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WELCOME TO |
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The 313th Tactical Fighter Squadron was originally called the 313th Pursuit Squadron of the Army Air Force; it was activated on January 21, 1942 and assigned to the 50th Pursuit (Fighter) Group in May of 1942. February 9, 1943, the 313th FS moved to Key Field Air Field, Mississippi, where, as a part of the Fighter Command School, it tested aircraft equipment, conducted training in air defense operations and furnished cadres for night fighter units. Beginning in 1943, the 313th was stationed first at Orlando AB, Florida., then Alachua Army AB, Fla., and once again back to Leesburg AB until March 1944. While in Florida, the 313th operated with the AACSAT (Army Air Corps School of Applied Tactics), training pilots in the new fighter tactics under simulated combat conditions. Training aircraft used were the P-40 Curtis War Hawk; later the new radial engine Republic P-47 Thunderbolt and the twin engne P-51 Mustangs. In March,1944, the 313th Fighter Squadron lefted Florida for England to participate in the liberation of Europe, on board the HMS Sterling Castle. Fourteen days later they arrived in Liverpool, where the group boarded a train south for #551 Lymington. Lymington ALG (statiion #551), was one of twelve temporary air fields built the year before by the RAF, in Hampshire, near the New Forest, on the southern coast of England, across from the Isle of Wight. The 313th Fighter Squadron began operations on May 1, 1944 and flew fighter sweeps over France. The 313th Squadron also engaged in escort and dive bombing missions against German trains, marshalling yards, bridges and troop concenerations, etc. During June 6th, D-Day, the 313th helped to provide air cover over the invasion beachheads. Led by Colonel Harvey Case, the squadron's Commanding Officer. On June 25, 1944 it moved to Carentan A-10 ALG, France, the third FG to make the move from England; where it attacked bridges, roads, vehicles, railways and marshalling yards during the remainder of the Normandy Campaign. The 313th FS also bombed targets in St. Lo, France during the breakout from the beachheads in July and supported Patton's 3rd Army subsequent drive across France and the tanks race to Paris. During the summer, the 313th Fighter Squadron moved from Carentan to Meautis, to Orly, then to Leon (Aisne) and Lyon-Bron and finally to Toul - Ochey, France by November 3rd, 1944. From Toul-Ochey (Nancy), the 313th FS now part of the First Tactical Air Force (Provisional), since November 13, 1944, took part in the offensive that reduced the Colmar bridgehead in Jan. and Feb.; and supported the drive that breached the Siegfried Line and allowed movement of Allied Forces into southern Germany in March and April 1945. Commanding Officers was now Lt. Col. Frank E. Adins, who was also the only "ace of the 313th, " having scored several kills in the Pacific Theater, he shot down three Fw109s, for a total of five and made "ace." The 50th FG (313th) earned a Distinguished Unit Citation for their support of the Seventh Army during the assault on the Siegfried Line. In spite of hazardous enemy opposition and very difficult weather conditions, the group annihiated enemy defenses and isolated battle areas by destroying bridges, communcations, supply depots and ammo dumps. The Allies were advancing into Germany and on April 20, 1945 the squadron was transferred to Giebelstadt, Germany. Just five days after the move, the 313th Fighter Squadron was involved in a mission that earned the 50th Fighter Group its second Distinguished Unit Citation. The 50th FG (313th) flew into an enemy airfield southeast of Munchen, where under intense enemy anti-aircraft fire (flak), it destroyed or damaged many enemy aircraft. That was the last World War II operation for the 50th Fighter Group and 313th Fighter Squadron. In May 1945, it moved to Mannheim, Germany and stayed there until it returned to the United States in August (again) on board the Queen Mary. The 313th was stationed at LaJunta Army Air Force Air Base, Colorado until its inactivated on November 7, 1945. The 313th, part of the 50th FG was allotted to the Reserves June 1, 1949 and base at Otis AFB, Mass. The 313th remained inactive until November 15, 1976, when it was called to active duty to become again part of the 50th Tactical Fighter Wing, after 31 years, at Hahn AFB, Germany. From this perspective the 313th made a huge jump from P-47 Thunderbolts to F-4E Phantoms! In 1981 the 313th became the first unit to operate the F-16 Fighting Falcon in USAFE, followed by the 10th and the 496th TFS. The 313th TFS remained at Hahn AB until its deactivation on September 30, 1991. |
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WORLD WAR II |
