"I
seen my duty
and
I done it!"
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Spring, 1941
A World at WAR!
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EUROPE:
Germany invades Yugoslavia forcing its surrender. Nazi troops occupy Paris, Poland, Belgium, Luxembourg,
the Netherlands, Romania, Czechoslovakia, as well as most of
northern and central Europe.
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MEDITERRANEAN:
Greece, which was invaded by Italy the previous years,
surrenders after the arrival of Nazi Forces. The combined
German/Italian Axis have gained control of most of the region.
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NORTH AFRICA:
Field
Marshall Erwin Rommel arrives to attack Tobruk amid Italy's
efforts to control Egypt and the Suez Canal.
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MIDDLE EAST:
A pro-Axis government is set up in Iraq.
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ASIA:
Japanese Forces control Manchuria and most of eastern China,
including the major ports at Shanghai and Hong Kong. After
striking a deal with the Vichy French their troops also
occupy French Indo-China and Thailand (Siam), giving them
control of nearly all of the eastern coastline of Asia.
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GREAT BRITAIN:
After surviving the deadly Battle of Britain the
previous year, British citizens continue to try to rebuild
amid renewed Luftwaffe bombing of their Island Nation as they
stand alone now, against the Nazi juggernaut.
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ATLANTIC OCEAN:
German submarines (U-Boats) rule the waters from the North
Sea to the eastern American coast line.
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THE UNITED STATES:
Congress passes the $50 Billion Lend-Lease Act giving
President Roosevelt the power to sell, transfer, exchange,
and/or lend equipment to any country to help it defend itself
against the Axis powers. Meanwhile, most American's seek to
distance themselves from the rest of a world at war in
hopes that the United States can remain neutral.
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When
Lieutenant Commander Wade McCluskey called together
the pilots of VF-6 in the spring of 1941 the entire
event was shrouded in mystery. After the aviators of
the Navy's Fighting Sixth had been assembled
the door was locked and every man in the room was
sworn to secrecy. Moments later a distinguished
gentleman in civilian attire introduced himself as
Commander Rutledge Irvine, U.S. Navy (Retired).
Commander
Irvine began by assuring the assembled pilots that
his mission to San Diego had been approved by
Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox, but that every
word spoken in the clandestine meeting must be held
in the utmost secrecy. What he was about to propose
was not just an opportunity to participate in a
highly classified mission; what was taking place
behind locked doors that day might well, if it
became known, create a volatile international
incident that could propel the United States into
the very war it had struggled for years to avoid.
For
nearly a year a small number of Americans had been
involved in that war after secret recruiting efforts
to enlist aviators to aid the Britain's RAF and the
Canadian RCAF. These young men, citizens of the
United States, traded in their U.S. Army Air Corps
wings to join a foreign air force in its valiant
defense against the imposing German Luftwaffe. Some
became part of the three legendary Eagle
Squadrons, others were simply absorbed into
various RAF or RCAF units. All were American airmen
without sanction, voluntarily defending a foreign
nation against a nearly invincible aggressor.
If
the young pilots of VF-6 were aware of earlier
clandestine recruitment of aviators for the Eagle
Squadrons and suspected something similar was
about to happen, they would have been only partially
correct. Instead of speaking of the valiant battle
to save Britain from Hitler's blitzkrieg in Europe, Commander
Irvine focused upon an equally though lesser publicized
threat to the world, the escalating spread of the
Imperial Japanese empire in Asia. China had been at
war with Japan for four years, during which the
Chinese military had been pushed back 800 miles into
the interior. With their seaports now occupied, the
government under Chiang Kai-shek had been isolated
and was near collapse for lack of a lifeline. The
recently authorized Lend-Lease Act had been
passed not only to enable the United States to
provide assistance to England without violating its
neutrality, but also to enable the Chinese to defend
themselves against the swift and brutal advance of
Japan.
"President
Roosevelt," Commander Irvine told the young
Navy pilots, "is intent on furnishing some
kind of military assistance to China so that she can
survive. I am here to offer all pilots of VF-6 who
are reserve officers the opportunity to resign from
your service and join a volunteer organization in
the Far East to defend the Burma Road against Japanese
bombing attacks."
