Tumult in the Clouds

by James Goodson

  The second 190 had been lost in the gruelling dogfight, but the remaining one was a real pro and determined to get this P-47 which had shot down two of his squadron, and must by now be almost out of ammunition, and short of gas.

  Only Gentile’s flying ability was keeping him alive, but the 190 was out-performing the Thunderbolt at that low altitude. Each time he started to gain in the turn, Gentile, fighting for his life, pulled his heavy plane right to the point of stall, and then fought it off. The German probably knew what Gentile didn’t know: the FW190 was far more vicious than the P-47. If he took it too close to the stall, the 190 would flip into the ground long before the stall could be corrected.

  Gentile finally found himself in a tight turn, hanging on the stall. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the nose of the German plane inexorably gaining on him until the leading edge of the wing lit up as the guns fired. In one last desperate effort, he racked the plane up until it hung shuddering on its prop in a stall turn. The German plane slid by underneath. Gentile nursed his plane off the stall by stomping rudder and diving for the deck. He had reversed his heading. By the time the 190 had come around, his prey had been lost.

  When Don landed, he was exhausted and shaken to the core; but in a day or so he was back in character, eager to be included on every mission, and, once on the mission, the first to peel off to attack. Don Gentile’s obsession was to become America’s leading ace, anything else was secondary. His first question on returning from a mission was to check on his nearest rivals: ‘How many did Beeson get? How many did Goody get?’

  I once passed the hut that housed the Catholic chapel, on my way to a briefing, and met Gentile coming out.

  ‘What were you doing in there, Don?’

  ‘Praying. I go there before every mission.’

  ‘What do you pray for?’

  ‘To shoot down more planes, of course! This time I prayed for three!’

  Although most of the Fourth’s pilots were keen to build up their score, I think there were only two others as completely obsessed as Gentile. One was Beeson, who flew with 334 Squadron. The other was Johnnie Godfrey.

  Back home in Woonsocket, Rhode Island, Johnnie had been a problem for his parents; refusing to go to university, seemingly without ambition, and finally running away to join the Royal Canadian Air Force. For the first time in his life, he was doing something he liked, and took seriously; but, before he got his wings, another event occurred which hardened his character and gave him the drive which had been lacking. His brother, Reggie, an aircraft mechanic, was torpedoed and drowned en route to England.

  He told me the story when I was welcoming him to 336 Squadron in late 1943 and he was supervising the painting of his insignia on his newly assigned P-47. Instead of some lurid caricature, the carefully spelt out letters simply read: ‘Reggie’s Reply’.

  Johnnie was 6′2″, dark and good-looking, with jet-black, piercing eyes, which became the best in the Group at picking out enemy fighters. He was not easy to get to know, but was very close to Bob Richards. The two, accompanied by Johnnie’s mongrel dog, ‘Lucky’, were inseparable, and when Richards was shot down and killed in March 1944, Johnnie became even more of a loner – and even more of an aggressive attacker. He and Gentile were soon engaged in a fierce competition to become the leading ace.

  It was a close contest. Everyone has his own score-card, but the official War Department figures show that, after those wild days of spring 1944, Godfrey, Gentile and myself were credited with 30 each. Hofer had 27, Beeson 25 and Glover 24. In other groups, Henry Brown, Bob Johnson, Gaby Gabreski and Dave Schilling were also approaching 30.

  The intensity of the competition posed a problem for the group and squadron commanders. Although they wanted to encourage aggressive tactics, the first priority had to be protection of the bombers. This was more difficult to guarantee if pilots attacked and followed their prey far from the bomber stream.

  Blakeslee, thanks to his RAF training, was a strict disciplinarian and was particularly rough on the mavericks. Kid Hofer in 335 Squadron was the outstanding example, but every squadron commander had the problem. Most of us worked out a compromise. In 336 I usually had Gentile leading one of the four flights with Godfrey flying as his wingman in number two position, and a strong, reliable, solid pro, like Millikan, or Glover, with a good wingman to give cover. It worked beautifully, and even when Johnnie had caught up with Gentile’s score, and finally had the same rank of captain, he never minded flying on Gentile’s wing. They became one of those brilliant teams of two.