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."Lymington, England was a small, quaint tide-water village on the South Coast, across from the Isle of Wight, right on the channel. I remember walking along the estuary at the edge of town and seeing the fishing boats lying on their sides waiting for the tide to return. I had never seen that before and it was evident they had some wide ranging tides in the area. Our tents were nestled among the trees next to the narrow country lanes and we absorbed the English atmosphere much like any other tourist and when awakening at first light, it was peaceful and serene listening to the pheasants calling to their brood. The war was very, very far away and yet so very, very close." Ed Hubbell, 313th Pilot Chet Byrns tells this story about his experience driving in England... "I can't remember the name of the nearby town, but our squadron was quartered in a lovely area of southeast England, not far from Bournemouth, which occaionally we could visit. The first few days there I split my lip and loosened a front tooth when I collided with a Sgt. (from some ground force). While riding bikes we approched each other from opposite directions as we rounded a sharp curve. I remember giving him hell for riding on the wrong side of the road. Later I realized he was correct and I was wrong. In England, you drove on the left!!!" Chet Byrns, 313th Pilot "Days passed and Hotton and I had visited Lymington and seen all the sights to see in about 30 minutes. We visited one of the local "tea rooms," ha...I gotcha...we really did visit a local tea room and just had to have some tea and crumpets. The townfolks were abit shy but very nice. One oddity that struck us was the red cheeked inhabitants which resembled the skin condition termed "Roseacia" and was obviously caused by wind burn, aggravated by the strong winds off the English channel. Those rosy cheeked girls should never have to use rouge anyway. Our old Jugs had not arrived as yet and we sat around our tents and read or played cards, wrote letters home and both of us came down with a serious malady...BOREDOM!" Ed Hubbell, 313th Pilot One day, Hotton and I wandered down to the flight line and spied a Piper Cub, an observation plane. We looked it over real good. Remember, we hadn't flown in several weeks now and anything that went up in the air looked pretty good to us by this time. We walked over and asked one of the British soldier if it was flyable. He "popped to" and saluted in that characteristic British salute and replied, "Yes Sir! And she's full of petrol too Sir!" That's all we needed to hear and Hotton climbed into the back seat and me in the front seat. No parachutes, no nothin'. Neither of us had ever flown a Piper Cub before but we collaborated on the instruments, found the ignition and starting switch and fired 'er up. We taxied out to the runway, lined her up and shoved the throttle forward and took off. We climbed for about a week and finally reached 1,000 feet. Now anyone familiar with the South coast of England knows the winds off the channel are ferocious, and while we were climbing, we were being blown a considerable distance inland. Being used to that old heavy Jug, we weren't used to the bouncing ride we were having, but we were having fun, being in the air again, looking over the beautiful countryside and not really paying attention to the wind and shucks, we were young and adventuresome. Did I hear someone say "ignorant?" Came time to return to base, however, it became very evident that a Piper Cub was not a Thunderbolt! We took forever to inch back to our base. I think the wind was blowing about 40 mph and our air speed was about 50 or 60 mph, so we were probably making about 10 or 20 mph, ground speed. We finally spotted our strip and I managed to get us on the approach leg. Weaving, wobbling along, like a blind man using his cane to determine what lay ahead, we were reaching out with our wheels trying to find the landing mat. Finally, we were down, bouncing and rolling to a nervous stop, when I called back to Hotton, "Hell Hotton, I know I can do better than that," and I shoved the throttle forward and took off again...I can still hear old Hotton cussing me from the rear seat..."Ed Hubbell, 313th Pilot "One of my "major" disappointments while in Lymington was when the squadron decided to have a big party and would you believe it...I was designated "Officer of the Day." I never did determine who I had made mad over at headquarters. What a let down! As you have seen, or will soon see...the 313th members were a bunch of "party animals." We did love to have fun, when not at work. I did manage to bicycle over to the blowout and showed proper restraint, when offered spirits. (OD's weren't allowed to drink alcohol while on duty.) Ed Hubbell, Pilot Of course, the war wasn't all that far away and before we went into combat, we had our "escape pictures" made, photos of us in French clothing and looking like we had just escaped from the "Bastille," and the pictures were to be used to construct "French papers" should we get shot down and hopefully, enable us to possibly escape back to England. Ed Hubbell, 313th Pilot |
