by Frank Walton
KILL THE BASTARDS!
On this road 20 wounded soldiers
of the regiment “Queen of Battles”
—being carried on litters—were
bayoneted, stabbed and shot by the
yellow bastards.
KILL THE BASTARDS!
They were playing for keeps here.
The next morning we took off shortly after seven o’clock and landed in the beautiful Russell Islands some 30 minutes later. The Russell Islands could have been a Hollywood set for a tropical movie. The water was a clear, cobalt blue. The sand was clean and white. Tall coconut palms waved lazily in warm breezes scented with frangipani and other exotic flowers.
But as our truck began to climb a short hill to our quarters, we saw that this was no time for lazy contemplation and lolling on the beach. Beside the road was a sign: “Marine Air Group 21, where the extermination of Japs is a business, not a pastime.”
Our squadron had been assigned Scramble Alert duty for the day. That meant that the pilots were to stand by, to take off at short notice to intercept any enemy planes that might come our way.
Boyington took advantage of the opportunity to give the pilots some instruction on tactics. He sat on his heels in the shade of the ready room, with the pilots gathered about him like players around their coach, and covered the crushed coral surface of the ground in front of him with diagrams.
“There’s one thing you must always keep in mind,” he said. “Carry out your mission. If you’re covering bombers, cover them to the target and back. Don’t take off some place to attack a couple of Zeros off to one side. I know you all want to shoot down planes. But our first job is the completion of the mission, whatever it is. Keep in mind that when you do get your opportunity, it’ll just be a quick flash and your chance will be gone. Be prepared to take full advantage of it. When you get your chance, attack immediately and let him have it.”
Boyington then went over the differences between the Zeros and our Corsairs.
“You’re flying one of the sweetest fighters there is,” he said. “But there are certain things a Corsair won’t do. Don’t try to loop with a Zero because the Zero is a lighter, more maneuverable plane and will loop inside you and he’ll end up on your tail. The same goes for turning—don’t try to turn with him. But your ship is faster; it will climb away from him in a shallow climb, and you can outdive anything they’ve got. So what does all this add up to? Just this: get above him; come in on him in a high stern pass; hold your fire till you’re within good, close range; let him have it and watch him burn. When they’re hit right they burn like celluloid.
“If you miss him, don’t stick around to dogfight. Dive out—get the hell out of there—climb away and come back into the fight with some altitude and speed.
“Stay together if you can, particularly your two-plane section. Unless you’re completely swamped on all sides, you’re in good shape if you keep your section together.
“Depend on your plane; it’s built to take a beating and still bring you home. And try to bring them back, men; they’re all we have.
“Remember that fighter planes are built to fight. That’s our primary general mission. Any time there are enemy planes in the air and we have fighters up, we should tangle with them if we can do so without leaving our own bombers or photo planes unprotected.”
That was the essence of the Boyington system—aggression. He often advocated that our fighters be stripped of their camouflage coating and left their natural silver color; it would make it easier for a fight to begin, he said. With the camouflage on our planes, an enemy formation might not see us, and a chance for a fight would be lost.
As it turned out, the Black Sheep had plenty of opportunities to fight.
That night, we all gathered in our hut to talk over plans, to sing, and to enjoy a general gabfest.
“I think we should have a name for our squadron,” someone suggested.
The idea was instantly accepted and we began to toss around one name after another. We agreed at once that we did not want one of the Walt Disney bugs, bees, and bunnies types of names that were so prevalent. Then someone said:
“How about Boyington’s Bastards?”
After all, our squadron had been slapped together from replacement and pool pilots. Our skipper had been told he’d never fly again. We’d had practically no training as a squadron. We’d been assigned ground and administrative echelons, but they’d been left at Espiritu Santo.
The name fit us perfectly.
The next day I told Jack DeChant, the Marine Corps public relations officer in the Island Group Headquarters, about our choice.
“That won’t do,” he said. “You’ll have to find a more printable name.” The press was considerably more straitlaced in those days than it is now.
When I reported this to the boys, we again got our heads together and came up with the name “Black Sheep.” It told somewhat the same story.
