by Stout, Jay
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Introduction: “I’ll See You When I Get Back”
“I Now Have Cancer”
“He Loved Flying More than Anything”
“My Flying Has Been Pretty Good Lately”
“I’d Rather Fly than Eat”
“I’m Really Enjoying This All”
“The Chance of a Skunk Picking on a Lion”
“I’m Going off to War Now, Mom”
“Have My Own Squadron Now”
“Everyone Looks So Well”
“We Try Not to Hit the Crew”
Photo Gallery
“Tonite This Lad is a Tired Guy”
“It All Happened Pretty Fast”
“Jerry Went Out of Control”
“Seems Like an Excellent Break for Me”
“I Hit the Deck”
“I’m Pretty Much Tired”
“Don’t Be a Fool”
“One More Pass”
“Your Little Daughter is Sure Getting Cuter”
“I Felt Bad”
Epilogue
Author’s Comments
Acknowledgements
Notes
Bibliography
Guide
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Introduction: “I’ll See You When I Get Back”
“I Now Have Cancer”
“He Loved Flying More than Anything”
“My Flying Has Been Pretty Good Lately”
“I’d Rather Fly than Eat”
“I’m Really Enjoying This All”
“The Chance of a Skunk Picking on a Lion”
“I’m Going off to War Now, Mom”
“Have My Own Squadron Now”
“Everyone Looks So Well”
“We Try Not to Hit the Crew”
Photo Gallery
“Tonite This Lad is a Tired Guy”
“It All Happened Pretty Fast”
“Jerry Went Out of Control”
“Seems Like an Excellent Break for Me”
“I Hit the Deck”
“I’m Pretty Much Tired”
“Don’t Be a Fool”
“One More Pass”
“Your Little Daughter is Sure Getting Cuter”
“I Felt Bad”
Epilogue
Author’s Comments
Acknowledgements
Notes
Bibliography
Pagebreaks of the print version
i
ii
iii
iv
v
vi
vii
viii
ix
x
xi
xii
xiii
xiv
xv
xvi
xvii
xviii
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
PLI
PLII
PLIII
PLIV
PLV
PLVI
PLVII
PLVIII
PLIX
PLX
PLXI
PLXII
PLXIII
PLXIV
PLXV
PLXVI
PLXVII
PLXVIII
PLXIX
PLXX
PLXXI
PLXXII
PLXXIII
PLXXIV
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
Published in the United States of America and Great Britain in 2016 by
CASEMATE PUBLISHERS
1950 Lawrence Road, Havertown, PA 19083, USA
and
10 Hythe Bridge Street, Oxford OX1 2EW, UK
© Jay Stout 2016
Hardcover Edition: ISBN 978-1-61200-395-5
Digital Edition: ISBN 978-1-61200-396-2 (epub)
A CIP record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the publisher in writing.
Printed and bound in the United States of America.
For a complete list of Casemate titles, please contact:
CASEMATE PUBLISHERS (US)
Telephone (610) 853-9131
Fax (610) 853-9146
Email: [email protected]
www.casematepublishers.com
CASEMATE PUBLISHERS (UK)
Telephone (01865) 241249
Fax (01865) 794449
Email: [email protected]
www.casematepublishers.co.uk
Especially for the fiercest of our fighting men—those who actively seek out our enemies, find them and kill them.
CONTENTS
Introduction: “I’ll See You When I Get Back”
“I Now Have Cancer”
“He Loved Flying More than Anything”
“My Flying Has Been Pretty Good Lately”
“I’d Rather Fly than Eat”
“I’m Really Enjoying This All”
“The Chance of a Skunk Picking on a Lion”
“I’m Going off to War Now, Mom”
“Have My Own Squadron Now”
“Everyone Looks So Well”
“We Try Not to Hit the Crew”
Photo Gallery
“Tonite This Lad is a Tired Guy”
“It All Happened Pretty Fast”
“Jerry Went Out of Control”
“Seems Like an Excellent Break for Me”
“I Hit the Deck”
“I’m Pretty Much Tired”
“Don’t Be a Fool”
“One More Pass”
“Your Little Daughter is Sure Getting Cuter”
“I Felt Bad”
Epilogue
Author’s Comments
Acknowledgements
Notes
Bibliography
INTRODUCTION: “I’LL SEE YOU WHEN I GET BACK”
The jeep squeaked to a stop. The pilot sat motionless in the passenger’s seat and stared straight ahead, drawing slow, weary breaths. All at once he grunted, sat upright, grabbed his flying gear and stepped onto the damp ground. The jeep immediately crunched into gear and scooted away as he started toward his aircraft.
Block letters across the sleek fighter’s nose marked it as Katydid. It was named after his wife, Cathryn. Next to the name, a voluptuous, green caricature of a winged katydid struck a pose. Bare-breasted, long-legged, and high-heeled, the implausible but undeniably sexy figure conveyed a distinctly flirtatious look.
A crew chief fussed with a balky set of fasteners on the P-51’s underside. The pilot watched him for a moment before moving unhurriedly around the aircraft to confirm that everything was as it should be. Satisfied, he leaned over and checked once more on the enlisted man.
