The Mustang was aerodynamically extremely “clean.” Its laminar-flow wing was one of the most efficient airfoils of the era, and the air scoop mounted beneath the fuselage caused less drag than the nose-mounted radiators. Eventually its top speed was rated at 437 mph.
Colonel Charles M. McCorkle of the Thirty-first and Lieutenant Colonel Robert Levine of the Fifty-second oversaw the conversion from Spitfires to Mustangs. Though the airplanes were different breeds, they both used the Merlin, one of the finest aircraft engines of the war, simplifying maintenance.
Despite its devotion to the Spitfire—the most glamorous of all Allied fighters—the Thirty-first Group immediately recognized the P-51’s advantages. In nearly a year and a half flying Spits, the Thirty-first had claimed 194 aerial victories. Pilots doubled that figure in less than five months with the hardy little North American pony. The Spitfire’s monthly record had been thirty kills, set in January 1944, but the Thirty-first topped that figure in each of its first five months flying ’51s.
For aggressive aviators, performance was only part of the equation. The other was range. The Mustang’s long legs could take pilots where the action was. On April 16 the group flew a bomber escort almost to the Romanian border. The Mustangs were airborne for four hours and forty-five minutes, twice the endurance of a typical Spitfire mission.
The Fifty-second Group began transition on April 22 and logged its first Mustang mission on May 10, an escort to Nice, France.
Pilots immediately felt at home in a P-51. When American males averaged five foot eight, its cockpit layout was one of the best. The controls fell easily to hand, the result of North American’s attention to detail. Visibility was decent in the B and C models, though the view rearward was restricted as in the Spitfire and the Messerschmitt 109.
As a weapon, the Mustang was tops. It originally packed four .50 caliber machine guns, but the D model featured the bubble canopy and six guns. With its speed, maneuverability, and range, it could take the fight to the enemy and engage him on better than even terms. At the same time, Mustangs protected American bombers from deadly Luftwaffe interceptors over any target. The P-51 was one of a handful of game-changers among military aircraft. It probably saved the daylight bombing offensive when relentless attrition threatened to force a change in AAF policy.
The 325th Group continued flying Thunderbolts until late May, leaving little time for transition. But in those carefree days of military aviation, the prevailing attitude was “They all have a stick and a throttle. Go fly ’em.” So it was with the 325th, which parked its Thunderbolts on May 24 and launched the first Mustang mission three days later.
By then, Bob Baseler had rolled out of the group, reassigned to Brigadier General Strother’s fighter wing staff. Baseler was succeeded by a Texan, Lieutenant Colonel Chester L. Sluder, on April 1. Baseler nevertheless continued flying occasional missions, maintaining the good-natured feud with his former crew chief. Because Baseler’s P-47 had been Big Stud, Sergeant Eckert dubbed the smaller Mustang Little Stud. The colonel had learned his lesson previously and did not object.
Major Herschel “Herky” Green was top gun of the 325th, already an ace with nine victories in P-40s and P-47s. Recalling the Mustang, he said,
Pilots reported getting into a turning duel with an enemy plane and suddenly finding they were having to push forward on the stick with all their strength to keep the aircraft from turning tighter and tighter and entering a high speed stall. Many reported they could not prevent the high speed stall. Several stated that the aircraft had stalled and snapped into a spin from which they felt fortunate to escape. It did not take us long to become fully aware of this critical problem and heed the placard warning.
On long missions it was tempting to retain as much fuel in wing and fuselage tanks as possible, but we learned always to burn off at least 55 gallons from the fuselage tank before changing to the drop tanks.2
The last to convert to P-51s was the 332nd Group, the Tuskegee Airmen, which exchanged Thunderbolts for Mustangs in June. The Tuskegee Airmen were accustomed by then to changing mounts. The original Ninety-ninth Squadron had flown P-40s for nearly a year before converting to P-47s. The group commander was Colonel Benjamin O. Davis Jr., an army brat whose father had been America’s first black general. Davis Jr. had graduated well up in the West Point class of 1936 and won his wings in 1942. He was a serious, no-nonsense officer driven to succeed.
