by Jeff Egerton
Five weeks later they were assigned their first mission to escort B-17 and B-24 bombers. It was during his second mission that Catwalk first came face-to-face with German fighters. He was at 10,000 feet in escort formation, when he saw four Messerschmitts coming out of the sun. He radioed his wingman, “Flight of four, ten o’clock, high.”
Catwalk then increased power and banked his P-40 to engage the attacking Germans. Screaming toward them at three hundred knots he fired his first rounds of actual combat. His tracers seemed to fill the sky, but the German’s flew through his rounds unscathed and kept on coming. He pulled the P-40 through a six-G turn to re-engage the enemy. Before he could sight in on the German, four British Supermarine Spitfires had jumped the Germans who dove for the deck and fled.
After the sortie, he talked among the pilots over a cold beer. He said, “The Spitfires just chased the Germans away. It seems to me that we’d be better off if we shot them down. That way we’ll never again have to deal with them.”
Another pilot chimed in, “That’s true, but the limeys might be more interested in saving their ammunition in case they run into a more formidable formation.”
For the next twenty minutes a debate ensued about this and Catwalk realized there was more to this than firing on the enemy at every opportunity.
The next three days were spent escorting bombers to Sicily, Sciacca and Trapani. Several German aircraft were spotted but they choose not to engage the formation. Catwalk talked to his wingmen on the way back to the base. “The Germans must have heard about us, they didn’t even take a look at the bombers.”
“They’re smart. They want to survive the war.”
Another pilot said, “Maybe they got a sign in the briefing room that reads: “Attack whites only.” This brought laughter from the men who’d spent their lives sidestepping the signs that prohibited them from so many activities that were only available to white people.
On the fourth day twelve P40s from the 99th were escorting bombers over the Egadi Islands when eighteen Messerschmitts and Focke-Wulfe 190s appeared above them at eighteen thousand feet. The radio call had just gone out alerting the P-40s to the enemy aircraft, when the Germans attacked.
Just as Catwalk shoved his throttle forward to engage a German, he saw a P-40 take several hits in the wing and tail. The aircraft went into a dive and Catwalk turned his attention to the German who’d shot his wingman. They wove a switchback trail through the skies until the Messerschmitt filled his sights. Catwalk fired a thirty degree deflection shot and the German aircraft exploded.
He then saw another P-40 with a German with guns blazing on its tail. Catwalk dove on the German and fired. He didn’t score, but the enemy aircraft broke off and departed the area. He looked around for other enemy aircraft. Seeing none, they continued on their escort mission, which continued with no further sightings of Germans. Once he landed congratulations were in order for Catwalk’s first kill. Over cold beer Catwalk’s fellow pilots gave him the customary ribbing for “breaking his cherry” and he felt great about it.
Catwalk was feeling pretty good as he and his crew chief painted the first swastika, signifying a downed German aircraft, on the side of his plane. Then came a major assault in the other battle the 99th had to fight—the Momyer report.
A captain held a copy of the report and told the men about its contents. “Colonel Momyer is the white commander of the 33rd Fighter Group, and he doesn’t support the black fighter squadron. His report all but called us, the pilots in the 99th, cowards. He said our air discipline is not satisfactory, that we lack aggressiveness, and that the expectations for future performance are low. The report has already gone up the chain of command.”
A week later, after they’d extended their perfect record of never having lost a bomber they were escorting, the men of the 99th learned that Time magazine had picked up on the report and published an article that basically asked, “Is the negro as good a soldier as the white man?”
Again a senior officer addressed the troops, “I know you men are as furious about the negative press as I am, but there’s little we can do, even though we’ve actually performed in an exceptional manner. I do, however, have some good news. Colonel Davis has heard about his and he’s assured me that he will take some action. Until then, keep up the good work.”
Colonel Benjamin O. Davis had been a former CO of the 99th. He knew what an excellent job the men were doing and he knew there were many members of the white military, Momyer being one of them, who sought to discredit them. Davis testified before several committees on the performance of the 99TH. As a result of his actions General Eisenhower went on record as saying Momyer’s report was inaccurate, but the damage had already been done.