Next, of course, we had to have an emblem, and after further discussion we worked out a heraldry shield with its top formed by the cowl and inverted gull-wings of the Corsair. Diagonally across the shield we put a bar sinister, the heraldry sign for bastard. In the upper left we had a woebegone, lopeared black sheep; in the lower right we put our squadron number—214—and finished off with a circle of stars in the center. Bill Case drew a preliminary draft, and then Pen Johnson, a Marine combat correspondent, produced a beautiful original for us. With a name and an emblem, we began to feel more like a unit.
The first combat flight for the newly named Black Sheep came on 14 September. Munda airstrip had been taken by the Marines, although fighting was still going on around it. The earlier Marine pilots had written a glorious page in aviation history for us to carry on: between 7 December 1941 and that date nearly two years later, Marine airmen had shot down more than half of all the aircraft destroyed in the entire Pacific area—more than the Army, Navy, and New Zealand Air forces combined.
So it was with a mixed feeling of anxiety and satisfaction that Doc Reames and I watched 24 of our Black Sheep (four of them in borrowed planes) take off on this first mission. They were to escort Army B-24s to bomb Kahili, strongest of the five Japanese airfields on Bougainville.
Shortly before noon, our planes began to come back and circle in the landing pattern. Then the boys were in the ready room, and I began to piece together the story of the flight. The B-24s had dropped most of their bombs in the water off the end of the strip; no enemy aircraft were encountered and very little antiaircraft fire.
The boys were a little disappointed.
7 | “Zeros Spilled Out of the Clouds”
At one o’clock in the afternoon of 16 September 1943, Pappy Boyington taxied to the end of the white coral runway, gunned his engine, and sped out over the blue waters of the bay off the Russell Islands. Twenty-three other Black Sheep followed in smooth order. The 24 planes got off the ground in just seven minutes.
This was to be a strike on Ballale, a strategically located island in the bay off southern Bougainville. Its airfield was operational, and the whole island was solid with antiaircraft positions. Black Sheep pilots were to act as high cover for Marine torpedo and dive bombers. They made their rendezvous with the bombers on schedule over Munda at 1:50 P.M.
The formation moved northward under a fleecy layer of clouds, the bombers at 13,000 feet and the Black Sheep at 21,000. Between them were a layer of New Zealand Warhawks at 15,000 and a layer of Navy Hellcats at 19,000 as intermediate cover.
As twenty-four-year-old John Begert reported, “Zeros spilled out of the clouds” onto them when the bombers started their dives on the target. Some 40 to 50 Zeros attacked the Black Sheep and started a fight that spread all over the sky for 200 square miles and lasted 30 minutes. It was a mad scramble, with 16 of the 24 Black Sheep seeing action for the first time.
Twenty-two-year-old Bob Alexander, one of the newcomers to combat, was flying wing on Major Bailey. The two Corsairs dived toward a circli
ng hive of 20 Zeros, selected one, and came down on him in a quarter pass. The Zero rolled onto its back and dived. The two Black Sheep followed it down to 10,000 feet.
At this point Alexander saw a flight of three Zeros preparing to dive on them. He pulled up to keep them off his division leader’s tail. Bailey stayed with his Zero, continuing to fire till it went into the clouds, smoking.
Bailey followed it into the clouds, went on instruments, circled, and pulled out into the clear. He saw a Zero coming down on him, firing, so he ducked back into the clouds. When he came out, the same thing happened again, and then three times more. Bailey decided this was not his day, so he stayed in the clouds and headed for home on instruments.
Coming out into the clear, he saw a pilot floating down in his chute with a Zero making passes at him, attempting to machine-gun him as he dangled there.
Bailey dived at the Zero. It pulled up in a tight loop and got on his tail. The Major dived out, circled back and then heard the thud of bullets on his plane. Three Zeros were on his tail. Convinced anew that this was not his day, Bailey dived out and nursed his bullet-scarred plane home.