Whatever their airplane, fighter pilots were practically kids. Of the Fifteenth Air Force’s top fourteen aces (that is, those with ten or more aerial kills), eleven were under twenty-five. The top gun was John J. Voll, a twenty-two-year-old captain. Four of the leading scorers made ace as second lieutenants, and six others at twenty years old were still too young to drink or vote.
The old hands were twenty-six, and some group commanders, including full colonels, were under thirty.3 In contrast, some bomber commanders were nearly forty. The average army pilot was twenty-four and earning more money than he could easily spend. In 1944 an unmarried first lieutenant received a monthly base pay of $166.66 plus $83.30 flight pay, $16.60 overseas pay, and $6.75 miscellaneous allowances: a princely $273.31. (The commensurate figure in 2014 would be about $3,628.) If he died in the line of duty, the beneficiary of his GI insurance policy received $10,000.4
A P-51 pilot flew a $51,500 aircraft that only a Howard Hughes could have afforded in civilian life. The Mustang jockey had 1,700 horses in his left hand and 2,100 rounds of machine gun ammunition under his right index finger. P-38 pilots reveled in even more deluxe machinery: in 1944 their twin-engine Lightning cost the taxpayers $97,100. It was so sleek that it cruised almost as fast on one engine as two.
The Lightning was the most distinctive aircraft in European skies. Its twin-boom configuration with a gondola housing the pilot and armament was unique. The design was radical for its era, more revolutionary than evolutionary. It featured a two-handed control yoke instead of a stick and a nose wheel. Powered by two supercharged 1,700-horsepower Allison engines, it made news from its debut in 1939. The P-38 was America’s first production aircraft capable of 400 mph in level flight, and despite its large size (a fifty-two-foot wingspan), it was surprisingly agile. Counter-rotating props eliminated torque or the powerful “P-factor.”
Fighter pilots often lorded it over lesser mortals, aloft and on the ground. Bomber crews at Amendola recalled a spectacular buzz job by the First Fighter Group. The P-38s from Salsola extended their flight pattern twelve miles southeast, screaming in so fast and low that their slipstreams collapsed some tents. The miscreants were never identified.
All the fighter pilot had to do was show up, fly, and shoot. He had few collateral duties. His exotic airplane, fuel, and ammunition were all provided, and there was no bag limit on the prey he hunted. Inevitably, his youthful, type-A personality combined with his bulletproof attitude to produce tragedy. Shortly after the Thirty-first Group converted to Mustangs, a twenty-six-year-old lieutenant with four kills stayed up late drinking with his buddies. At dawn Leonard H. Emery fired up his airplane, took off, buzzed the field, and disappeared. Much later the group learned that a lone P-51 had been shot down while strafing Bucharest. Some said the pilot had been grieving the loss of a friend, others that he had “the Messerschmitt twitch.” As often happened in war, the full story was never known.5
FRIEND OR FOE?
A new aircraft in theater invited both curiosity and error; the Mustang was no exception.
From World War II onward, the incidence of friendly fire varied widely—between 2 and 15 percent of aircraft destroyed or damaged in combat—but whatever the number, “blue on blue” incidents were all too common. The most frequent cause was poor aircraft recognition. Innately aggressive twenty-something pilots in high-speed combat had to make decisions in a couple of heartbeats: mistakes were inevitable.6 Although nothing else resembled a P-38, a Mustang—especially the B model—could be mistaken for a Messerschmitt 109. And from some angles, despite its el
liptical wing, the radial-engine P-47 could resemble a Focke-Wulf 190.
On an April 1944 mission to Wiener Neustadt, a P-38 shot up Captain Harry Parker’s Thunderbolt. The Checkertail pilot nursed his crippled “Jug” to friendly territory before ringing up the for-sale sign. He parachuted to safety, returning to down thirteen enemy aircraft.
On April 16, Liberator gunners who had not seen Mustangs before put a .50 caliber round through Lieutenant Howard Baetjer’s engine. The Thirty-first Group pilot bailed out and was listed as missing in action. He turned up six weeks later courtesy of Yugoslavian Partisans. His friends plied him for details, but all returnees were prohibited from revealing information about their rescues. Baetjer returned to flying, though the Princeton graduate’s luck ran out. He was shot down again and spent the rest of the war in POW camps.