When
Irvine had finished his presentation he handed out
application forms. Many of the pilots of VF-6 wasted
little time discarding them amid comments that this
was a foolish, and dangerous, waste of one's
military career. Others, intrigued by the
potential for adventure in a foreign land or
motivated by the unusually high salary of $600 -
$700 per month, gave the matter more serious
consideration.
Twenty-four-year-old
Ensign James H. Howard of St. Louis recalled, "I
couldn't have been in a better position at a better
time. The nostalgia of going to China would be a
strong incentive, but the overpowering reason was my
yearning for adventure and action. It didn't take me
long to decide to sign up."
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On September 1, 1939, with
an eye to expanding his burgeoning German empire, Adolph Hitler
sent his troops into Poland. Two days later France and England
declared war and thus, believe many historians, began World War
II. It is a precept that ignores the birth of that war
which began, not in Europe in 1939, but in Asia eight years
earlier. In fact, World War II may have been born one full year
before Adolph Hitler's rise to power in Germany.
War in
Asia
By 1931 the island nation
of Japan, struggling to pull itself out of a great depression that had
overtaken the country in 1929, had invested heavily in the rich
resources of the nearby Chinese province of Manchuria (Manchukuo).
With a burgeoning population and limited territory, the Japanese
army launched an imperialist conquest, seemingly the only hope for
Japan's future. After seizing Manchuria in 1931, the following
year Japanese forces attacked Shanghai and gained control of much
of China's coastal area.
For centuries China had
been its own worst enemy, struggling through internal
strife and tribal warfare. Indeed, in 1900 the United States
joined a large inter-national alliance in military actions to
quell an uprising of the I-Ho Ch'uan, better known as The
Boxers. The large Asian nation achieved some unity when
Generalissimo Chiang Kai-Shek became head of the Nationalist Party in
Nanjing (Nanking) in 1928. Almost immediately he became faced with
a war on two fronts: continued internal strife as he ruled a loose
coalition of corrupt and power-hungry Chinese warlords, and the
threat of the Japanese advance.
Chiang Kai-Shek's worst
nightmares for the future of China came true in 1937. Outside the
walled city of Wanping stood China's oldest bridge, the Marco Polo
Bridge. On July 7 the commander of Japanese forces holding the
east edge of the bridge notified officials at Wanping that one of
his soldiers was missing and believed to be inside the walled
city. His demand to cross the bridge and enter Wanping was met by
1,000 Kuomintang (Chinese Nationalist Soldiers.) That night the
Japanese shelled the city, then crossed the bridge with the dawn.
It was arguably the first battle of World War II.
The incident at the Marco
Polo Bridge launched Japan's all-out offensive to control China.
In the months that followed that opening volley, the Emperor's soldiers breached China's Great Wall and continued
to quickly seize all of northeastern China amid the bold
proclamation that Japan would annex China within three months. On
August 14 the air war began with an ill-fated attempt by Chinese
bombers to attack the Japanese flagship Idzumo, at anchor
near Shanghai. Errant bombs dropped on the city, killing more than
1,200 citizens in what became known as Bloody Saturday.
Twelve Japanese bi-plane bombers responded by attacking Hangzou.
The Chinese Air Force, commanded now by a former American fighter
pilot, responded by shooting down eleven of them.
In the weeks that followed
Japanese bombers based out of Taiwan unleashed their fury on
Shanghai and Nanjing. With limited air assets, China's defense was
poised precariously close to utter defeat. On August 20 Chinese
ground forces fought to turn back another wave of bombing attacks
when one of their anti-aircraft shells errantly fell in the harbor
and struck the USS Augusta, killing one American and
wounding several other sailors. They were, perhaps, the first
American casualties of World War II.
The Nippon juggernaut
continued in a war the United States tried, but couldn't ignore.
On December 12 Japanese warplanes repeatedly attacked the USS
Panay which was patrolling the Yangtze River near Nanking.
Two American sailors were killed, eleven wounded, and the Panay
was ordered abandoned. Even as the survivors struggled to reach
the shore Japanese pilots strafed the waters and the shoreline.
