 1942. One of only nine pilots to receive this enviable decoration, Graf was reportedly proud that every one of his kills, in the course of more than 830 missions, was in air-to-air combat.

As standard procedure, Luftwaffe commander Hermann Göring banned Graf from flying combat missions after the pilot had received the Knight's Cross with Diamonds. Early in 1943, Graf was assigned to France to head the Ergänzungs-Jagdgruppe Ost (Fighter Replacement Group East), an advanced training unit for novice pilots as well as a refresher school for veterans grounded due to injuries.

In July 1943, Göring asked Graf to set up a special high-altitude fighter unit to contend with British de Havilland Mosquito light bombers. Geschwaderkommodore Graf was granted the authority to select any member he wished for the new Jagdgruppe 50, which would operate out of Wiesbaden-Erbenheim Airdrome. Graf chose close friend and wingman Alfred Grislawski, as well as Ernst Sss and Heinrich Fullgrabe, to form the 'Karaya Quartet.'

In addition to his love of flying, Graf harbored a passion for playing soccer. He was reportedly the best goalie in the Luftwaffe but could not be recruited into the German National Soccer Team because of a broken thumb. Thanks to his connections, Graf was able to arrange for the transfer of several drafted GNST players to JGr.50. From this group, he formed his own soccer team, the Red Fighters, to raise morale. Later on, when he became a Soviet POW, Graf's soccer prowess may even have been a factor in saving his life.

JGr.50 started out with eight Messerschmitt Me-109Gs that were rumored to be equipped with specially boosted engines. In actuality, the aircraft were Me-109G-5s and Me-109G-6s modified for maximum speed and equipped with fuel tanks capable of using GM1 mixture (nitrous oxide), thereby increasing horsepower. Graf set a world record in high altitude flight — 46,885 feet — in one of the modified 109Gs.

At the time JGr.50 was deemed ready for combat, the focus was changed from hunting Mosquitoes to intercepting American heavy bombers. On August 12, 1943, 183 Boeing B-17 Flying Fortresses were sent over Germany's Ruhr industrial valley, and Graf's men rallied to meet the threat.

Five days later, JGr.50 was again dispatched on interception missions against American bombers. On September 6, the unit's pilots shot down four Flying Fortresses over Stuttgart, two of them claimed by Graf, who was subsequently shot down and survived a forced landing.

The following month, JGr.50 was disbanded and merged with I Gruppe, JG.301. Graf was appointed commander of JG.11 on November 1. Although he spent less time flying Reich defense than touring Luftwaffe units, he managed to shoot down three bombers and a North American P-51 Mustang by March 8, 1944.

He took to the air again on March 29, and after shooting down a Mustang, he was severely injured after ramming another and having to bail out of his Me-109G-6 at low altitude. Göring then reassigned him to command his former unit, JG.52. He would complete his military tenure in that outfit.

By spring 1945 the war was all but over. When confronted by General George Patton's Third Army, Graf surrendered. The Americans turned the POWs over to Soviet forces. It appeared Graf accepted his fate and because he cooperated with the Russians, he was labeled a traitor by the Germans.

In the early 1960s, Graf shared his POW experience with James Gniewkowski, who had married one of Graf's relatives. Graf explained that he had been captured by American forces on the outskirts of Berlin, where he had landed his Me-109, the third Messerschmitt he had piloted in five years of combat. His fighter had just enough fuel to reach Berlin, and he had been told there would be more fuel and a plane awaiting him there.

Once in Berlin, Graf was supposed to fly Hitler to the Eagle's Nest in the German Alps. Graf admitted he had no idea what the plan was after that, but it never came to fruition, as Hitler was already dead. Once he landed on the autobahn that night near his destination, the war ended for him.

Though he had no proof, Graf told Gniewkowski he believed that he had been traded by the Americans to the Russians in exchange for other imprisoned Germans. The Russians thought he was an engineer with significant aviation expertise.

He was held captive for four years after V-E Day — a period that took a great psychological and physical toll on him. While in captivity, Graf agreed to play soccer for the Russians, who promised he would be fed if he played for them. At that time, many in the Luftwaffe fraternity who heard about this viewed it as betrayal.

Graf was turned over to German authorities on December 25, 1949 — five years before most of his JG.52 comrades in Soviet captivity. Used as a bargaining chip for several Soviet prisoners the Russians wanted, he reentered a postwar Germany radically different from the fatherland he had left. He arrived at his late mother's house only to find it had been ransacked by French liberation forces that had stolen many of his possessions, including his military medals and decorations. The death of his grieving mother shortly before his return left a huge void in his life.

While Germany was trying to bury its past and rebuild its future, Graf reportedly felt adrift, but with the guidance of fellow soldier Sepp Herberger, he managed to focus his considerable energies and enthusiasm on forging a new career for himself in the burgeoning electronics industry. With the help of former JG.11 pilot Berthold Jochim, he also penned an autobiography, 200 Luftsiege in 13 Monaten (200 Victories in 13 Months), which has never been translated to English.

Hermann Graf died on November 4, 1988, of Parkinson's disease. He is buried in Engen, Germany, where his life began. In the postwar years, his brothers in the Fighter Pilot's Association decided to make amends and accepted him back as a full-fledged, loyal countryman

[bobbysocks]

World War II: Interview with Luftwaffe Ace Walter Krupinski

Lieutenant General Walter Krupinski was one of those men destined to tempt fate. Beginning his flight training on October 15, 1939, he flew fighters with distinction throughout World War II, serving in Germany's most prestigious units and training and flying with some of the world's greatest pilots, such as Adolf Galland, Otto Kittel, Dietrich Hrabak, Erich Rudorffer, Gerhard Barkhorn and Erich Hartmann. Krupinski's leadership style was similar to that of the great Werner Mölders, and both men were held in high esteem by all who knew them. Krupinski's fatherly approach and genuine concern for the welfare of his pilots, as well as his respect for captured enemy pilots, illustrated his humanity in a world where savagery was the order of the day.

By the time Krupinski was awarded the Ritterkrevz (Knight's Cross) on October 29, 1942, he had been credited with shooting down 53 Allied aircraft. His final score of 197 could have been much higher, but he never claimed a probable victory or argued about a kill, always giving the victory to the other man. His chivalrous attitude and Prussian birth earned him the nickname 'Graf (Count) Punski,' a name that still lingers in the reunion halls and among his friends. After the war, Krupinski worked closely with Organization Gehlen (the West German Secret Service), with the United States and Royal air forces in the emerging North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), and later as a coordinator and leader in the new Bundesluftwaffe (West Germany's Federal Air Force).