Alexander, meanwhile, had attacked the three Zeros that had been preparing to dive on him and Bailey. They scattered, and Alexander was left momentarily alone in the sky.
He spotted two Zeros about a thousand feet below him. The wingman was trailing about a hundred feet to the right, slightly stepped down. Alexander dived on them, and leveled off, making a direct stern approach on the wingman. He closed till he could spot the red roundel, then opened fire at 150 yards. He saw his bullets sieve the cockpit, tail, and mid-fuselage. Bits of metal and fabric flew off, and the Zero began to smoke.
Alexander continued to fire as he closed and then pulled up and passed over the Zero’s right wing within 50 feet of the enemy. Looking into the cockpit, he saw flames come up from under the instrument panel and immediately fill the whole cockpit.
“It looked just like they do it in the movies,” Bob told me.
Alexander cut across in front of the flaming Zero and sighted in on the leader, who rolled over and dived down. Alexander spotted four Zeros above him with the leader peeling off for an overhead pass at him, so he nosed his Corsair over and dived out.
Seeing that his tail was clear, he began to climb again toward a 16-plane melee above him—only to find that they were all Zeros, circling and slow-rolling among themselves. Realizing this was no place for a lone Corsair without altitude advantage, Alexander dived and headed for home.
Bill Case was leading a division of four Corsairs when he spotted seven Zeros attacking a flight below them. His division rolled over and dived on the Zeros. Their leader saw them coming and pulled up. All four Black Sheep got in short bursts, pulled up, rolled over, and went down on the Zeros in an overhead.
Case picked out one and corkscrewed down with him for two turns and then pulled out. By this time Case had lost his second section, but his wingman, Rollie Rinabarger, was still with him.
“Nine Zeros, nine o’clock and up,” reported Rinabarger suddenly, and Case spotted them off to his left.
The two Corsairs spread out about 200 yards apart, flying a level parallel course with the enemy planes still at high nine o’clock.
In spite of their numerical superiority, the nine Zeros failed to press home the attack, making only short, ducking, ineffectual passes.
Case and Rinabarger gradually pulled away until they spotted four more Zeros attacking two Corsairs. As one of the Corsairs dived out of trouble, Case and his wingman dived on one of the Zeros. The Japanese plane smoked, pulled up sharply, and then rolled over and down, leaving a black trail.
Case rolled and spiraled down behind him, losing his wingman in the dive. Rinabarger had mistaken the other Corsair for Case and had joined with him.
Case, in turn, joined a Navy Hellcat, and the two started home. The Hellcat pilot spotted a straggler in trouble, waggled his wings, and turned to attack with Case following. The Hellcat pilot made a beam run, firing, but missed, and the Zero turned in toward Case. The two planes—Japanese and American—came at each other with guns firing. Four of Case’s six guns quit, but he continued his head-on run.
It was the Zero that pulled out in a chandelle to the left. Case pulled sharply to the right and rolled over on him in an overhead pass. The Japanese pilot rolled over and spiraled down, Case staying with him even though only two of his guns were firing.
At 4,000 feet Case began his pullout, leveling off at 1,500 feet. The Zero had disappeared.
During the scramble Rinabarger saw a “daisy chain”: a Corsair had a Zero on its tail, another Corsair was on the Zero’s tail, and another Zero was on the second Corsair’s tail. Ronnie dived to make the fifth, but the last Zero pulled away as he did so.
John Begert was leading a division of Black Sheep when the skies rained Zeros.
“After a few violent maneuvers,” he told me, “a Zero came across my bow, followed by a Corsair. The Zero slow-rolled to the right, rolled on his back, and pulled through too tightly for the Corsair to follow. I peeled off and got in a short burst at the Zero. He burst into flames from the underside of the engine and all along the belly. The pilot bailed out.
“Thirty seconds later the same thing happened. Another Zero, followed by another Corsair, pulled through so sharply the Corsair couldn’t stay with him. I opened fire from about 50 yards and gave him a short burst. The Zero rolled over on his back, and I rolled with him, firing all the way through. He caught fire along the sides of the cowl as we were inverted, and then he spun down burning and crashed in the water.”