It might well have been the incident to propel the United States
into war with Japan four years before Pearl Harbor, but most
Americans though outraged, accepted Japan's apology along with
the excuse that its pilots had not seen the American flag flying
from the U.S. gunboat. The Japanese paid an indemnity for their mistake
and the American public responded with a collective sigh of relief
that war had been avoided. A Gallup Poll that followed two weeks
into the new year indicated that Americans overwhelmingly (70%)
favored complete withdrawal of all American ships, Marines,
missionaries, and medical missions to China.
Ignored by the rest of the
world and left alone to resist Japan's continued bombardment and
fierce ground attacks, Chiang Kai-Shek withdrew from Nanjing and
established his Capitol at Hankow. The months that followed the
December 1937 fall of Nanjing, though little remembered in the
West, was one of the most tragic periods in human history. In
the vicious, brutal retribution heaped upon the Chinese people in
the Japanese Army's Rape of Nanking, Nippon soldiers
beheaded so many men, women, and children that their arms became
sore. It was estimated that from December 1938 to March 1939,
369,000 Chinese civilians and Prisoners of War were beheaded,
burned, buried alive, disemboweled, or used for bayonet practice.
As many as 80,000 Chinese women and girls were raped, and most of
them were subsequently mutilated and then murdered. Nine months after the
fall of Nanjing the advancing Japanese seized control of Hankow,
and Chiang Kai-Shek withdrew even further inland, establishing the
capitol at Chungking.
One
American who refused to ignore the plight of the Chinese people
and their embattled government in those dark days before war
engulfed the rest of the world was a chisel-faced,
thirty-eight-year-old, former fighter pilot. Claire Chennault had
earned his wings in the post-World War I Army Air Corps and,
though he had never flown combat, developed a unique ability for
understanding pursuit (fighter) aviation. His propensity for
pursuit over bombardment placed him at odds with conventional Air
Corps doctrine in the early 1930s. His direct and often
abrasive personality further alienated him from many of the
developing leaders in U.S. Army aviation. His discouragement
with the perceived short-sightedness of his commanders and most
fellow pilots in regard to developing advanced pursuit aircraft
and combat tactics, combined with a hearing loss,
lead to his early retirement in 1937. Even as he was relocating
his family back to his native Louisiana, in far-away China his
name was being bandied about to assume command of Chiang
Kai-Shek's fledgling Air Force.
Chiang Kai-Shek had seen
aviation as a critical means of defense for his large nation
shortly after coming to power. His foresight was reinforced when
Manchuria quickly fell to Japanese aggression in 1931, and he
promptly sought help from Britain to build a Chinese Air Force.
With colonies of its on in India, Burma, and elsewhere in Asia and
the Pacific, Britain declined to get involved for fear of antagonizing
Japan. In 1932 the United States sent nine experienced pilots
under retired Air Corps Colonel John Jouett in an unofficial
mission to build a Chinese air force. The Japanese government
responded with a diplomatic outcry. Their demands and threats
directed towards Washington, D.C. sent Jouett home in 1934, but
not before he and his
nine American companions had fashioned from virtually nothing, a
viable Chinese Air Force with 250 fighters and 350
American-trained pilots.
In the two years that
followed Jouett's departure the Chinese Air Force fell into great disrepair amid lax
discipline, deadly air crashes, and a mish-mash of mercenaries
from various nations who had been hired to fill the leadership
void left by the American airman's departure. Early in 1937, in
an effort to boost morale and to demonstrate how important he felt
his meager air force was, the Generalissimo appointed his popular
wife, Madame Chiang Kai-Shek, to be Secretary General of the Chinese Air
Force. One of her first official acts was to launch an
international search for a new commander, a search which
eventually led to Louisiana and an under-appreciated American
fighter pilot facing early retirement. "At midnight on
April 30, 1937,'' wrote Chennault in his autobiography, "I
officially retired from the U.S. Army with the rank of Captain. On
the morning of May 1, I was on my way to San Francisco, China
bound.''
Claire
Chennault's agreement brought him to China as a civilian advisor to
the Chinese Air Force (CAF), a job slated to pay him $1,000 for
each of the three months he had agreed to in his service
contract. What was initially little more than a good-paying
three-month job would ultimately become a life-time love affair.