The friendly fire losses were frustrating, but they eventually declined.
ESCORT POLICY
With far greater range than the Spitfire, the Mustang opened a new chapter in the history of the Fifteenth Air Force. But Strother’s fighter pilots had their work cut out for them learning how to make the best use of their new mount, as George Loving of the Thirty-first Group relates:
Lacking experience with the P-51, higher headquarters pretty much left it to our group commander, Sandy McCorkle, to come up with escort tactics we would use. Boiled down to the essence, Sandy’s strategy was to have us maintain considerable height over the bombers, keep squadron integrity as long as possible, always leave part of the formation high over the bombers when going after enemy fighters, but not go to the deck or outside the battle area, and regroup as soon as possible.
Typically, the lead squadron of Mustangs would be positioned three thousand or four thousand feet above the lead bomber group, a second squadron would be one thousand feet higher over the middle of the bomber formation, and the third squadron would be over the rearmost bomber group, two thousand feet higher than the lead Mustang squadron. Altitude could be converted quickly to airspeed, which could be the vital factor in any air battle. For this reason, we needed to stay high but still within easy reach of any enemy fighters posing a threat to the bombers.7
The Checkertails’ Barrie Davis writes, “I do not remember the exact date orders changed, but until about April 1944, we had orders to break off the chase at fifteen thousand feet and return to close escort of the bombers.” Subsequently headquarters in Bari issued a policy change,
with instructions to chase the enemy until we got him—even if the chase extended down to ground level.
The orders to break off the chase at fifteen thousand feet caused a false belief in the minds of enemy pilots. Several years ago, during a Hungarian-sponsored Bucharest reunion of airmen who fought in the air over Hungary, I talked with former German and Hungarian fighter pilots who believed the Me-109 could out-dive the Mustang. This belief developed when they had dived to escape a pursuing Mustang, went through fifteen thousand feet, looked behind, and the Mustang was gone. It was a fatal belief. Three of my six aerial victories came when the enemy fighters attempted to escape with a steep dive, which was not successful.8
Arthur Fiedler, a twenty-year-old Mustang pilot, was an ace before he could vote. His early experience demonstrated the difference between the policies of staying with the bombers and “pursue and destroy.”
On 24 June 1944 I bounced six Me-109s preparing to attack B-24s, I was returning to base alone with a rough engine. When I reached their altitude, only the last man was still there and I glommed onto him. Lost my gunsight bulb due to high Gs but finally managed to get hits on him as we passed through the B-24s who targeted both of us.
At fifteen thousand feet I had to leave him per orders and attempt to return to the bombers. At that time, he was trailing coolant and a tongue of flame was visible on his left fuselage. I was given credit for a probable.
Some time in the next four days, we were advised of Doolittle’s [Eighth Air Force] policy, which was formulated after his evaluation of why the Germans failed against the English in the Battle of Britain. Essentially if an e/a attacked our escorted bombers, we were to pursue him until we eliminated him or the reverse occurred. On 28 June I received credit for two Me 109s although the new policy was not particularly germane as we were on a fighter sweep.9
The reference to Doolittle’s escort policy for his British-based fighters was timely. When Ira Eaker moved to the Mediterranean in early 1944, he left in place his close-escort policy with the Eighth and apparently extended it to the Fifteenth. Doolittle and his Eighth Air Force fighter commander, Major General William E. Kepner, however, almost immediately reversed the policy. Both knew that the Luftwaffe had attempted close escort over Britain in 1940 and that the result had been heavy losses among German bombers. More than forty years later, Luftwaffe fighter chief Adolf Galland still chafed under the restriction, complaining that his Messerschmitt pilots, who were denied the initiative, had to react to RAF interceptors rather than attacking them on even terms.10
Fiedler continued,
Initially the bomber folks complained bitterly about the new policy; however, since their losses decreased, the complaints eventually lessened considerably although there were exceptions. One could also question whether the loss of Ploesti contributed to decreased attacks on our bombers, or perhaps other considerations were in play?