Walter and his wife live in modest retirement at their home in Neuenkirchen, Germany. Krupinski has often assisted the Cowles History Group in contacting many of Germany's aces for interviews, and he himself agreed to be interviewed by Colin D. Heaton in 1993.

Military History: Where and when were you born, General?

Krupinski: I was born on November 11, 1920, in a little town called Donnau in East Prussia, which is now under the jurisdiction of the Russian government, but I lived in Braunsberg, which is currently under the Polish government. I recently visited Braunsberg, where the family had lived from 1933 to 1945, and found that it has changed little since I was last there.

MH: What was your family background?

Krupinski: When I was born, my father was in military service. He had been in the First World War and at that time was fighting against the Communist groups trying to take control after the war. He served in the army during World War I and after — until 1923 or 1924. He finally left the army and became a government employee. He soon joined the army again before the outbreak of World War II, but he was discharged after the 1939 Polish campaign ended, as a first lieutenant. He became a government employee again, but as the war progressed he was enlisted as a member of the Volksturm [civilians conscripted in defense of Germany in the closing days of the war] as the Soviets entered Germany proper, from January to May 1945. I had two younger brothers, Paul and Günther. Paul and I were born on the same date but two years apart. Paul joined the Kriegsmarine and entered the Unterseeboot [submarine] service, where he met his fate. He was killed when his boat, U-771, was sunk off the Norwegian coast, and only the bodies of Paul and a noncommissioned officer were found on the shore. They were buried at the military cemetery in Narvik, Norway. The youngest brother, Günther, was born in 1932, and he fled Prussia with my mother in January 1945 during the Soviet advance. He died in 1970 of cancer.

MH: What was your educational background?

Krupinski: Oh, the same as most of the others in the Luftwaffe and the military in general: primary school and then Gymnasium — similar to your high school but a little more advanced — studying the basic curriculum. I passed the Arbitur, which is the final exit examination, in 1938 and decided to join the military.

MH: When did you decide that you wanted to be a flier?

Krupinski: I never really had any interest in flying. In fact, I attempted to become a naval officer like my friends Johannes Steinhoff and Dietrich Hrabak, as I always liked the sea. However, when I finally was admitted, they transferred me to the Luftwaffe. I did not apply for it.

MH: What was your training like?

Krupinski: I started flight training in September 1939 at the Officers Cadet School at Berlin-Gatow, later transferring to Vienna-Schwechat, which was the Fighter Weapons School. It started with classroom instruction, aerodynamics — the basics really. Then after a couple of months we were introduced to the [Heinkel] He-51 biplane trainer, in which we learned the basics of takeoffs and landings, or touch-and-goes, as well as proper aerial maneuvers with an instructor. When we were considered competent we soloed, and I just took to it quickly. It was after six months or so that we actually trained on the Messerschmitt 109, which as you know was the primary fighter throughout the war. Then we trained on instrument flying, enemy aircraft identification, emergency procedures, formation flying, gunnery skills such as deflection shooting, and learned about our particular aircraft, including minor maintenance.

MH: What was your first assignment?

Krupinski: I was transferred to the Channel coast and assigned to JG.52 [Jagdgeschwader (fighter wing) 52], where Günther Rall, Hans-Joachim Marseille, Johannes Steinhoff, Gerhard Barkhorn [who transferred to JG.2 'Richthofen'] and others were starting their careers as Experten [aces with 10 or more victories]. By the time I got involved, the Battle of Britain was just about over, which was in November 1940. I served with JG.52 during most of my career in the east, but later served with JG.5, JG.11, JG.26 and Jagdverband 44, flying the [Messerschmitt] Me-262 jet in the west from April 1, 1945, onward — not much combat time in jets. The fighting against the American fighter escorts and bombers was the worst, since they were excellent fliers and had so much top-rated equipment.

MH: What was it like flying against the British pilots?

Krupinski: Well, I flew only 30 missions over the United Kingdom, and I was involved in a lot of dogfights with [Supermarine] Spitfires and [Hawker] Hurricanes but scored no victories. I was a slow starter, and I was suffering from bad shooting, and I was very anxious since I was afraid of being shot down over the English Channel and having to swim home!

MH: When did you transfer to the Russian Front?

Krupinski: I served at the Channel Front until the late spring of 1941, when JG.52 was transferred east. We flew from Ostende in Belgium to Suwalki in East Prussia, and had been staging there 10 days prior to Operation Barbarossa [the invasion of the Soviet Union on June 22, 1941]. The war started for us at Suwalki, where we took off to perform ground-attack missions against the Red Air Force airfields.

MH: Which group were you with at that time?

Krupinski: I was transferred to the replacement group of JG.52, then to 6th Staffel [squadron], attached to II Gruppe [II/JG.52] in southern Russia. Later, I became Staffelkapitän for 7th Staffel of III/JG.52 in Romania, guarding the Ploesti oil fields and refinery, bridges and that sort of thing from the American long-range bombers from North Africa and, later, Italy, until the spring of 1944.

MH: What was that first winter like for you and the unit?

Krupinski: The Russian winter! It's famous, you know, and all of the horror stories are true. We could not fly, and when we could it was hard to know how to get back unless you flew totally on instruments, and landings were more hazardous than combat. Many planes cracked up. I was there with Steinhoff [176 victories], Rall [275], Hrabak [125], Barkhorn [301] and many others who became well-known names. We all had the same experience, but not just during that winter. Every winter in Russia was miserable, but we were better prepared for them after 1941. We were quite a unit, scoring more than 10,000 victories during the war, and all of us were — and still are — good friends. We lose members every few years, so the circle of friends grows smaller.

MH: You also flew with Erich Hartmann, who would become the greatest ace of all time with 352 victories. You had a special association with him, didn't you?

Krupinski: I had just become commanding officer of 7th Staffel of III/JG.52 when in March 1943 I first met Erich Hartmann. He was a child! So young, and that was when I gave him the nickname of 'Bubi,' or boy, and it stuck with him for the rest of his life. He remembered me from about six months earlier when I had a memorable crash landing in a burning Me-109 at Maikop. I was shot all up after a sortie against the Soviets, and I was blinded by smoke and slightly wounded. Well, I came in to land and slammed into a pile of bombs that had been placed at the edge of this field, and I scraped right through all of it. [Raymond] Toliver and [Trevor] Constable wrote about it in Erich's biography, The Blond Knight of Germany.