It was this lack of support that eventually caused the black military men to adopt a double ‘V’. Many Americans had taken to flashing a ‘V’ for victory sign, to signify a victory over axis forces. The black men however used a double ‘V’ because they had to score a victory over the enemy troops, and score a victory over the racism they faced on both the battle field and at home.
Two months later the 99th moved to Capodichino, Italy where they supported the battle of Anzio and escorted allied ship convoys. In the first week at the new field, the 99th downed twenty German aircraft while racking up an incredible eight kills in a single day. By the time they’d been at the field two weeks, Catwalk had scored three more kills, but had also come close to losing his aircraft to enemy gunfire.
They’d engaged a flight of Germans who were firing on allied ships. Catwalk had just fired a short burst at a Focke Wolfe and had gone in for the kill, when he saw tracers whizzing past his own cockpit—someone was firing on him. He stayed on the 190 and fired another burst, then saw the enemy flip over on his back and crash into the sea. It was then that he felt more rounds hitting his plane. A voice on the radio said, “I’m on him, Cat, break left.”
Catwalk banked left and saw another P-40 hammer the German that had fired on him. Then he saw the smoke coming from his cowling. A voice said, “You’ve been hit, Cat, bail out.”
He looked at his gauges and saw low oil pressure, but everything else looked good. He decided as long as his engine had power, he’d try to limp back to the base. He radioed, “I’ve got power, I’m going to try to make it back to the base.”
Then he took a long look around him, because being in a wounded ship meant he was a sitting duck for any Germans. Seeing only friendlys, he turned for the base. A wingman pulled up alongside him and said, “Cat, you’re leaking fuel out of your starboard tank.”
“I’m not surprised. I should have enough to get back to the base.”
Thirty minutes later he landed with his fuel gauge on empty. When he looked the plane over, he counted fourteen bullet holes including three in the engine cowling. After seeing the damage the plane could take, and still get him home, he vowed never to utter a bad word about the P-40.
Two weeks later, Catwalk took off on a mission to escort bombers of the 55th Bomb Wing to the Ober-Raderach Chemical Works in Germany. This was another flight where they’d be going deeper into enemy territory. Consequently, the fighting had becoming increasingly intense. About the time that the bombers were releasing their bombs, the formation was attacked by a flight of eighteen Germans. For twenty minutes the fighting was constant as Catwalk and his wingmen wrestled their P-40s through the skies to protect the bombers. Possibly it was because they were over the Motherland, but on this day the Germans seemed exceptionally intent on pressing the attack.
Catwalk fired on one aircraft and thought he’d hit it, but the German dived for the deck and left the area. He then picked out another target who was lining up a P-40. He fired a fifty degree deflection shot and saw the Messerschmitt explode in his sights. Then came a call, “Catwalk, a Jerry on your six!”
Catwalk broke hard right and dove for the deck. When he pulled the nose around he saw a P-40 firing on the last German, then he saw the telltale smoke and the pilot bailing
out of his injured aircraft.
When the skies cleared of enemy aircraft, the P-40s resumed their escort formation. Catwalk then heard a familiar voice on the radio, “Did I hear someone calling Catwalk?”
Catwalk smiled when he heard Curly’s voice, and said, “This is Lieutenant Jackson, which plane are you in?”
“I’m in three oh two. Come on over here.”
Catwalk looked through the flight of B-24s and saw the aircraft in the lead flight. He pulled up next to it and saw his old friend smiling at him from the left seat. He said, “Hey old buddy, how long you been with this outfit?”
“About seven months now. We just got transferred to Ramitelli.”
“We’re moving over there next month when we get the P-51s.”
“Good. Look me up and you can buy me a beer.”
“What do you mean, I buy, Curly? I just saved your ass from getting shot up by Germans. You’re buying.”