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1944, July 16th - "I took off from the OTU (Officer's Training Unit), at Atcham, England with no particular objective in mind. The razorback P-47 was 41-6237, an old one, one of the first few hundred made at Farmingdale, New York. Its cost then was about $85,000. When a fighter pilot flies, he is supposed to keep his head turning constantly watching in all directions. The reason, of course, being that no enemy aircraft could approach and catch you by surprise."  "I was flying in the vicinity of Shrewsbury and my mind was not on flying, but on other things. I was not looking around but staring straight ahead. I had "my head up my ass." I happened to turn my head to the left and lo and behold, what was sitting close to my left wing but a Spitfire. It had come up and caught me unawares. I was quite embarrassed and I'm sure the Spitfire pilot was quite pleased about it. I took a close look at the pilot and there was blond hair coming down from beneath a white flying helmet. A girl! One of the English ATA ferry pilots. I knew that those girls were great pilots. I had seen them slow roll on take off from our airfield. I had seen them in Hurricanes fly across our field only a few hundred feet up and inverted. So this blonde ATA pilot must have felt pretty proud after catching me asleep at the wheel, and she dove off down to the left. Being more than annoyed with myself, I jumped on her tail and followed her down. She led a merry chase on the deck, but I clung to her. We were circling a huge tree in a vertical bank when suddenly my engine stopped. I glanced at the fuel gauges; they checked out OK, so with what power I had left, I pulled up a few hundred feet to look for a crash landing site. God was with me because there was a field off to the left and in I went. I turned off the ignition, shut the gas line off, put the flaps down, wheels up, trying to come in as slow as possible. I hit the ground tail first and crash slid to a stop. Releasing my oxygen connection, radio cable and safety belt, I jumped out and started running in case the plane decided to blow. I looked back over my shoulder at the plane while I was running and what was chasing me but a bull! I kept running and came to a barbed wire fence that surrounded the field. With the bull coming up fast, I jumped over the fence. Going over the barbs ripped the seat of my flying suit and drew blood on my behind. This was to be my only "wound" of the war. A jeep was sent for me finally and I returned to base. After telling my CO the story, I asked him, in jest, if that 'wound" would qualify me for a Purple Heart. He quickly informed me that they did not give medals for chasing blondes..." Gil C. Burns, Jr., P-47 Pilot, Fighter OTU 1945 - "Juicy Lucy" was a hand me down P-47 which I received without question just as poor kid puts on the jacket of his older brother. No one told me who was the previous pilot nor did I ever ask about him. The plane outlasted the war, I believe, but I left Europe without saying goodbye to her. In my recollections, we (or at least I) often flew different planes. It seems to me that even after I was assigned Juicy Lucy I frequently flew other aircraft, although she was ready for flight. What that should be, I can't explain. Maybe, because I was easy going an didn't demand or reject certain aircraft, Lucy was assigned to another pilot on some flights, while I found myself in the one which he, for some whim, found unacceptable. In spite of what might appear to be a disinterest in a particular P-47, I developed an enduring affection for the breed. Sure, there was that obvious obesity coupled with a drinking problem and the undeniable fact that she glided like a flat iron and looked - head on - like a flying toilet seat. Yet, I'm grateful for the chance I had to pilot the Thunderbolt. It was a mighty fine, mighty machine." Philip Savides, 313th Pilot Tom Newton, SiteBuider at: HAHN-50THap-k9@webtv.net  1944, June 25th - "About two weeks after the initial invasion, we were ordered to fly to our first strip on the French coast, near the small towns of Carentan, which had been captured by the 101st Airborne Division on June 12, 1944. We took our leave of Britain and landed our planes at Strip A-10, constructed by the engineers and made of PSP (pierced steel planking), a steel mesh runway material. This was to be our "home" for the next few weeks. We bivouacked among the hedge rows, next to an apple orchard. Hotton and I dug our foxhole extra deep that night and we crawled into our bed rolls and went to bed (I said bed, not sleep!). We were pretty keyed up and there was a German 88, which had gone undetected and by passed by our infantry (I heard, it was hidden in a farm house, the infantry had not discovered), and each night, the Germans would roll it out and lob over afew shells to keep us nervous. We'd hear that whine of incoming and it didn't exactly