  The Battle of Germany reached its crescendo during March 1944. It actually started on 20th February when General Toohey Spaatz gave orders for the launching of Operation ‘Argument’, a concentrated attack with all forces available, including the Fifteenth US Air Force from Italy, and the RAF operating at night. Its purpose was to destroy the production centres of the German fighter planes on the ground, and the fighters themselves in the air – and on the ground, as an essential prerequisite of the invasion of the Continent. It could only be contemplated because the Mustangs of the Fourth, with their two droppable wing tanks could now escort the bombers all the way to the target.

  We fought the Luftwaffe over the aircraft and components factories at Brauschweig, Leipzig, Aschersleben, Gotha, Augsburg, Stuttgart, Fürth, over the ball-bearing factories at Schweinfurt and over the Messerschmitt works at Regensburg.

  Sometimes bad weather made form-up and rendezvous difficult for both fighters and bombers, and whenever the bombers went without fighter escort, the Luftwaffe pounced. On 23rd February, bad weather, particularly over England, resulted in the bomber stream being late and strung out. The Luftwaffe, forewarned, seized their opportunity. Instead of waiting to attack over the target area, where our Mustangs would be escorting, they hit as soon as the bombers crossed in over the coast. The Thunderbolt escort, including the 56th Group protected the strung-out stream as best they could and scored many victories, but, as we came in to take up our escort duty over the target, we followed a trail of crippled bombers. In all, 41 bombers were lost, and only 99 out of the original 430 got through to the target.

  It was now the turn of Berlin. We set out for the German capital on 3rd March, but the bombers had to turn back. We were over Berlin on the 4th, over Bordeaux in Southern France on the 5th, over Berlin again on the 6th, and on the 8th, and on the 9th, and so on.

  I think the 6th must have been a decisive day. On the 8th we encountered fewer German fighters, and on the 9th, none at all!

  But on the mission of 6th March, we didn’t know this. The first Berlin show had shown us that the German fighters would come up for the defence of the capital, and our relatively defensive attitude for the first Berlin show was now dropped for an aggressive desire to take advantage of the opportunity to add to the score.

  Once again, the Fourth Fighter Group with their Mustangs were to cover the bombers over the target, taking on the escort work when the shorter range P-47’s had to turn for home. Obviously it was out here on the far end of the loop that the German fighter defence would concentrate their attacks. They would know that the bombers would be concentrating on their bomb run, and that the fighter escort would be thinner, and that even the P-51’s would be operating at the limit of their range.

  I had just identified Magdeburg on my left, when I saw the bomber fleets ahead. Although we had seen their con-trails for some time, now we saw the flashes as the sun glinted on their canopies, and then the small black forms of the different ‘boxes’ gliding majestically through a few flak puffs toward their target.

  We caught up with them on schedule and started to weave over them; but almost immediately we saw that the forward elements were under attack, and the RT reports were coming in: ‘Bandits at 12 o’clock!’ ‘Millions of ’em at 1 o’clock!’

  Blakeslee led the Group into the attack. He was heading for a gaggle of attackers ahead of us which seemed to include Ju88’s firing rockets. As the speed built up in the div
e, the slight curve of the attack brought my squadron lower and closer to the bombers. Glancing towards the nearest group, I saw they were about to be jumped by some ten 109’s. We were in a good position and had the speed. A quick look behind indicated that we could get in a quick attack and break back up to join the rest of the Group before the top German cover could hit us.

  I told Blakeslee I was taking my squadron down, and increased the angle of the dive almost to vertical to pick up the speed necessary to close faster with the 109’s before they could reach the bombers. I still had time to check behind to see that the squadron was following and that there was nothing on our tails. Then I saw about thirty 109’s starting down after us. I figured with our speed we could still make a good attack and a quick getaway. I told the squadron to make a hard break right after hitting. Then I pulled out of the dive to come up under the gaggle of 109’s. We were closing very fast, but I forced myself to keep looking behind. I picked out my 109, and bored in until I could see the black crosses. I had found this to be the best way to judge my range if the target was not yet alerted and if I wanted to be sure of a kill. The 109’s were close to the bombers and concentrating on their attack.