Six-weeks into that new job Chennault was touring China's small
and scattered air fields when the fighting began at the Marco Polo
Bridge. Almost immediately China's air defense against the veteran
Japanese Air Force became the sole responsibility of a retired
American fighter pilot who couldn't speak a word of Chinese.
The job facing Chennault was
an impossible one for many reasons. By 1937 China's Air Force consisted of
a small and patch-work inventory including only ten Curtiss P-26
fighters, six German-built Henkle bombers, six Savoia-Marchettis,
nine Martin B-10s, and about 100 Curtiss Hawk bi-plane
fighters. By contrast, Japan had available in the region at least 2,000 fighters and bombers to throw against the cities of
China.
Generalissimo and Madam
Chiang Kai-Shek placed their confidence in Chennault and called
him to Nanjing on September 1 to take command of the city's
defense against continued enemy bombardment. When the Capitol city
fell in December Chennault, now well beyond the term of his
initial contract, remained in China to follow them to Hangkow. By the time Hangkow
fell and the seat of government moved to Chungking, China had been
isolated from the outside world by an enemy that controlled most of
its eastern coast line, virtually all of its vital ports, nearly all of its
railways, and half of its land mass.
The
Burma Road
Though Japan failed to
fulfill its goal of annexing China within three months following
the 1937 battle at Marco Polo Bridge, by the summer of 1938 China was
badly beaten, though not defeated. With its military forces over-extended
and suffering from heavy casualties, Japan scaled back its ground
assault at the end of 1938, content to occupy China's coast and
port cities. For the land-locked government of Chiang Kai-Shek
survival was a matter of time. The only route of supply into China
was through Haiphong Harbor and then by rail from Hanoi to Kunming.
The future of that route was tenuous at best.
The Chinese people
responded in a manner that would have made their ancestors proud.
Seven hundred miles from Kunming was the rail head at the border
town of Lashio in the British colony of Burma. Connecting
the two cities was a small trail that had served as a trade route
for centuries. As early as 1937 Chiang Kai-Shek realized that if
that trail could be turned into a highway, essential supplies and
war materials could be shipped by other nations to the Burmese port at Rangoon,
freighted to Lashio, and then transported by truck to Kunming.
China lacked the equipment and technology to build such a road
under the best of conditions, however. The road the
Generalissimo now called on his people to construct would have to
be built across the Yunnan Province, which comprised some of the
highest mountains and deepest canyons in the world.
What the Chinese people
lacked in equipment and technology they made up for in sheer
numbers and determination. By the thousands they streamed into
Yunnan Province in the summer of 1937, bringing their ancient tools
to clear jungles, oxen to drag hand-hewn rock, and even their
children to build a highway through canyons, along rocky
escarpments, and over high mountains. Construction continued
through the cold winter amid not only physical hardship but the
demoralizing news that Nanjing and Shanghai had fallen to the
enemy. For sixteen months more than 100,000 Chinese labored
on. Thousands died, some in accidents, many more from
malaria that pervaded the jungle, and others beneath the guns of
attacking Japanese fighter planes.
Author
Russell Whelan (The Flying Tigers) wrote: "They removed
the debris of the cliff sides with handmade baskets. They smoothed
the road with stone rollers which they carved out of rock and
hitched to bullocks; or, lacking bullocks, to a train of their own
bodies. They worked and they died at their work by the uncounted
thousands, through the raw winter and the searing heat of summer,
through landslides, floods, and plague. They dug two thousand
culverts and built three hundred bridges, including two suspension
bridges across the gorges. For seven hundred and twenty-six miles
they cut a level strip from nine to twenty feet in width across
the rocky face of Asia. They built the most dramatic, the most
important highway, in the history of the world.
"They built the
Burma road."
Their
accomplishment in at last completing the Burma Road, though seldom
viewed in its true capacity of dedication and endurance, was comparable to the Great Wall
built by their ancestors two millenniums earlier. Viewing the
Chinese people's amazing accomplishment, one American engineer remarked, "My
God, they scratched this thing out of the mountains with their
finger-nails."
By 1939 a slow trickle of
supplies, shipped first to Rangoon, then freighted to Lashio, were
making the slow, winding trek into China via this new life-line.