lull us to sleep. We finally drifted off to a fitful sleep about 12 or 1 a.m., and about 3:00 a.m. I felt something plop down on my chest and I grabbed a flashlight and turned it on my chest and there staring at me, sticking his tongue out, was the biggest, ugliest, black and yellow lizard I had ever seen. I think I was more scared of him, than the German guns. In digging our foxhole, we'd evidently intersected his tunnel and as he began his nightly sojourns, he just ran out of tunnel." "Do you smell that rather pungent, earthy aroma waifting through the air? About this time, we frankly were getting to smell pretty scurvy. A helmet full of hot water which we used for shaving and then saved for a GI shower (consisting of about a quart of water and a wash cloth), didn't go far to make us acceptable. Sure glad we didn't have to impress our girl friends then... Our ingenious, industrious support crew though, came up with a solution to our smelly problem. They installed a workable shower with piping, a barrel and other tools at hand." Ed Hubbell, 313th Pilot "The allied invasion effort was soon stymied for several weeks by the stiff resistance of the Germany Army and it was decided to utilize a huge "carpet bombing" of the area around St. Lo and was to use some 1500 American heavy bombers, 396 medium bombers and 350 fighter bombers. It was to be known as "Operation COBRA." "On the day of the carpet bombing of St. Lo, in between flights, we all watched in facination as wave, as wave of bombers, streaming long "con trails" literally filled the skies for most of the day and completely saturated the countryside around St. Lo with bombs. After the bombing, it appeared the saturation bombing effect had failed but we heard that Patton's 3rd Army broke through and the race to Paris was on..." "A couple of days later, in between flights (we usually flew two or three missions per day, lasting no more than 20 or 30 minutes long). Hotton, Sid Futch, Paul Muckleroy and myself, managed to find a jeep and drove up to the front to see what was going on and what effect the bombing had the battle. Well, we saw what a battlefield looked like from the ground; bomb craters everywhere...it was total devastation. Dead soldiers and livestock layed everywhere and all the leaves were blown off the still standing trees. It was an eerie, dead landscape...and the stench of the dead, permeated everything and was sickening. I still remember one particular dead American, who layed where he had died, stretched out on his stomach, still facing the enemy, with a 30 caliber machine gun pointing at the German line and his hand was still on the trigger. Suddenly, we were all very quiet and I don't think anyone was embarrassed as our eyes began to teared up." "We also visited a tank cemetery, I particularly remember, one American tank with a hole in the thick armor and it reminded us of how potent the German Tiger tanks 88mm guns were. We climbed aboard one of the other tanks, to take a look inside and were horrified to find it still occupied by some of its dead crew. The battle was moving so fast, and the urgency was so great, that the burial teams hadn't caught up with them yet. Several days after that excursion, I could still smell the stench of death. My doctor later termed it "Olfactory Hallucination." Ed Hubbell, 313th Pilot |
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 1945 - "In the spring of 1945 I led a flight and dove down alone to strafe a retreating Germany convoy. While at low level, just as I was exulting in the find we had (it was a long important looking string of trucks), I saw what looked like red hot golf balls arcing through the air, saw a field full of undisguised light anti aircraft guns, and in a second felt a couple of explosions. I don't know what I hollered over the radio, but I attempted to let the guys know that I didn't expect anyone to join me. My right wing was showing flame from the cockpit out about half the length of the wing and the engine was pouring black smoke against the windscreen. Clearly the engine was not putting out power as it should and I prepared to get out of what appeared to be a doomed Thunderbolt. I let go of the canopy, threw out my maps (didn't they always do that in the Hollywood movies?) and tore off and threw over board my helmet, oxygen mask and earphones. In spite of the flame streaming back eight or ten feet from the trailing edge of the right wing, that was the side I decided to jump out of. With harness off and my hair flying in the smoke, I suddenly realized that the wing fire had stopped and it dawned on me that the engine was still running and the controls were intact. Besides, who would want to bail out in the area where you've just strafed. If I could just put a few miles between me and that column of trucks before I had to parachute... The engine sounded odd and continued to pour dense black smoke against the windshield and I had the impression that the power plant would