  I got hits on mine as soon as I opened fire and more hits and flashes with each burst. When I broke hard right to avoid ramming him, I saw him spiralling down smoking and with flames along the side of the fuselage. I often see that scene in my mind’s eye. Somehow there is something terribly stark about that cold combination: grey fuselage, black cross, black smoke, yellow and red flame. It is brought back to me every time I see the black, yellow and red of the German flag.

  By now we were in the thick of it with planes everywhere. My plan had been to pull around in a hard break to come in behind the last section of the squadron to protect their tails, and I guess that’s more or less what happened. I checked and found my three wingmen with me, and then almost immediately saw a 109 on the tail of a P-51. I dived, pulled in behind and below and soon had the German fighter in my sights. I was lucky that he was concentrating on his attack. Again my first burst hit him, but almost immediately a piece flew off his plane and loomed up in front of me. I threw the stick into the corner, but not soon enough to avoid the piece of fuselage from the German plane. I felt a jerk and heard a ‘chunk’ as it hit my propeller.

  I was amazed to find that my engine continued to operate, but we had lost our quarry. He had broken off his attack and dived for the ground. At least we had got him off the Mustang’s tail.

  Suddenly all was quiet and I led my flight back up. We had dropped behind and below the main bomber stream and as we caught up we saw a B-17 straggler. They were always easy meat for German fighters, so I eased over to come up behind him. Then I saw two FW190’s closing on him. By this time we were above the Fortress, so were able to pull in behind and dive in to come up behind the two Germans. I selected one, but before I could close, he flipped into a tight break. I immediately followed – but maybe not quite fast or tight enough. It had been a long time since a German fighter had stayed around for a dog-fight, and we believed the P-51 could out-turn the 190 anyway. That day I learned the hard way. I suddenly realised the 190 was gaining on me in the turn. And yet I was fighting it around as tight as I could. The gravity was pulling my oxygen mask down from my nose. My breath was coming in gasps and gulps and still that spinner of the sinister 190 crept up. I thought he must have enough deflection to hit me and I pulled tighter and felt my plane judder and buck on the edge of a stall. He was firing now, and would soon be hitting. In my moment of need, I dropped my right hand to the flap lever beside me and dropped just a few degrees of flap. Miraculously the plane stopped its bucking and I pulled out of the line of fire. Immediately the 190 dived for the deck in the usual Luftwaffe evasive action and I was after him.

  But now something strange happened. Normally a P-51 could at least stay with a 190 in a dive, and maybe catch him – at least when he pulled out. But here was my 190 pulling away from me as if I was standing still. Then it came to me: ‘Idiot’ – the flaps were still on. As I took them off, the plane picked up speed. We were hurtling down in a vertical dive. But, although it had only been a few seconds, my 190 was gone. Then I spotted him again, in a shallower dive, but now three Mustangs were behind him. They were firing, and maybe hitting, but they weren’t closing. I had the advantage from my vertical dive and was able to cut across and close slowly. I didn’t get to within range until we were almost on the deck. I checked the fuel gauge and knew I should have turned for home ten minutes before. What was more the 190 was streaking eastwards. I closed until I was at about 300 to 250 yards – beyond my preferred range, especially when he was jerking and evading. I fired one burst and then another. Little puffs of smoke floated back from the 190. I gave another burst, but it was only for a second. I was out of ammunition! I broke away and headed for home with my three flight members. They too had shot their ammunition and were as low on gas as I.

  I nursed my plane back on the deck, just pulling up in time to identify Orfordness on the East Coast and land with empty tanks and a damaged propeller at Martlesham Heath.

  I realised I was lucky to be back but it seemed a long way to go for a victory. So when the RAF officer in the mess asked what we’d been doing that day I just said, ‘Nothing much.’