Now assume you are a German fighter pilot. You know that if you attack a group of bombers escorted by one specific group of P-51s, you probably can make a high speed attack from altitude, hit the bombers, dive away, and the fighters will not follow you. You are also aware that if you attack bombers escorted by the other three P-51 groups, they may follow you wherever you go until they either eliminate you or you are fortunate and able to down the pursuing P-51[s]. You also know from past encounters, that in a knock down, drag out contest, neither the Me-109 nor the FW-190 have been particularly successful in surviving when confronted by a Mustang flown by a good pilot!11
Apparently both strategic air forces allowed fighter group commanders to choose their own escort policy. Most chose the flexible, roving tactics described by the Thirty-first and 325th rather than sticking with the “heavies” most of the time. While reducing bomber losses was important, it was secondary to achieving air superiority, and destroying the enemy air force was not accomplished by flying formation on the bombers. Besides, once the Axis fighters were beaten, U.S. bomber losses would plummet. So from June 1944 the Mustang dominated Fifteenth Air Force escort missions. At war’s end, the three top-scoring groups flew P-51s, and among the fourteen double aces or better, only one flew a Lightning.
BOMBERS
The Fifteenth had added one new B-24 group in December, four in January, and three in February. Twining continued building his air force that spring, adding another group of Liberators in March and three in April. The AAF was turning out heavy bomb groups with the same efficiency as the Willow Run production line was turning out Liberators. The typical unit went from authorization to activation in about two months. The groups formed up at remote bases in Idaho, Utah, New Mexico, and Nebraska, and their names tell the story: the 450th from Boise to Manduria, the 455th from Alamogordo to San Giovanni, the 464th from Wendover to Panatella. A bomb group’s four squadrons spent seven or eight months training before deploying overseas, though two groups—the 464th and 465th—were nearly a year reaching Panatella.
There was a building-block approach to unit training, which was conducted in three phases. The first phase, focused on individual crewmembers, introduced pilots to their planes and molded ten individuals into a combat team. In the second phase, crews concentrated on formation flying and aerial gunnery, usually progressing from three-plane flights to six- and nine-plane squadrons. In the final phase, crews conducted long-range navigation flights, often over water. Training focused on essential combat tasks with more gunnery and often daily bombing.
The Fifteenth took six months to grow to maturity. In December 1943, it comprised 4,873
officers and 32,867 men. Its 1,115 bomber crews (about 11,150 men, nearly 30 percent of the Fifteenth’s total personnel) operated 739 B-24s and 200 B-17s. With arrival of the Fifty-fifth Bomb Wing’s last two groups (465th and 485th) in April 1944, Twining owned twenty-one bomb groups and seven fighter groups. It was half of the Eighth Air Force’s final strength, but by the spring of 1944 he had what he needed to accomplish his primary mission: to shut off Germany’s Balkan oil. In the meantime, however, there were other items on the Fifteenth’s growing agenda.
MORALE TARGETS: SOFIA AND BUCHAREST
Operating over the Balkans in the spring and summer of 1944, the Fifteenth began to encounter aircraft from two other Axis nations—Romania and its southern neighbor, Bulgaria.
Romania’s oil and transport systems were obvious targets for the Allies, and the Fifteenth repeatedly struck Bucharest and Ploesti. From early April through June, Twining launched six bombing missions against the capital with as many as three hundred Forts and Liberators at a time hitting marshalling yards and refineries. In June, Fifteenth fighters swept over the city on two occasions, dropping down to strafe airfields, locomotives, and most anything that moved.12
Romanian fighters had intercepted B-24s during Operation Tidal Wave, the low-level Ploesti raid in August 1943, and they intercepted Fifteenth Air Force bombers from April 1944 onward. The yellow-crossed Messerschmitts clashed with Mustangs for the first time during a shuttle mission to Russia on June 6. Captain Constantin Cantacuzino, an international sportsman before the war, had a string of victories over the Soviets but relished the chance to fight P-51s. He made the most of the opportunity when the Seventh Fighter Group tied into a formation of 325th Checkertails, brand new to the Mustang. Escorting bombers to Galati, Romania, the Checkertails encountered stiff opposition, losing two planes while claiming six kills. Cantacuzino shot down Lieutenant John D. Mumford, who eluded capture and reached the Soviet lines.13
Forgotten Fifteenth Page 7