soon quit altogether or catch on fire. Increased throttle seemed to do little good in my struggle to gain altitude, but I found that the plane performed better when I manually increased the rpm. Before long I had gained a few hundred feet and with the better perspective began to look for a flat spot to make my belly landing. It would be tough to bring it down because the engine continued to belch dark oil smoke which condensed on the windscreen, making it impossible to see straight ahead. A check of the instruments revealed that I had zero hydraulic pressure, but every thing else read OK . What really had me on edge, though, was that smoking engine. How long could it pump oil overboard like that without either running dry or starting a fire? Obviously the Germans had poked a hole in one of the front cylinder banks and with each stroke of the piston, my lubricant was spurting out of the damaged cylinder and being driven back by the air stream to sizzle into smoke as it struck the adjacent cylinders. Although the film of oil kept creeping up on my windshield, obscuring my forward vision, I began to feel pretty comfortable. If the engine should seize from lack of oil, I could make a belly landing and if the vapor should flame, I had enough altitude to roll her over and drop out to my chute. My wingman gave me the once over and helped with the heading toward home, but we couldn't talk because I had tossed away my helmet. I was unable to reach the spare headset which was supposed to be stowed under the seat. That flight continued to progress in my favor. At the moment I was first hit, I though the only salvation was a low level parachute jump into the hands of bitter enemy. Then perhaps we could get away a little to a bit of flat land in enemy territory for a belly landing. Next, oh, you magnificent engine! we made it to friendly territory and finally there is the field. My wingman called the tower for clearance to land straight in and the controller responded that he couldn't yet see the planes, but he did have my smoke in sight! I had been pampering the power for 45 minutes since I was hit and never did believe it would turn for more than another minute, so I resolved that I would land on the first pass and avoid the strain of another climb. Reasoning that I had no hydraulic fluid and that I was shot up in the area of the landing gear. I decided to land wheels up beside the runway on the right. I cut the power and as I neared the field I began to realize I was too high and too hot. How ironic - after 45 minutes of praying that the aircraft would fly fast and high, I now wanted to slow down and drop. I was over the end of the runway with about 100 feet and 150 mph. When I saw only half of the runway remained ahead of me. I eased the stick forward and flew the plane into the dirt at about 150 mgh. Thunderbolts with the gear up are inclined to land a little longer than those whose wheels are down! The deceleration forced my body forward with my head tipped forward as if I were trying to look at my knees. (The next morning, when dressing, I noticed I had a pink stripe in front of each shoulder where I been thrown against the shoulder harness). As the plane stopped, I got out so fast I don't remember undoing the harness and I believe the plane was rocking back toward the tail as I ran straight off the right wing tip (why the right side?). The ambulance guys drove up and were looking in the cockpit when I turned around and walked back to the plane. When I got there, one of them asked me where the pilot was. I had left there so quickly that he hadn't even seen me as they were driving toward the spot. The prop blades were each neatly and uniformly bent backwards around the engine." Philip Savides, 313th Pilot |
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 1944 - "Vacation being over, we got back into the thick of things and one of the "things" was this story by Woody Wilson, as he described it in the 313th Fighter Squadron history book, which is indicative of the hazards we encountered..." "A flight of four P-47s was dispatched to the Villedieu area. This was just a few minutes south of our base inthe Cotenin Peninsula area where intense ground battles had been raging. The Allied ground offensive had begun routing the German units, many of which were beginning to withdraw toward the east. Some pockets of resistance had been neutralized and sealed off. Part of our mission this day was to locate and attack a concentration of German tanks, that had been creating havoc with nearby Allied ground forces. Three days earlier and late in the evening, several planes of the 313th had dropped 500 pound bombs with six to twelve hour delay fuses in the nearby area inland of Granville on the French west coast. We spotted a group of Tiger tanks, partically camouflaged by a hedge row, just off a blacktop road. One by one, we peeled off to start our strafing run, hoping to ricochet our 50 caliber buttets off the road surface