MH: Didn't you help Hartmann score his first confirmed victory?

Krupinski: I assigned Hartmann to serve as my wingman many times, and along with Gerd Barkhorn, he was given his first opportunity for a victory when we met a single Soviet fighter. Erich had already been reprimanded earlier for breaking formation and chasing a fighter, getting shot up and crashing his plane with nothing to show for it. [Prior to Krupinski's assignment to command 7th Staffel, JG.52, Hartmann had, in fact, taken part in a team effort in downing an Ilyushin Il-2 Shturmovik on November 5, 1942, which was credited to him as his first victory as a means of encouraging the new man in the squadron. As he followed his already burning victim down, the Shturmovik exploded, damaging Hartmann's Me-109G and forcing him to make a belly landing. His first solo victory, scored while flying as Krupinski's wingman, was over a Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-1 on January 27, 1943.]

MH: How would you compare your fighting style with Hartmann's?

Krupinski: Erich was a great shot at long distances, unlike myself. I preferred to get in close and shoot, and many times I brought pieces of the enemy aircraft home with me. Erich later adopted the same tactic, and he was always successful and was never wounded or shot down by an enemy fighter pilot. He did get forced down once from debris after scoring a kill and was captured, but he managed to slip away, almost getting shot by a German sentry. He also got hit by flak a few times, but that was part of the day's work. He was a good student, and I taught him aerial gunnery after I had experience myself.

MH: How many times were you shot down during the war?

Krupinski: I bailed out four times, crashed a few times and was wounded five times in all. I don't recall the exact number of belly landings, since my flight log was taken by an American GI when I became a prisoner at the end of the war. I would guess the number of crashes to be between 10 and 12. I would like you or the readers as a favor to me, please let the world know about that logbook. If it ever turns up, I would like to give it to my grandsons one day. I would say the most spectacular crash I had was the one at Maikop, and another one where I crashed in the middle of a minefield during a battle. That is a good one to tell over a drink, you know, since it was the most fear I had during the war!

MH: Which of your combat victories stands out the most?

Krupinski: Oh, that is too much to remember, as I flew more than 1,100 missions, and once on July 5, 1943, I shot down 11 planes in four missions in a single day [bringing his total up to 90]. One of those was a dogfight with an expert Russian pilot, which lasted for about 15 minutes, which was rare for a Red Army pilot. They usually broke off after engaging and headed home after a couple of minutes if they could not bounce you or get an advantage. Another mission was when I came across 15 to 20 [Polikarpov I-16] Ratas, during which my aircraft was hit by a large air-to-ground rocket of some kind. The Ratas were attacking ground targets, and one Rata turned on me, shot the rocket at me and hit me. That was an unbelievable situation. I would also have to say that my victories in the narrow Caucasus passes were memorable, as was my victory over a [Lavochkin-Gudkov] LaG-5 at Stalingrad, where the Russian lost more than a third of his left wing and was burning like hell. About 10 Luftwaffe pilots saw that, including Johannes Steinhoff, who was my commanding officer at that time. That LaG was still flying at low level and I watched him go in. He crashed but did not explode — just burned.

MH: Did you ever meet Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring?

Krupinski: I never met him face to face, but I saw him once. That was when I became a lieutenant at the ceremony on January 31, 1941, in Berlin along with several hundred other cadets.

MH: How many times did you meet Adolf Hitler?

Krupinski: Only once, when I was awarded the Eichenlaub [Oak Leaves] to the Ritterkreuz [Krupinski's score at that time was 177].

MH: Could you describe that ceremony?

Krupinski: There's not much to tell really, except that Bubi Hartmann and I had partied heavily the night before and were drunk as hell, despite the fact that we were to receive our awards from der Führer. Hartmann knew him from before, because as you know he was decorated three times by Hitler with the Oak Leaves, Swords and Diamonds. I was getting the Oak Leaves along with Hartmann on March 4, 1944. Hartmann was making some funny comments about him, mimicking him, and he tried to stand still without falling over. I was in not much better shape. We only started to sober up as Hitler, after handing us the awards, began describing his plan for 'Panzerfest,' which was a way to immunize the army divisions against enemy tank attacks. He asked us about Lemberg, where we had come from and where our brave soldiers were fighting against those Russian tanks and were dying terribly. He told us about the war in Russia, and you had the feeling that you were listening to a complete madman. I thought he was a raving lunatic, and by the time the meeting was over, Hartmann and I needed another drink, and Hartmann kept saying, 'I told you so.'

MH: When did you transfer to the Western Front?

Krupinsk: That was the spring of 1944, when many Russian Front experts were sent to fight against the American four-engine bombers. I did that for a while with JG.11, then I commanded III/JG.26 between early October 1944 and March 25, 1945. Fighting against the American bombers and fighter escorts was much worse than fighting in Russia. The [Boeing] B-17s were difficult to engage due to their potent .50-caliber defensive fire, and the American fighters made it even harder to get close, since they outnumbered us somewhere around 10-to-1 on the average. I found this all very frustrating and had to change the way I thought about things. We were losing experienced experts all the time — we were just overwhelmed. Allied fighters and bombers attacked our air bases day and night, as well as bombing the cities. Exhaustion was also a factor, since we could never get enough replacement pilots, and the newer pilots just did not have the experience to survive long under such conditions.

MH: How did you get involved with Galland's Jagdverband 44?

Krupinsk: Well, I was trying to finish the war out at our fighter recreation center at Bad Wiesee in Tegernsee when Steinhoff and Galland stepped up to some of us on April 1, 1945. Steinhoff asked me, 'Graf…how would you like to fly the 262?' The very next morning, I jumped into the cockpit of a Messerschmitt 262 and flew my first mission in it after a short familiarization period. I described all of that in a long paper I wrote for our Jägerblatt, or 'The Fighter News,' of February–March 1987. My last sentence was this: 'Es war der Beginn eines neuen Zeitalters der Luftfahrtgeschichte,' or, 'It was the beginning of a new epoch in aviation.'

MH: What was your impression of the personnel of JV.44?