Bob Ewing, Black Sheep Flight Officer, was leading a division consisting of Bob McClurg, Paul Mullen, and Tom Emrich. These four Black Sheep attacked 16 Zeros in a diving turn to the right. Ewing crowded over so much toward the other three planes in his division, which were on his right, that McClurg had to cross under him to give him room. In doing so, he was left on the outside of the turn and could not stay with his three division mates.
Ewing kept crowding over on Mullen, trying to get into a position to fire. Mullen continued to slide over until he saw a Zero in a steep dive on a Corsair to the left below them. Mullen and his wingman, Emrich, cut under Ewing and got in a burst at the attacking Zero. The Zero spun, smoked, and then went off to the side in a controlled dive.
When McClurg leveled off at 21,000 feet he looked around for his division, but couldn’t spot them. Then he looked for any friendly plane to join up with. Off to his left he spotted a rust-colored Zero on its back, firing at a friendly plane. McClurg immediately headed in that direction. The friendly plane began to burn and went down vertically.
The Zero rolled out at the same altitude as McClurg and came at him in a head-on run from about 400 yards out.
“I could see puffs of smoke coming from his wings so I knew he was firing at me,” said McClurg, “but I couldn’t tell whether or not he was hitting me. I just held the trigger down as we came at each other. My tracers seemed to be crossing right in front of his engine, apparently having no effect at first.
“At the last possible instant before we would have collided, the Zero rolled over and dropped into a diving turn to the right with black smoke pouring out of its engine.
“I circled to the left above him and watched as flame burst from the engine and shot back to the cockpit. Then he spun down burning.”
Boyington, leading the Black Sheep’s first division, heard the “Tally Ho” call, but saw no enemy planes near him. He pushed over and went down through a layer of clouds looking for them. He was in a sharp circle to the left with Don Fisher, his wingman, about 200 yards behind him when a Zero came in from the left, crossed between the two Black Sheep, and circled in a quarter pass on Boyington. Fisher fired a burst at the Zero, which went into a slow roll to the left.
“I closed in on him,” related Fisher, “and gave him another burst at the top of his roll. Flames shot out of his wing roots, and then the whole plane exploded.
“I looked around for Pappy, but before I could spot him, a Corsair passed in front of me with a Zero on its tail. I fired a short burst and missed, but caused the Zero to pull up into a slow roll to the left. I gave him a continuous burst as he was on his back. He scooped his slow roll and then began to smoke heavily. He fell off on his left wing and spun down. I followed him down, firing, to 4,000 feet. He spun in, burning.”
Shortly after he lost Fisher, Boyington saw a Zero pull alongside, waggle his wings, and pull ahead, passing within 100 feet of him. The Zero had somehow mistaken Boyington for a friendly plane as this is the signal to join up. Boyington accommodated him by giving him a burst from 50 yards. The Zero flamed from the cockpit and spun down burning.
Looking for his flight, Boyington could see no planes at all, so he started for home. Ten thousand feet below him, he spotted several Zeros making passes at the rear of our bomber formation. Pappy pushed over and dived on one of them, opening fire at 300 yards and closing fast.
“The Zero exploded completely when I was about 50 feet from him,” said Boyington. “I threw up my arms to protect my face and flew through the debris.”
Boyington’s plane had dents in the cowling and leading edges of his wings from this debris.
“I climbed back in the sun to 18,000 feet and looked around. A Zero was diving on the right flank of the bombers.
“I started to dive, and as I did so, the Zero overran his target and pulled up to about 11,000 feet. I leveled out a little and caught him on the rise as he climbed. I opened fire at about 300 yards and held the trigger down as he went into a loop. I stayed with him in the loop for a moment; then he pulled inside of me, and as I was on my back, I looked below and saw him flame and spin down.
“I climbed back in the sun and took another look. Zeros that had been heckling the bombers were now leaving them and heading for home in pairs at about 6,000 feet. I spotted what I thought was a single, and knowing I’d have too much speed in a power dive, I slid down on him in a throttle-back glide.