into their soft under belly and the engines. I started my run and immediately after getting squared off on a target, felt a severe jolt to my plane, I touched the radio button and reported, "I'm hit!" My wingman, Charlie Metzger, came on the radio an instant later, "Number 2, I'm hit too." T.J. Rowland Jr. and his wingman, Harry Walker, followed with duplicate messages. "Number 3, I'm hit!, and Number 4, I'm hit too" With four hits on as many planes on a single pass, I think all four of us were aware of the futility of further attempts. The targets were just too conspicious. I said "lets get out of here!" It was obvious by now that the Germans had some pretty sharp gunnery stationed at nearby concealed spots. The mission was thereafter referred to as the "Tank Trap." We did not knock out any of the Tigers, but it was concluded that our presence and the fire that we drew may have revealed the gun positions for US Artillery; so, our run may not have been a total loss after all. Metzger was the worst hit of we four. We reassembled for the short return to base. Smoke was trailing Charlie's plane from below. A close flight visual inspection showed flames erupting from an area near the base of the right wing, and back somewhat from the wing's leading edge. The area was at the botton of the fuselage, approximately under the pilot's feet and legs. Fanned by the plane's air speed, the flames had a sort of intense blow torch like appearance, afew inches wide and nearly two feet in length. Fearful that the flame could continue to intensify and possibly cause the wing to crumble. I gave Metzger an assessment of his condition. I thought I told him that if it were me, I'd bail out. Charlie told me years later, that I simply told him to "get the hell out of there." By then, we were flying northwest of, and close to St. Lo. Metzger bailed out. We circled him, to try to determine if he was OK and saw him land in an apple tree. We watched him give us an OK wave. Some US ground forces in a jeep quickly retrieved him, his parachute, and had him back at our base about the time we were landing. The jolt that my plane took, was from an armor piercing bullet, that passed completely through the fuselage, leaving a one inch hole behind the pilot's seat." Woody Wilson, 313th pilot "We had better luck than Woody and his flight on one of our missions around the Avranches area. Upon arriving in the area of our target, we surrised many German vehicles racing down a road and in the lead was a kind of staff car, with a folding top and inside were several of what appeared to be German high ranking officers. At least, the gaudy uniforms looked like what we always saw in the movies. We rolled over and started laying 50 calibers on and around them. They may have been high ranking officers, but they bailed out of that car and hit the dirt like any ordinary German private. We made several passes and wreaked considerable damage to the vehicles and possibly the German personnel; and I hope we made a good impression on the German Heirarchy. I don't think it possible for them to escape totally because of the withering firepower of our old Jug's lethal sting. I felt like yelling, "Gutten Morgen, Herr General. Let me introduce you to Herr JABOS!!!" Ed Hubbell, 313th Pilot 1944 - "The Ninth Tactical Air Force had a dozen airstrips in Normandy by this time. Pilots could be over their targets in a matter of minutes. They were dare devil youngsters, some of them only ninteen years of age (it was generally felt that by the time he reached his mid-twenties, a man was too sensible to take the chances required of a P-47 pilot). They lived in tents in the Normandy mud. They made up to five sorties per day, some of them only twenty minutes in duration. They dominated the sky and brought destruction to the Germans below." |
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Gil Burns, one of the 313th's pilots, didn't get dumped in the mud but he did have to suffer alot for his drink of whiskey. By all accounts, Gil shouldn't even be here. Gil said when he finished his Air Force career, that he wouldn't 'fly again,' and he hasn't. Fly along with him now, as he tells the story of his miraculous experience flying from Nancy!! 