Krupinski: Galland was using Steinhoff as his recruiting officer, and they had collected some of the best in the business. They got Barkhorn and tried to get Hartmann, but Erich still had a soft spot for JG.52. His decision to remain with this unit would prove costly. As you know, he spent over 10 years in Soviet prison camps after the war, after the Americans handed them over to the Red Army.

MH: What were the last months of the war like for you?

Krupinsk: Well, I joined JV.44, Galland's 'Squadron of Experts' at Munich-Reim, then we moved to Salzburg in Austria, then Aibling-Heilbronn. We had some spectacular missions, especially when we received the R4M air-to-air rockets for our jets. The first time I saw them work was on April 5, when Galland, who was leading our flight, fired his salvo at a group of American [Martin] B-26 bombers. In moments, one disintegrated and another was falling — the tail had been blown away, and both parts were fluttering down through the light clouds. We flew off a few hundred yards so as not to hit any debris or get jumped by enemy fighters, then attacked again using our four 30mm cannons. I damaged a couple of bombers but scored no kills that day, though I am pretty sure everyone else did. We had many such missions, but we also ran into American fighters. [North American P-51D] Mustangs were a constant problem, and they would always follow us home, hoping for an easy kill. We had to be very careful when coming in for a landing, as they would be following a few miles and only a couple of minutes behind us. Taking off and landing were the most tense moments for a 262 pilot, as the plane built up speed slowly, and you could stall out easily if you pushed the throttles forward too quickly. This happened several times.

MH: Can you tell us what you saw on the day Steinhoff crashed?

Krupinsk: His flight was commanded by Galland. Gerd Barkhorn, then with 300 victories; 'the Rammer' Eduard Schallmoser [so named for his penchant for ramming his jet into enemy bombers once his ammunition ran out]; Ernst Fhrmann; Klaus Neumann, who scored five kills in the jet and 37 kills in the war; and myself were all either taking off for a bomber-intercept mission or preparing to go on the morning of April 18, 1945. Steinhoff was loaded up with fuel and rockets, and his left wheel dug into a crater that had not been properly repaired after the latest American raid on our base, and his jet bounced against the ground. When it landed, he was trapped inside the burning wreckage, with the burning fuel exploding the rockets and 30mm ammunition around him. I did not see it, but everyone heard it. There was Macky Steinhoff, trapped in this, but we got him to the hospital and he survived somehow. He was the best friend any of us had, and a true patriot and leader. All of us felt that we were only a thread away from a similar fate after that accident, as well as the loss of Günther Lützow [who went missing on April 24], and others too numerous to list.

MH: How did the war end for you?

Krupinsk: I was captured when the unit surrendered after blowing up our jets, when the Americans were practically rolling onto the airfield. An American Intelligence officer found us and took us via Heidelberg to the U.S. Army Air Forces/Royal Air Force interrogation camp in England. After four weeks of answering questions, I was being transported to Cherbourg, I believe, when I was attacked by a French soldier with a rifle. He struck me in the head, knocking me unconscious. I found myself in the hospital in Munich. After all of the interrogations, I ended up with the Americans, but while I was in custody I was robbed of my Ritterkreuz und Eichenlaub and my flight logbook, as mentioned earlier. It was a difficult time, but my contact with the American military and the U.S. Army Air Forces officers prepared me for a new career later in the 1950s, until I retired in the 1970s.

MH: What kind of work did you do after the war? I understand that unemployment rate was high for former officers of the military in Germany.

Krupinsk: Yes, this was true. Finding work after a career as a professional officer was not easy, especially since anyone who owned a business did so with the local Allied military commander's authorization. Professional officers were considered the elite of the National Socialist Party, and any connection to us could have been economically unwise. It was not until much later that this attitude changed, and people began to realize that if anything it was the professional officer corps who remained nonpolitical for the most part. We had no agenda except to defend our country from attack, right or wrong. There is no difference between us and any officer corps in any nation. All would defend their homeland and families, regardless of the political leadership in control of their country.

MH: Tell us about the work you did after the war in the Intelligence services.

Krupinski: I started working for U.S. Intelligence services under the umbrella of Organization Gehlen, the military and foreign intelligence service branch of the Abwehr formed by Captain Reinhard Gehlen during the war. I then worked for Amt Blank, which was the beginning of our Defense Ministry under Theodor Blank, West Germany's first postwar minister of defense during the Konrad Adenauer administration. I cannot discuss my work with these groups, as it is all still highly classified and I took an oath of silence.

MH: Could you tell us who Gehlen was?

Krupinsk: General Reinhard Gehlen was one of the Abwehr's chief intelligence officers, who later replaced Admiral Wilhelm Canaris as head of the organization [after Canaris was dismissed for his suspected role in the July 20 assassination attempt against Hitler and was subsequently put to death at the Flossenburg concentration camp in 1945]. Gehlen's work and the examples he set were responsible for the creation of many postwar intelligence networks, including the GSG-9 [German counterterrorist/intelligence service]. Gehlen died in 1979. His work in collecting intelligence on the Red Army and his ability to collate intelligence on every aspect of Soviet military operations proved invaluable to the NATO allies during the Cold War. Their understanding of the Soviet mind-set, order of battle, political aims, etc. — all of that probably prevented another European if not world conflict. Gehlen believed that knowledge was power, and in this case he was proven correct.

MH: How did you get back into the military, especially the air force, after the war?

Krupinski: I was approached by some officers who mentioned that we were forming the Bundesluftwaffe — which I already knew from my work with Intelligence, but they did not know that. I was easily recruited, as there were many of the former Luftwaffe experts already there. I went for refresher flight training in the United Kingdom as CO [commanding officer] of Jagdbombergeschwader [fighter bomber wing] 33. I was trained on the latest fighter types of the day, including the Lockheed F-104 Starfighter. I was then commanding officer of German training in the United States, and later I was appointed director of flying safety for the armed forces. After that, I was commanding general of the German 3rd Air Division, chief of staff for the Second Allied Tactical Air Force, and then commanding officer of the German Air Force Tactical Command. Those were a lot of different hats, as you would say. I worked closely with many of the important political personalities of the time, such as Robert McNamara, who was secretary of defense under President [John F.] Kennedy.

MH: How's your family today?

Krupinsk: We have only one daughter, who is 52 and married to an air force officer, a lieutenant colonel but not a pilot. I have two grandsons who are students at the University of Munich, aged 27 and 25.