“O.K., O.K., I’ll buy. You hot-shit fighter pilots are all alike.”
Catwalk wore a smile all the way back to the base. He couldn’t wait to see his old friend again.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Two weeks later, the 99th transferred to Ramitelli Air Base where they upgraded to the P-51 Mustang. This was a new fighter easily recognized by its huge four bladed propeller, and considered to be the finest fighter ever produced. When Catwalk first flew it he was amazed at the improvement in power and handling over the P-40. Capable of over four hundred knots and equipped with external long range fuel tanks, which were jettisoned for combat, the men of the 99th were now able to provide cover for the bombers on their entire flight.
In an attempt to paint the planes in a common squadron paint scheme, the maintenance men of the 99th had to find enough paint for all the planes. The only color they found in sufficient quantities for the entire squadron was a bright red called insignia red. So it was, the tails of the P-51s were painted bright red. This became one of the most famous paint schemes of World War II, and a paint job that the Germans grew to hate.
Catwalk had just finished a test flight of his new plane and was relaxing in the barracks when he heard a familiar voice yell, “Where’s Jackson?”
He walked outside to find Lieutenant Curly Levitz smiling at him from the street. “Hey, Cat. How you doing man?”
Catwalk smiled at his old friend who, with his fur lined leather jacket and Air Corps cap tilted jauntily on his curly head, looked like a poster boy for bomber pilots. He noticed Curly had also grown a mustache.
Catwalk shook his hand, hugged him and said, “Good to see you again, Curly. Why haven’t you finished this war off yet.”
“They won’t give me enough bombs. If I could get enough bombs, I’d blow the whole fuckin’ country away, and we could go home.”
“How do you like the B-24s?”
“Well, it can carry the biggest bomb load farther and faster than anything else, but it’s a bitch to fly. Every position in the plane is cramped and uncomfortable, and most of our flights are six to eight hours; I don’t see how the turret gunners do it. There ain’t any heat and it’s not pressurized so you gotta wear an oxygen mask that usually freezes to your face. If you gotta pee, you use a tube in the back that always freezes up. Compared to those little sports roadsters you guys are flying, this thing is the pits. They call it; The Agony Wagon, but we can sure do some damage. We made a run on Ploesti last week; we came in at three hundred feet and the blast from our bombs almost flipped us over.”
“Well, you wanted to be a bomber pilot.”
“Yeah, but I thought the damn things at least had heaters in them. How do you like the P-51? I heard those things can do four hundred knots at sea level.”
“That’s right. It’s a screamer; the greatest plane I ever flew. The Germans aren’t going to get anywhere near you guys now.”
“You guys are getting such a reputation that our pilots are requesting you for our escort. I heard the Germans call you guys Schwartze Vogelmensschen—The Black Birdmen.”
“Curly, this is the most courageous group of men and talented pilots I’ve ever seen, and most of the military brass is too ignorant to realize it.”
“I know what you mean. Just hang in there, man. This war ain’t gonna last forever.”
“Did you get to see Billy Sue before you shipped out?”
“Yeah. We sat down and had a nice talk. I even met my son, talk about a cute kid. She gave me a picture to take with me.”
Curly showed him the picture, with a measure of pride that Catwalk had never expected. Catwalk said, “He’s a beautiful boy. Good thing he got Billy Sue’s looks.”
Curly ignored the jab. “I’m gonna marry her right after the war, Cat.”
“Were you sober when you decided this?”
“Sober as a preacher.”
“Good for you. You won’t find a better wife anywhere.”
“Hey, Cat, I gotta run. I’m briefing an hour. I’ll see you at twenty thousand feet.”
“You be careful now, Curly.”
“I will. I’ll bring you that cold beer when I get back.”
Three days later the bombers again made a raid on the Ploesti oil refineries, with the 99th flying escort in the new P-51s. The Germans were prepared for this raid however, and the allied aircraft faced numerous dangers, any one of which could send them to a fiery death.