  So I was surprised some time later to receive a communication which read, in part:

  For extraordinary heroism in action with the enemy. On 6th March 1944, Major Goodson while leading a squadron of fighter airplanes furnishing protection to bombers, attacked a force of more than eight enemy fighters despite the fact that they had the protection of 20 to 30 fighters acting as top cover. In this encounter, Major Goodson destroyed one enemy plane. In spite of his unfavourable combat position he engaged and damaged another enemy fighter. Although his own airplane was damaged by flying pieces of this enemy plane, he attacked and fought another enemy plane until his ammunition was exhausted. Again on 23rd March .…

  It was the citation for the Distinguished Service Cross.

  Still later, I was intrigued to read in General Adolf Galland’s book under the caption ‘Von Mustangs Nach Hause Gejagdt’ (‘Chased home by Mustangs’) an account of an attack on a B-17 straggler by himself and Trautloft near Magdeburg. While Galland attacked the B-17, Trautloft reported a Mustang attack and stated that his guns were jammed forcing him to break off combat.

  Galland then describes the end of his combat as follows:

  I simply fled. Diving with open throttle, I tried to escape the pursuing Mustangs, which were firing wildly. Direction East towards Berlin. The tracer bullets came closer and closer.

  As my FW190 threatened to disintegrate and as I had only a small choice of those possibilities which the rules of the game allow in such harassing situations, I did something which had already saved my life twice during the Battle of Britain. I fired simply everything I had into the blue in front of me. It had the desired effect on my pursuers, who suddenly saw the smoke which the shells had left behind coming towards them. They probably thought that they had met the first fighter to fire backwards or that a second attacking German fighter was behind them. My trick succeeded, for they did a right-hand climbing turn and disappeared.*

  It was on the 8th March Berlin raid that the Gentile-Godfrey team gave a supreme example of how they could work together. We took up our escort of the bombers as usual as they reached the outskirts of Berlin. As we drew ahead of them, we saw the green flares asking for help from us, and twenty to thirty 109’s preparing for a head-on attack. 336 was the nearest squadron so we attacked immediately. As usual, during those Berlin days, there were about fifty 109’s flying top cover. Their job was to deal with the fighters while their buddies were hitting the bombers. I called for cover from the other two squadrons as I was diving into the attack.

  We were soon in a swirling dog-fight. Gentile and Godfrey both got on the tail of two 109’s. Gentile said, ‘OK, I’ll cover you!’ and then: ‘Give him more!’
<
br />   Godfrey’s 109 rolled over and the pilot baled out.

  Then Gentile continued after the other 109 while Godfrey gave him cover. Gentile closed to 75 yards dead astern, and shot the German out of the sky.

  ‘Johnnie, give me cover. There’s another at two o’clock.’

  ‘I’m with you!’ from Godfrey.

  Don got this one in a tight turn, and the German baled out.

  ‘OK Johnnie, there are two more at 1 o’clock. See them?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You take the one on the right. I’ll take the one on the left.’

  ‘Right!’

  They were able to sneak up on these two from behind and below, and blast them from short range. Both 109’s went down burning. As they climbed back up to the bombers, Johnnie’s sharp eyes caught sight of a 109 coming in on Gentile.

  ‘Break! Break starboard!’ he yelled.

  They both broke into him and he whizzed past them head-on. As they came out of their turn they saw that the 190 had turned back into them and was again coming at them head-on.

  ‘Johnnie, you break right, I’ll break left.’

  That way one of them would probably end up on the Jerry’s tail. After the break, the German had had enough, and dived for the deck; but Godfrey was after him with Gentile not far behind.

  Johnnie caught up with him as he pulled out of his dive at 500 feet. He gave him a telling burst, but then had to call on Gentile: ‘You take him, Don, I’m out of ammo.’

  Gentile finished the job. They had shot down six between them, and Johnnie had got the five he needed to become an official ace with one to spare. He had planned to be an ace by his twenty-first birthday, and he just made it.

  During March the Group destroyed 156 enemy aircraft and damaged 60. It was a record for any group. What was more important, the bombers who recorded their most successful missions, also had a much lower percentage of losses. On the way home, if we spotted a lone bomber straggler, we always dropped down to nurse him home, while the crew waved, blew us kisses and went down on their knees in a salaam in thanks. Sometimes they went out of their way to get their grateful message back to us.