MH: General Krupinski, with your long life experience, what advice do you have for the youth of today?

Krupinsk: Easy, only one sentence: Don't trust dictators or madmen!

[bobbysocks]

The Air Transport Auxiliary - Spitfire Women Preview - BBC Four

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KwKLL0TklxU

[bobbysocks]

some quick blurbs from 357th pilots on the arnhem/market garden missions:

Tom Gates' encounter report: "After the last interception, which took us SW of DZ, Tackline advised nothing in view and we could patrol on our own. I dropped the group down to 13,000 and took up a course of 45 degrees back to the DZ. Over the DZ we saw a gaggle of 109s and 190s flying our reciprocal course to our right about 2,000 feet above. I turned the group right to intercept and called "Drop tanks," after clearing gliders underneath. By the time the tanks were off and climb started, the first gaggle of 190s was passing overhead and up into the sun. When it appeared that they would not turn and bounce us from out of the sun, I turned Dollar sqdn back head-on into the second bunch and the fight was on.

"The first bunch turned back but were intercepted by another sqdn. I picked six 109s. They broke left, then sharp right. I got on one but he spun out under me. Another was in the turn so I latched onto him. He was most aggressive, and after much maneuvering he straightened out and I got a short burst which knocked some parts from his ship. The second burst set him on fire and the third burst finished him. He dived in from 500 feet. My wingman was still with me and we climbed back to 10,000 feet. We saw five 109s flying close formation with a flight of P-51s bouncing them. One 109 split-essed out and went to the deck in aileron turns. The others turned into the bounce.

"I took after the one on the deck and let him have a burst from about 1,000 yards but no strikes seen. When he came to an airdrome he made a turn. I closed enough to see American markings on the upper surfaces of both wings and it was a P-51 painted the same as the 109s. There were no group markings on the nose. When I saw it was a P-51, to avoid light flak from the field I widened the turn and the P-51 leveled out and headed SE at full throttle. There is no doubt that it was flown by a German pilot."

Lt. Jerome Jacobs: "We were flying cover for the troop transports and gliders. It was a very impressive sight to see the large armada of aircraft towing one, two, or three gliders and stretching all the way from England to Holland. It was a very pleasant fall day and I was flying Colonel Graham's airplane. (P-51D 44-13388, B6-W, "Bodacious")

"Ground control gave us a course to follow that would intercept a large formation of unknown aircraft. In five or ten minutes we were in the middle of a large formation of Me-109s and FW-190s. I was flying wingman when my element leader caught up with a 109 and fired into it until its landing gear came down. Some flak began coming up and I saw the right wing come off my flight leader's aircraft. He bailed out and I saw his chute open.
"I was attacked by a 190 and we began to try to out-turn each other and after about two turns I was able to get a lead on him and gave him a quick burst. I could see hits on his cockpit and fuselage. He bailed out and I watched the 190 hit the ground. I turned off my gun switch and took some pictures of the wrecked airplane. As I cleared my tail I saw that a 109 was behind me and shooting. Instinctively I turned to the left and was able to get behind the 109 when he quit turning and headed south. I followed him and lined up my sight on his tail. I gave it a quick burst and saw smoke coming out of his engine. He slowed and I quickly overtook him. We were both at ground level and I saw him dodging some wires. I could not stay behind him unless I put my flaps and wheels down, and found myself flying formation with him. He was a young man about my age, and his ME looked brand new. Suddenly he tried to land wheels up in a field, but was going too fast. He bounced off the ground in a nose-high attitude, stalled, flipped over and his the ground. He slid along and plowed into a farmhouse, and everything blew up.
"I circled to get some pictures but the dust still hadn't settled after my second turnaround and I decided to get out of there and go home. On the way I stayed on the deck, worried about how much ammunition and fuel I had. I was heading north over some very attractive countryside, very satisfied with myself over my two victories when I saw two fighter planes headed toward me from the west. At first I couldn't decide whether to turn into them or make a run for it, as I wasn't certain about the ammunition aboard. However, at that moment one of the fighters lifted a wing and I could see a P-51 outline. I wiggled my wings and continued north, hopefully headed for England. Soon I saw the transports stretched across the horizon and followed them back home."

1st Lt. Howard Moebius: In the confusion of the dogfight, Moebius soon lost his leader, managed to outrun a FW-190, and obtain numerous strikes on its cockpit. He recalls:

"My plane had greatly decreased its speed because of the violent climbing and turning. I rolled out on the left wing of the 190 I had just shot. I was in very tight formation with him. I could see his cockpit burning and blood coming out of the pilot's mouth...it was a ghastly sight. Slowly his right wing came up, his ship nosed over and went into the ground. I looked around and could not see any more enemy in the area. I turned off my gun switch and made several passes at the wreckage with my camera on.
"I had just pulled up from my last pass when I looked over my shoulder and saw the big hub of a 190 right on my tail. I threw my throttle wide open and again my engine balked. (Moebius' engine had given trouble on takeoff but he continued rather than risk censure for aborting.) I had to throttle back to about 30 inches of mercury, and knew that I could not climb or maneuver. I had heard that the 190 at slow speeds and tight turns to the right has a tendency to snap under. SO I put my ship into a right turn to the right with my wing not more than 100 feet off the ground and proceeded to go round and round. The 190 hung on my tail with his guns blazing, but could not pull up tight enough for the proper lead. Several farmers and their wives were running around on the ground below us. I don't know if they were frightened or were waving, or whether they realized a lot of lead was being thrown around. At one point I put my hand to my head, as any minute I expected a shell to come into the cockpit. I also did some fast praying! Finally I looked back and he was gone. I leveled off and slowly climbed to 10,000 feet."
Climbing slowly, Moebius reached Brussels at 30,000 and made it home with no further problems. His crew chief worked all night to repair the sick engine in time for the mission on the 19th. For Moebius, it might have been better if he hadn't. Lt Howard Moebius shot down a 190 on the 18th , and two 109s on the 19th before being shot down beginning an adventurous five months with the Dutch underground.