A brisk English breeze chilled the morning and the pilot stood upright and zipped his jacket against it. He reached for his leather helmet and pulled it on. After so many months of combat it was stiff with dried sweat and it stank, but the snugness of it was nevertheless familiar and comforting. He pulled the goggles that were fastened to the helmet over his eyes to make certain they were clean. Through them, across the airfield, he saw dozens of other pilots and ground crews readying for the day’s mission.
He lifted the goggles back onto his helmet, stepped onto the fighter’s left wing and up to the cockpit. There, he grabbed the top of the windscreen, stepped over the canopy sill and eased his athletic frame down into the seat. A quick glance at the myriad gauges, switches, knobs and levers confirmed to him that the aircraft was ready to start.
He waited a moment for the crew chief to come out from under the airplane to help him with the buckles and straps of his parachute. The man didn’t appear and the pilot tired of waiting. He sighed and called out, “Sergeant! Sergeant, come help me with my parachute.”1
The crew chief, Don Downes, was still busy with the fasteners. “If you can’t put on the goddamned chute, you can’t fly the plane,” he shouted.
The pilot’s request changed to a demand. “Sergeant! Come up here and help me with my parachute!”
Exasperated, Downes scrabbled out from under the P-51. His eyes widened when he looked up to the cockpit. Rather than a fresh-faced, shavetail lieutenant, he discovered that the pilot wore “oak leaves as big as basketballs,” and packed a .45 caliber pistol in a shoulder harness. The man to whom he had just mouthed off was the 55th Fighter Group’s commander, Lieutenant Colonel Elwyn G. Righetti. Righetti, a celebrated ace, was in charge of not only the 55th and its airfield at Wormingford, but virtually everything and everyone on it, including Downes.
Downes leapt onto the wing and apologized as he bent over and helped his commander settle into the cockpit. Finished, he stood upright. Righetti fixed him with a look that left no doubt that his displeasure had not passed. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
The deep-throated thrum of the P-51’s engine vibrated the airframe with a gentle tremble that made it feel as if it were a living thing. Righetti loved the Mustang and especially liked how it seemed to wrap itself around him as if it were a bespoke suit, custom tailored by artisans. No other aircraft had cradled him so perfectly and there was no other fighter in the world he wanted to fly. Aside from the feel of it, the gas and oil and metal reek of the muscular little fighter comprised a unique perfume. And no flying machine could match its sleek good looks—a striking balance of purposeful power and aerodynamic efficiency.
Righetti looked across the airfield where dozens of other P-51s also sat idling. They waited for his lead. Some of the fighters, like his own silvery aircr
aft, wore scarcely any paint at all. Their propeller spinners were circled with green and yellow stripes and the fronts of their engine cowlings wore similarly colored, checkered bands. These were identification markings specific to the 55th. But a few of the aircraft were partially painted with a sweeping olive drab pattern that covered the wings and ran back from the engine cowling, and then stretched down the top of the fuselage to the empennage. The unsanctioned scheme accented the aircraft’s trim lines and was unique to the 55th. The tails of a few of the Mustangs wore the profile of a rearing stallion on their rudders.
Righetti checked his wristwatch against the slip of paper strapped to his knee. It was marked with important particulars about the day’s mission such as the takeoff and rendezvous times, the route, the markings of the bomber units that were to be escorted and the expected weather—among other important information. The slip was marked with the date, April 17, 1945. It was his thirtieth birthday and he reflected for a moment on his wife and young daughter. They would be asleep now, at home near San Luis Obispo on the ranch where he had been born and raised.
The 55th was assigned to escort B-17s of the Eighth Air Force’s 3d Air Division across targets in Dresden, not far from Germany’s border with Czechoslovakia. In fact, the war was nearly over and there was little promise of air combat as the Allies had beaten the German Air Force—the Luftwaffe—nearly out of existence. Indeed, the Nazis were expected to surrender, or be completely overrun, during the next few weeks. It was a timeframe that neatly corresponded with the end of Righetti’s combat tour as he had to fly only a few more missions before reaching the three hundred combat hours required to rotate back to the States. Regardless, he had been growing increasingly exhausted and was ready for it all to be over.
Righetti nodded at Downes who, careful to stay away from the spinning propeller, ran under the aircraft and dragged the wheel chocks clear. Checking ahead and behind him, Righetti released the fighter’s brakes, added power and rolled from the hardstand onto the airfield’s perimeter track. He returned the salute that Downes threw at him and started for the runway.
The P-51’s nose blocked his view forward and Righetti stepped on one rudder pedal, then the other, fishtailing the little fighter back and forth across the track so that he could better see what was in front of him. Other aircraft left their hardstands, likewise weaving, as they fell into a long, snaking line behind him. Crew chiefs, armorers and other support personnel held tightly to their hats and shielded their eyes against the blast of propeller-blown dust and debris.
Nearing the runway, Righetti finished his takeoff checks and cranked the canopy closed. The growl of his engine changed timbre to a muted rumble. Behind him he saw the three squadrons that made up the 55th—the 38th, the 338th, and the 343rd—readying for takeoff. He checked his wristwatch once more and watched Paul Reeves and his wingman pull past him and onto the runway. Reeves was flying his last mission. “At the briefing, Righetti called me aside,” said Reeves, “and told me that I would lead the group, form it and take it to enemy territory, and at that point he would assume the lead and I was to return to base. He pointed out that we had lost too many guys on their last scheduled mission and that we were not going to lose any more … it seemed like a very thoughtful and considerate thing.”2