Though the rail line into Hanoi continued to be the principle route of
supply into China, completion of the Burma Road gave the Chinese people both
a sense of accomplishment and an alternative if the Indo-China
pipeline ever closed.
The Japanese dared not attack the rail line
in the French colony, so instead they began near-daily bombing of the
road out of Burma. With continued determination, as quickly as
the enemy bombers disappeared, the volunteer Chinese work force
appeared out of the mountains and jungles to promptly repair their
lifeline. "Let them (bombers) come," the valiant
Chinese stated. "It
costs the Japanese a thousand dollars every time they drop a bomb
on the road. Even when they hit it, we can fill up the holes for
only a few cents' worth of labor. So, if they bomb it often
enough, Japan will soon be broke."
On September 1, 1939, the face of
the building world-wide conflict fully emerged when Hitler invaded
Poland, forcing Britain and France to declare war on Germany
within 48-hours. In Washington, D.C. the Congress amended the Neutrality
Act of 1935 in efforts to maintain trade with the warring
parties without taking sides in the conflict. The new language of
this legislation provided for the United States to trade with the
warring nations only on a "cash-and-carry" basis, and
prohibited U.S. vessels from combat zones. The language was designed
primarily to avoid a confrontation with Germany, and ironically,
did not apply to the situation in Asia--Japan had conducted
its aggression towards China without ever declaring a state of
war.
On June 14, 1940, Nazi
troops marched into Paris and Hitler established the pro-Axis
Vichy government to manage the affairs of southern France and its
world-wide colonies. Almost immediately the Luftwaffe unleashed
its aerial might on London in the Battle of Britain. In
many ways the war in Europe mirrored the undeclared war that had
been going on in Asia for years:
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In Europe, England
stood alone against Germany while in Asia, China stood alone
against Japan.
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Germany sought to
bring England to its knees with unrelenting bombing of her
cities in a campaign that killed thousands and leveled entire
neighborhoods. In China, this bombardment had been underway
for three years, killing thousands and destroying countless
neighborhoods in the Capitol at Chungking and elsewhere.
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In England the people
of the Island Nation rallied valiantly during their darkest
hours under the leadership of Winston Churchill to emerge
beaten but unbroken. In China the isolated government under
Chiang Kai-Shek rallied the citizens to unprecedented
determination to survive a daily onslaught.
In the diplomatic war of
that period Japan brought pressure to bear on England to close
the Burma Road leading out of their Asian colony. Fully occupied
resisting one enemy, Britain dared not create a new enemy in the
Far East where it had extensive holdings, and thereby open a
two-front war. Ultimately, Germany's bombing of London
during the Battle of Britain indirectly did what the
Japanese bombings in Asia could not--and the Burma Road was
ordered closed.
On September 27, 1940,
Germany, Italy, and Japan united as allies in their quest for
world domination when they signed the Tripartite Act. This
signaled the death-knell of the last of China's two lifelines.
Under pressure from Japan, French Indo-China closed the railway
from Hanoi to Kunming. It was the very situation Chiang Kai-Shek
had feared, the potential threat that had prompted him to order
construction of the Burma Road in 1937. Chinese author/philosopher
Lin Yu-Tang had noted that road's importance by stating, "The
Burma Road is China's jugular vein." By the fall of 1940
Japan had effectively severed China's jugular vein, leaving
an ancient civilization to slowly bleed to death.
Great Britain emerged from
the devastating bombings of July - October 1940 unbroken and
victorious largely because of the valor of its Royal Air Force.
Winston Churchill noted the key role of these fliers in his speech
to the House of Commons when he said, "Never in the field
of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few." By
contrast, at the time the British Prime Minister bestowed such
praise on his airmen, little remained in Asia of China's Air
Force. The Chinese people continued to survive not because of a valiant
defense, but due to a determined spirit and an early-warning
system developed and refined by Claire Chennault. That rudimentary but vast and effective spider-web quickly
relayed notice of enemy air missions, noting the source, direction,
number and type of enemy bombers and/or fighters. It allowed the
Chinese people time to seek shelter, though even that was often
not enough and they died by the thousands as their cities were
ravaged from above.