Lt. Harvey Mace: "I was leading Dollar White Flight which was on the extreme left of our squadron, which was on the extreme right of the group. While scanning the sky, I finally spotted one or two bogies high in the fringes of the sun. With full attention I was soon able to see more--a lot more. Although they were too high to identify, they were not flying like friendlies, so I reported them to the group leader. His response was something like, "Well, OK, we'll climb up and take a look," and turned the group to the left and started climbing. This maneuver put me dead last in the climb. Before long, with a change in positions I was able to make out the whole group of bogies. It's too difficult to count under these conditions, but looking at the size of our group of about 50 planes, I estimated about three times that many bogies, or around 150.
"Soon one fighter peeled off and came down on our angle, about 500 or so feet above us. As it got closer I was able to identify it as an Me-109. Whether its intent was to scout and see what we were, or bait in hopes of breaking us up I'll never know. I marveled at the discipline of our group at not breaking up. Only later at home was my pride somewhat deflated when in asking some of the rest of the squadron about it, no one seemed to have seen it!
"At any rate, the 109 made positive identification of the big mass, as enemy fighters to me. The next thing that happened was two fighters came down head-on and firing--sort of at our group as a whole. This made retaliation an absolute necessity and someone near the lead took them on. In quick succession the Germans kept sending down small numbers at a time and those in the lead of our group were being engaged until finally the only ones left still climbing toward the main bunch (now down to about 100) were me and my wingman, Chuck Weaver. My element leader and his wingman were gone.
"At this point I was awestruck to note that the scene was just like the cover depictions of the big WW I air battles on such mags as 'Flying Aces,' etc. It was one big dogfight, fighters circling, twisting, going down in flames--the works. "Soon it was my turn, one lone 109 dropped down in front of me, out of range but weaving enticingly while two shooters dropped down above me. The plan, I'm sure, was for me to nose down after the one while the two shooters would get on our tail and finish us off. But I would not have any part of it,; my mind was still on the main bunch and I continued climbing. With this the bait weaved back and forth ever closer in what I'm sure he thought was a tempting manner. At the same time the two shooters were ever more attentive and somewhere along there I could no longer keep track of the main bunch. I started climbing straight at the two shooters, and from here on I never saw the main bunch again.
"Finally the bait 109 weaved so close that he was a threat. At this point I decided I could have to quickly drop my nose, shoot him down, and quickly resume the climb at the two shooters to keep them in check. I could no longer keep track of Chuck so had no idea what he was up to. The main dogfight had dissipated and they had all disappeared. I confidently dropped my nose when the bait was at a nice 90 degree deflection, fired a burst and quickly resumed the climb before the shots even got to him.
Well, it was a clean miss and all it did was arouse his competitive spirit, and he broke into me in a vicious attack. All planning on my part was out the window. I countered and managed to gain the upper hand in the dogfight that followed. But between the wild maneuvering and the stupid gunsight I couldn't get a clean hit. (Like some other original 357th pilots, Mace did not like the new K-14 computing sight.)
"I was able, through it all, to keep an eye on the two shooters above and where they seemed somewhat confused and tentative at first, they were beginning to act increasingly agitated and with my frustration at not being able to get a clean hit, I felt my situation was getting desperate. I finally decided to close on the guy and chew his tail off with my prop. "On the next pass and firing my guns, I closed to the point where a collision didn't look avoidable even if we both tried. As the impact drew near I ducked low to get behind the engine in case I bit off more than his tail. The moment passed and no collision. I couldn't believe it! When I raised up and cranked around to continue the pursuit, he was in his chute. I did not see any good hits and thought I just scared him out. Chuck Weaver told me later that he had stayed with me until near the end of the fight when he stalled and spun out. Upon his recovery, he pulled up in time to see the German bail out and fired a burst 'sort of in his direction.' I didn't hear that or repeat it, since shooting at parachutes was a no-no.
"I had lost Chuck by this time, and re-established my climb after the two shooters who were still rocking back and forth watching me, but seemed unsure what to do. I kept scanning the sky to make sure I didn't get bounced, and on one scan I spotted two fighters closing fast on my tail--I was climbing hard at only about 170 indicated. I looked up again and the two shooters were gone, but I could not figure how they got so far behind me. Few, if any, airplanes can turn with a P-51 at 400 mph so I dropped my nose and poured on the coal hoping to get near that speed before they got me in range. "Looking at them occasionally from the corner, I had to wait for just the right time to break. Too soon and they cut you off and gotcha. Too late and they fire and gotcha anyway. Finally, after what seemed like hours (I'm sure it was only seconds) the moment arrived and I whipped around into a head-sagging maximum 360 degree turn. About halfway round, someone on the radio said, 'Where'd he go, was he a 109?' I leveled out on the tail of two '51s which turned out to be two of our newer replacements. I answered, 'No, I'm not a 109 and since I'm on your tail you should be glad of that.'

[bobbysocks]

more of the arnhem missions..