1945 - "We were on an armed reconnaissance mission, when my plane was hit 12 times by 37mm shells, while strafing with rockets around Pirmasens. I thought at first the "pop - pop - pop" noise I heard was my rockets being fired but the "release" button hadn't been pushed. Then suddenly, the cockpit began to fill with smoke and I knew I was being hit by AA fire. The canopy blew off, rudder and ailerons were in ribbons, rocket tubes shot off and the 50 caliber ammo was burning. I disconnected the radio and oxygen hose, then the safety belt and shoulder harness straps and over the side I went... but with head, shoulders and arms ready to bail, I suddenly realized I was only 300 or 400 feet high. Too low to jump! Falling back into the cockpit I grabbed the stick again and stared straight ahead. The smoke had cleared and the engine was still running. I jammed on the throttle to gain altitude and pulled back on the stick only to realize the stick was loose and lifeless and no longer controlled altitude or ailerons. The rudder pedals were equally loose and no longer controlled the rudder. I continued flying straight and level at about 400 feet. It was then that the left wing slowly started to drop. it was then that certainly a miracle occurred. As there was no stick or aileron control, my left hand miraculously wandered to the aileron trim tab wheel, and it was this, that saved my life! When the left wing dropped and threatened to stall the plane, quick twisting of the control tab slowly righted it and likewise the right wing wasn't an instantaneous response but by carefully anticipating the planes actions I could fly! Even though it was like a tight tope walker without a net. I was a easy target flying necessarily straight and level but three of my flight, Lt. Edmund Bentz, Lt. Dale Sandvick and Lt. Roland DePaul came down to joined me and give me support, plus any help they could. I experimented alittle and found I could gently manipulating the trim tab, and make a turn of sorts, taking a 25 to 50 mile area to make any corrections at all. Taking stock of my situation, I looked at the exterior and saw both wing tips were in tatters, the rudder and elevator was shattered, and apparently both wheels had been hit and rocket tubes were blown off. The access plate covering the ammo compartment on the top surface of the right wing had been blown off and the ammo in that wing was burning and smoking. I was flying at an indicated air speed of 265 mph with full throttle open and barely maintaining altitude. If I throttled back a little, buffeting would start at 255 mph. This meant a possible stalling speed of 250 mph! It also meant, I would hit the ground at 250 mph. Lt. Bentz came in very close on my right wing. He slowly moved up and over me, down the left side, under and back up to the right. He was really examining my condition. We looked at each other and he slowly shook his head in amazement. I didn't need a radio to know what he was thinking. Having already crash landed a P47 in England, I anticipated what was coming. Sitting in that damaged plane though, with the canopy gone, and that blue sky above, I raised my head and looked heavenward and for the first time in my life, really asked God for His help. Bentz had radioed ahead and the emergency crew was stand- ing by and the field was cleared as I attempted to navigate a straight in approach by the check points I remembered. When I finally saw the strip, it was off to the right which meant I'd have to make a huge 25 or 50 mile circle, and an agonized twisting and turning of the trim tab, not to mention the wear and tear on my shredded nerves. After an interminable time, I again saw the runway in the distance and I lined up with the right side of the runway and eased off on the throttle...to lower my speed to about 255 mph. Crossing the edge of the field, I switched off the ignition, then the gas The seat belt, shoulder straps had been previously tightened. It was all over now, there was no going around. I didn't care which it would be, I had been under such nervous tension, I just wanted it to end quickly some how! The control tower was on the right side of the strip. As I passed between the tower and the edge of the runway, the right wing tip clearing the tower by about 15 feet. The plane hit the ground at 250 mph and on impact my head bucked forward to within one inch of the steel gun sight, two inches away from having my face crushed! The plane bounced in the air and came down again. Once more my head was thrown forward. Later reports told it came down this second time on a stack of crates beside the strip, which contained flares. The resulting explosion led the viewers to believe the plane had exploded. Once again it bounced up and came down at the 1,000 ft. marked, which we crashed into. This time the plane hit and stayed down and slid and slid and slid... When it stopped near the end of the runway. I jumped out, as I did, I saw the ambulance waiting and ran for about 100 feet and fainted from the nervous exhaustion. When I came to, Dr. Nicholas Fiergoli, our Flight Surgeon, and his aides took me to the ambulance and off we went to the medical tent. After checking and finding I had no physical wounds. Doc, sat me up and filled a heavy French water glass full of whiskey and had me drink it. About ten minutes later, the Group CO, Colonel Harvey Case, walked in with a camera and told me to come out to the wreck for a picture. I don't remember what happened next but I was certainly "drunk." I staggered out to the plane again, probably was "propped' up for the picture. Gil Burns, 313th Pilot Tom Newton, SiteBuilder at: HAHN-50THap-k9@webtv.net |
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