Meanwhile, Chiang Kai-Shek
set in motion his own diplomatic corps in the United States. China
had not only gained some powerful friends in Washington, D.C.,
but benefited from the American President's understanding of the
danger posed by continued Japanese expansion in Asia and the
Pacific. Franklin Roosevelt successfully convinced Winston Churchill that,
despite the danger of angering Tokyo, it was in the best interest
of both the United States and Great Britain to restore the flow of
blood through the jugular vein of China. After three of
the darkest month's in China's long history, at last the Burma
Road was re-opened.
That action served
however, as little more than a band-aid in the gaping wound to
China's figurative neck. The now-closed railway through Hanoi had
once transported an average of forty-thousand tons of supply to
Kunming each month. Through the winter of 1940-41 the Burma Road's
capacity for re-supply was only one-tenth of that amount. The
route was harsh, winding, and perilous, even without the
renewed bombardment by Japanese aircraft--bombardment the CAF
lacked the planes or pilots to combat.
Claire Chennault was a man
of action who, despite his great potential, was ill-adept at
diplomacy and prone to alienate those who held the reins of power.
(The exception to this was Generalissimo and Madame Chiang
Kai-Shek, for whom he worked and with whom he shared a mutual
respect and life-time friendship.) For this reason his
accomplishments in the Winter of 1940-41 may be the best
illustration of his true greatness, rising above his personal
character flaws to achieve through diplomacy one of the most
unorthodox solutions to the life of China that might have been
imagined. With the blessings of his Chinese employers he traveled to Washington, D.C. to propose a secret plan to build an air force
to defend the Burma Road--an air force of American fighter planes,
flown by volunteer American pilots.
The
A.V.G.
Claire Chennault's plan
for an American Volunteer Group (A.V.G.) required three
components: Permission, Planes, and Pilots. The first of these
would prove to be the most difficult amid firm opposition from
Army Chief of Staff General George C. Marshall, Army Air Chief
General Hap Arnold, and Rear Admiral Jack Towers, the
Navy's Chief of the Bureau of Aeronautics. Chennault's plan
skirted the limits of the Neutrality Act at best; it
certainly denied the United States any viable claim to
non-belligerence. Chinese diplomats and businessmen continued
their efforts to sell the idea to America's military leaders while
Chennault, determined to win the battle at home, went to work on
the task of finding fighters with which to fight the war in China.
At
the Curtiss-Wright Airplane Company Chennault found 100 crated but
unwanted P-40Bs. The French government had ordered these for
their own defense before the fall of Paris halted the sale.
Desperate for any aircraft, the RAF had agreed to purchase these
fighters despite the fact that they were older model fighters that were not
equipped with a gun sight, bomb rack or provisions for attaching
auxiliary fuel tanks to the wing or belly. Burdette Wright, vice
president of Curtiss-Wright and a long-time friend of Chennault's,
offered to install a new assembly line in the plant to turn out newer models P-40s for the British, if they would
in turn give up
their claim to the crated P-40Bs. It was an offer the British quickly
accepted. When President Roosevelt signed the Lend-Lease Act on
March 11, 1941, it opened the way for China to purchase these 100
fighters with four Lend-Lease loans totaling $150,000,000.
Permission came the
following month when, over the objections of his military
commanders, President Roosevelt embraced the unorthodox idea of
sending former U.S. military pilots to defend China. Most accounts
of the A.V.G. allude to an April 15 secret Executive Order issued
by the President, though no evidence has since emerged that indeed
such a published document existed. It is far more likely that this
was an informal Presidential action, authorizing the clandestine recruitment of
pilots and ground crews from the ranks of U.S. Army, Navy, and
Marine Corps Aviation, each of whom would voluntarily resign from
their respective branches of the U.S. Military and sign a one-year
contract of service in China. The Central Aircraft
Manufacturing Company (CAMCO) based in Lowing was designated as
China's agent in the process of both delivery of the 100 P-40s and
in recruiting 100 American pilots and 200 ground-crewman to man
and maintain them. William Pawley, son of a rich American family
and part-owner in CAMCO, set up an office in New York to
coordinate everything from recruitment to issuing contracts.