Captain Arval Roberson leading Dollar (362nd) Green Flight:
"We had been maneuvering in the area south of the Zuider Zee for a short time when the R/T became cluttered with transmissions that only occur when an engagement is in process. After a couple of requests by our leader, someone finally parted with the information as to their location. I don't know if they were just too busy or they didn't want to share the treasure. We rolled out, headed south.
"The first sight of the engagement left one of the strongest impressions of my tour, for it was more like the dogfights that are depicted on artists' canvases and in movies of yesteryear. The scenarios for most of the encounters that I had, involved a stream of bombers being threatened by a gaggle of enemy fighters, who in turn were hit by small groups of escort fighters. The subsequent boiling mass of aircraft would soon spread all over the sky. Often a pilot firing on another aircraft, and/or a wingman covering the one who was firing, could not locate another plane of any kind when climbing back up from the deck or wherever contact had been broken. It is hard to visualize that at one moment there would be aircraft numbering in the hundreds ginning around and then minutes later the sky could be completely devoid of other aircraft.
"However, on this day, although the engagement was the same boiling mass of aircraft, I'd estimate between 30 and 40, the weather was a barrier, containing them in one general area. It seemed as if the cloud cover came up from the deck like a wall on the east to about 20,000 feet where it shelved westward, almost solid, to the coastline. It had a purple to lavender coloring that is association with storm scenes and made the whole area sunless and fairly dim.
"It was the dimness that actually helped me get the first glimpse of the action. Whenever caliber .50 ammo made contact with a solid object, a flash would emanate. In this dim light it was like a strobe and the large amount of flickering that was occurring could be seen like a fireworks display many miles away.
"We checked sights and armament switches and prepared to drop our wing tanks. As we neared the scene, I noticed my No. 4, Lt. Chuck Weaver, was having trouble getting rid of one tank so I veered slightly right to give him more time. I was observing the lead flight diving straight into the middle of that mess, getting strikes while I was ready to tell my No. 3 to take No. 4 away from the action when I saw his tank fall free. (No. 3 was Capt. Jim Kirla.) With this freedom I decided not to barge in with the others but to "street fight" on the outside edge and started to look for a target. I spotted an Me-109 under me going from left to right. I made a diving steep bank and led the gunsight ahead of his nose and fired. I don't think the aircraft I was flying had its guns boresighted in the normal box configuration, for they all seemed to come together on the cockpit. A bad of fire developed where the canopy had been, and I observed black smoke trailing the aircraft as it headed straight toward the ground. I did not see the pilot bail out.
"After checking that Goss was still with me, I looked around for another target. In a matter of seconds I found another 109 that was pulling off an engagement and climbing in front of me. I fired a short burst and observed numerous strikes on his tail. I held fire, pulled more lead through his nose and opened up again. I saw hits on his cowling and the signs of what appeared to be a mixture of smoke and coolant. I kept firing and held this angle until he passed out of sight under my nose. At this time it was necessary to take measures to keep from stalling, which I did by a slight turn to the left (away from the direction the 109 was going) and pushed forward to level out. After gaining some airspeed I banked right to resume the chase. Although I did see a disabled aircraft and some chutes, I did not see my target so I regrouped to find another.
"The next aircraft spotted was another 109 to my left at 10 o'clock in a steep turn to my left. As he was more in line for my wingman, I radioed for him to take him. Either there were transmission problems or too much interference, but Goss made no move toward the 109. I called again and when there was no indication I was getting through, I banked hard left and tried to pull through the Messerschmitt's flight path. We had gone almost 360 degrees around when I felt just a tad more and I would have enough lead to fire. I was so busy trying to get more turn out of my bird that I did not pay attention to a movement in my peripheral vision until I observed strikes all over the German aircraft. At this, I took time to observe a P-51 cutting across our circle and doing a good job of raking the 109. Our converging paths and my being on his belly side, forced me to take immediate evasive action by breaking right.
"When we had collected ourselves we started circling while gaining some altitude. I guess this terminated the action, for all I remember seeing during this time was about six big fires and quite a few smoldering ones on the ground--all grouped in an area of maybe a four-mile radius. Seeing nothing else, we climbed out and picked our average course home.
"Arriving back at Leiston, I did a victory roll before peeling off for landing and then debriefed the ground crew, saying I got one destroyed and one probable. I then headed for squadron ops for the formal debriefing and the 'flying hands' scene that always took place. One of the first persons I saw was Goss, and I made some statement of certainly getting that one and started to ask if he had heard me tell him to take the 109 when he interrupted me: 'What do you mean, the one? You got the other, too!' He started something about shooting the tail off and the pilot bailed out. He, being above and behind, had witnessed all this while I was trying to regain flying speed with the 109 being underneath me.
"After debriefing, I biked back to the hardstand and told the crew chief, 'Stud' Lybarger, to hold on, pending confirmation there would be two kill markings to be painted on." One month later, Roberson's wingman, Charles Goss, was shot down by flak but evaded capture and returned to the UK.

Jerome Jacobs: "I was scheduled for a 48-hour leave on September 19th, and I had a date with a beautiful girl in London. At about 6 a.m. I was awakened and asked to volunteer to fly the mission since one of the pilots was ill. Against my better judgment I dressed, being careful to wear my Class A uniform under my flying suit and reported for briefing.
"About 10 minutes into the mission our No. 3 man had to abort. Twenty minutes or so later we were vectored to bandits, and there were about 500 enemy fighters, the most we had seen since I had been in combat. the three of us quickly picked up three Me-109s; we were turning Lufberry circles in opposite directions. This went on for about three circles until the 109s broke off and we followed. My target turned into me and we faced each other head-on. I fired a long burst and his airplane exploded in front of me. I turned to watch the parts floating down and saw about 15 e/a going in the opposite direction. I called the squadron leader to get some help, but he told me to climb above the cloud to regroup before attacking again. The cloud layer was about 3,000 feet above. I checked my tail and saw 15 e/a now turned behind me.
"I felt that I was out of range and could make the clouds, when suddenly my airplane exploded. the cockpit was full of flames and there were no controls. My face was burnt and I was vaguely aware of what was happening. I bailed out as quickly as I could without even disconnecting my oxygen and other cords. As soon as I hit cool air my face felt a little better. Barely conscious, I thought I was in the clouds already and would wait for my emergence to pull the ripcord. I fell this way for some time before I began to regain my senses and decided to pull the cord. When I did, the chute jerked open and I hit the ground immediately.
"I got out of my chute and started to waddle toward hedges when I saw blood all over me and decided to return for my first- aid kit which was attached to my parachute. It was then that I saw a dozen German soldiers pointing guns at me and motioning me to stop. I couldn't hear them because I hadn't cleared my ears after the long drop (I bailed out at about 19,000 feet).
"I was searched and brought to an army hospital in Emmerick, Germany. My face and left wrist were badly burned and I had wounds on the left knee and forehead. I was at the army hospital for five days until they evacuated, and I was taken into the interior of Germany to POW camp." As happened to many other 8 AF aircrew who made dates with English girls, Jerry Jacobs never kept his date with the beautiful Londoner.

The third man in the ill-fated flight, Lt. Howard Moebius, ( story above) experienced much the same frantic dogfight against heavy odds before being shot down:

"On that day I had the misfortune of having our flight become separated from the group, and one of the wingmen had to abort. The three of us were flying at 10,000 when we were attacked by 35 or 40 German fighters. It all happened so fast I don't recall in which direction my flight leader or the other wingman went. I do know that I ended up with 12 to 14 Germans in a very tight circle. I knew that I was going to see more action than the day before. I opened fire as I closed on the tail of one ship and noticed parts of his plane come off. I did not see him bail out, and the airplane nosed over and dove for the ground. I tightened my turn and got behind a second ship and scored several hits. After a few more turns I got in tighter on him and was able to start his plane on fire.
"In the meantime two or three enemy ships stayed out of the circle and were taking pot shots by making dives at me from head on and right angles. All of a sudden my left wing seemed to explode. The doors on the gun bays popped open and the wing was in flames. I had to decide whether I should roll over and dive for the ground with the possibility of putting out the fire, or whether it would get to the wing tank and explode. We were in a tight right turn and our speed had greatly reduced as we were also fighting for altitude. I pulled the handle that popped the canopy, unfastened my seat belt, and climbed out on the inside of the turn. As I jumped I debated how long I should wait to open my chute. I knew that we were between 16,000 and 20,000 feet, and it would take me considerable time to get down if I opened my chute immediately. I had heard that by opening my chute immediately it would give German search parties every opportunity to locate me before I reached the ground. Since there were airborne troops parachuting into the area, I am sure the Germans would not wait until I hit the ground to open fire. I hung on as long as I could. However, I was spinning so fast that I was afraid I would not be able to judge when I was at 1,500 feet.
For a second it flashed into my mind that Chuck Yeager had said something about opening your arms and that would slow your spin. I opened my arms and my rotation slowed down so I was in a very long 14,000 to 16,000-foot swan dive, and the rush of air was terrific. When I thought I was down to about 1,500 feet I pulled the cord. The little chute popped out, followed by the main, and then it seemed like I just sat in midair.
"It wasn't long before two planes were diving directly at me. It was hard for me to tell whether they were '51s or '190s. However, when they opened fire there was little doubt! I had heard how to dump air from the chute so I reached up, grabbed several shroud lines on one side and pulled my weight up on them. This buckled the chute and allowed me to come down faster. It also spoiled the run that the 109s were making, as their shots must have gone over. (I learned later that they did hit my chute two or three times.) Because I was so close to the ground they did not make a second pass.
"When I was about 50 feet off the ground I realized how rapidly I was descending. I tried to turn so I would be facing the direction toward which I was drifting and could see that I was going to land in a plowed field. The newly plowed field cushioned my fall so I was able to get up immediately. I unfastened my chute, gathered it up, and ran for the edge of the field. However, my G-suit, which was very tight fitting, caused cramps in my legs before I had run 40 yards. I buried my chute and then crawled to a small vegetable garden. I lay for a moment below the leaves in a small rhubarb patch. After what seemed like hours but was probably a few minutes, the cramps left my legs. When I got up in a kneeling position and started to look around, I saw a small boy not more than 40 feet away, motioning for me to get down and pointing toward another field. There I saw a German soldier walking with his gun in the ready position, and I immediately lay down again. I crawled slowly to the edge of the garden where I found a very deep, narrow trench. It was not more than 18 inches wide but it was about three feet deep.
The first thing I did was take off my G-suit, which was quite an operation in such tight quarters. I then lit a cigarette and decided I would just sit there until dark. I could hear a considerable amount of small arms firing in the distance, the heavier concussion of artillery, and intermittent machine gun fire.
"After dark I heard the whistling of the code letter V. At first it did not quite register and I debated whether it was a German or someone who could aid me. Finally I risked sticking my head up and I saw a bout about 20 years old. He was softly saying, 'American pilot, I am your friend,' and he would whistle the letter V three times and repeat, "American pilot, I am your friend.' I decided that since I had my .45 pistol in my hand, I would risk going up to him. He was very calm and cheerful, and said that he would help me."
This was the beginning of five months with the Dutch underground for Howard Moebius. They were months of living everywhere from ditches and shacks to fine country homes, numerous close encounters with German soldiers, artillery, and illness. Finally in February 1945 the Dutch and Belgian underground guided Moebius and two B-26 pilots down the Wahl river to link up with Canadian forces and freedom.

Major Edwin Hiro, the mission leader, flying his P-51D named "Horse's Itch" scored a 109 for his fifth victory. His encounter report was filed by his wingman, Flight Officer Johnnie Carter, as Hiro did not return.
"At about 1720 we were flying at about 13,000 in a direction of south about 10 miles west of Arnhem, we saw about 10 enemy planes engaged in a fight with about 15 of our airplanes. We dropped our tanks and went into a diving turn to the left. I was on Major Hiro's wing when we entered the fight, but was forced to break up and slightly out to avoid hitting a ship coming head-on. Major Hiro made a sharp turn to the left and got on the tail of an enemy ship. There were so many planes in the Lufberry that I had to pull out and over to get back in position on Major Hiro's wing.
"About this time the plane that I thought was Major Hiro broke out and headed for the deck on the tail of a 109. I took out after him and tried to catch them. I followed them all the way to the deck and saw the 109 crash in flames. Major Hiro pulled up into a steep chandelle and got in with a bunch of other ships that were still milling around. Due to my being quite a ways behind and in poor visibility when I joined up with one of these ships, I had gotten the wrong ship. I broke off immediately and tried to find my position but there were so many in the area that I was unable to find Major Hiro.
"About this time I heard him call our flight and ask our position, and tried to give his own. There was so much talk on the radio that we could not get each other's position. About this time, recall was given and I thought my best bet was to stay with the ships in the area to come home. I joined one of the flights and returned to base. When I landed I found that Major Hiro had not returned."
Luftwaffe reports attached to Hiro's Missing Aircrew Report tell us that a Mustang crashed at Ahaus (a village 38 miles west of Arnhem), shot down by a fighter. The pilot was dead and was buried in a Catholic cemetery, Vreden, grave No. 11.
Forty-one years later, almost to the day, this writer heard a postscript on the loss of Edwin Hiro and James Blanchard. During a conversation with 362nd Squadron pilot Ted Conlin, he gave me his memories:
"Jim Blanchard was my wingman that day and I think Capt. Williams was leading Dollar Squadron. When we arrived in the area we heard considerable chatter on the R/T, probably Major Hiro and his squadron. Just as we dropped our tanks we were bounced by 109s that came out of the sun and cloud cover. A 109 being chased by a '51 went across my nose, but the '51 had a 109 on his ass so I rolled into attach headed straight down. As I closed on the 109 I took cannon fire on my left side. I had to break off to handle my problem. It was that moment when my wingman, Blanchard, was shot down. I had thought at the time that Major Hiro was the P-51 and I tried to relocate him and Blanchard. After several minutes the enemy broke away and we returned to base. I then gave my account at debriefing and I am certain Major Hiro was the man in the middle of that attack."

During the two days of intense combat on the 18th and 19th, claims for the destruction of 50 Me-109s and FW-190s were turned in, plus a probable and two damaged. Seven Mustangs were lost with three pilots dead, three prisoners, and one evader. The Yoxford Boys' eventful participation in Operation Market-Garden was over.