Large smudge pots had been lit throughout the refinery so the smoke obscured the critical targets. This meant the bombers had to go in low and blind. Flying in close formation, through the thick smoke they ran the risk of colliding with each other, or getting knocked out of the sky from the blast of their own bombs. They also faced the gauntlet of heavy ack-ack fire from anti-aircraft guns and more German fighters than they’d ever encountered.
Fifty-three P-51s flew escort that day for seventy-two B-24s. As soon as he saw the heavy opposition, Catwalk had a bad feeling about this raid. He knew the bombers and the P-51s would suffer heavy losses.
When the German fighters came at them in force, he jettisoned his external tanks and tightened his belts in preparation to engage the enemy. Heavy smoke from ack-ack shells and bombs covered the entire area. Towers of fiery bomb blasts leaped up at the fighters who were often down on the deck trying to protect the bombers. Weaving through the smoke were more planes than Catwalk had ever seen; a midair collision was almost certain.
He engaged his first German and fired a burst at three hundred yards. He thought he’d scored a hit, but the German tried to run. Catwalk used the awesome power of the P-51 to close the distance and fired again. This time the enemy aircraft started smoking, then crashed into the refinery. He turned to engage another Messerschmitt, then saw a B-24 explode in mid air, a victim of anti-aircraft fire.
Tracers flew by his canopy—a German was on his tail. He added power and pulled back on the stick to fly a tight loop and position himself on the tail of his aggressor. Two bursts didn’t score, but the aircraft dove for the deck and Catwalk lost him in the smoke.
He turned his attention to the gun emplacements that were throwing a large hail of fire at the B-24s. He raked one with a short burst and saw the gun cease firing. Trying to spot another gun emplacement amid the heavy smoke and bomb blasts, he saw instead two German aircraft that’d drawn a bead on him; with guns blazing.
Again Catwalk applied power and pulled a hard right turn to evade the Germans. Another P-51 appeared behind the Germans and fired a long burst that blew one aircraft to pieces. Catwalk chased the second aircraft until he was within range and knocked him out of the sky with a thirty degree deflection shot.
Searching for another German, Catwalk felt his plane rocked by an ack-ack shell that must have been close. He wondered if he had any damage. Thoughts of his own condition were abandoned as he saw a Focke-Wulf going after a bomber. He gave chase hoping he could get to the German before he fired at the lumbering bomber.
The B-24 dropped his load as the German fired from a long distance, but misse
d the vulnerable bomber. Catwalk came around until he had him broad side in his sights, then fired. The enemy never knew what hit him. As the fiery remains of the aircraft fell to the ground, Catwalk saw another B-24 enveloped by his own fiery bomb blast and crash into the refinery. He briefly wondered if Curly had made it through the raid, then thought, this is not time to think about that, there was work to be done.
Catwalk chased off two more Germans as the last of the bombers dropped their lethal loads into the blazing inferno that was once an oil refinery. Seeing the damage had been done, and that they were outnumbered by superior aircraft, the remaining German aircraft fled the area.
The surviving B-24s flew out of the range of ack-ack fire. The worst was over. The P-51s formed around the bombers and Catwalk noticed how much smaller the bomber formation had become. At his count thirty two B-24s had been lost in the raid and several were wounded, not expected to make the flight back to the base. He saw three bombers with props feathered drop out of the formation enroute to the base.
As soon as he landed the men wanted to toast his three confirmed kills in one day, but Catwalk begged off. He explained about Curly then took a jeep over to the bomber side of the base. He asked a crew that had just deplaned, “Do you know if three-oh-two made it?”
The ten man crew looked beat and bedraggled; worn out and wasted. A sergeant said, “Sir, I don’t know who made it and who didn’t, but if you were flying our cover, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m glad we could help.”
The sergeant then looked down the flight line. “I don’t see three-oh-two. He might have crash landed on the way home.”
Catwalk drove the length of the flight line and didn’t see the aircraft. He then went into the flight operations tent and asked a clerk, “Was Lieutenant Levitz flying three-oh-two today?”