Initially Claire Chennault
personally began the recruitment effort, visiting Army air fields
and Naval training stations in May and June. Similar secret efforts had been initiated the previous
year by the Knight Commission in clandestine efforts to
recruit American airmen for service in the RAF and RCAF, but
Chennault's efforts were quite different. Service in the RAF/RCAF
offered would-be airmen who had washed out of pilot training in
the United States, or who had been rejected for minor medical
conditions or lack of the requisite college education, a second
chance to fly. Claire Chennault's A.V.G. would be facing
the large and combat-experienced pilots of the Japanese air force
with a meager force of 100 obsolete fighters. Chennault would
accept ONLY pilots between the ages of 22 to 28, pilots with a
minimum of 2-years of U.S. Army or Navy aviation training and
experience, and men who had adapted themselves to the process of
military discipline and personal leadership. He wanted adventurers
but not renegades; he looked for men who were in a sense soldiers of fortune,
but who were motivated by more than money. (The men enlisted for
service in Europe by the Knight Commission received the
same salary as their RAF/RCAF counterparts. The unique nature of
CAMCO's contract offered pilots of the A.V.G. a $600 - $750 per
month salary, and salaries for ground crews, though less, were
still considerable.)
In his spiel to
prospective recruits, Claire Chennault pulled no punches,
nor did he hide the details. The CAMCO contracts would list all
volunteers as civilians employed to serve in China as instructors,
or in Lowing's CAMCO factory in the manufacture, repair, and operation
of airplanes. They would travel to China on Dutch ships under
visas listing them as anything other than what they would truly
were--hand-picked fighter pilots from the United States of
America. He also did not hide from them the fact that they would
be outnumbered, out-gunned, and facing a formidable veteran enemy air
force. He talked of the plight of the Chinese people, shared the
history and importance of the Burma road, and insured would-be
volunteers that in helping China they would be indirectly serving
in the best interests of their own country. Upon completion of an
A.V.G. volunteer's contract the volunteers would be authorized under Roosevelt's secret
Executive Order to return to their branch of service without loss of
rank. In the event the United States entered the war, A.V.G.
personnel would be entitled to terminate their contract and return
to the service of their own country.
After initiating this
recruitment process, Chennault went back to China in the late
Spring, leaving the task of continuing the interview and selection
process of experienced aviators he trusted. Thus it was that
Commander Rutledge Irvine found himself in San Diego accepting a completed application from
Navy Ensign James H.
Howard.
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James H. Howard
James
Howell Howard, Naval aviator and U.S. Army Air Force ace, was born
in Canton, China, on April 8, 1913. His family came to China
in 1910 on a medical mission to the Canton Christian College,
which was sponsored by the University of Pennsylvania.
Howard's father was a physician who, for seventeen years,
served the needs of the people of China. Except for two
furlough periods James Howard saw little of his own country
until the family returned to the United States to settle in
St. Louis in 1917. For fourteen-year-old James Howard
the return home was a welcome but sometimes difficult
readjustment. Because of his foreign birth he was known
throughout his high school years at John Burrough's School
in St. Louis as "China." His only comfort was the
reassurances of his father that because his parents were
American Citizens serving abroad at the time of his birth,
their son was also an American Citizen. Still, the
nickname continued to follow him.
During
World War I while young Howard was attending classes, his
father served as a medical officer to the U.S. Army Aviation
Service. After finishing high school James Howard relocated
to Southern California to attend Pomona College and prepare
for a future that his family believed would take him in his
father's footsteps in medicine. Instead, during his senior
year, young Howard's thirst for adventure was stimulated
during a visit to the campus but a recruiter for U.S. Naval
aviation. He submitted an application, completed the
physical examination, and reported to Long Beach shortly
after graduating with a Bachelor of Arts degree, to begin
the long process of earning his wings. Of the 140
applicants, James H. Howard was one of only fifteen that
made the final cut to enter training to determine if he had the makings of a Navy
pilot.
Thirty
days at Long Beach introduced Navy Seaman Second Class Howard to
military drill, aviation theory, aircraft mechanics, and ten
hours of dual flight instruction in an OU-2 trainer.
Before returning home to St. Louis to await further orders,
Jim Howard successfully completed all aspects of his initial
training including his first solo flight.
Just
before Christmas 1937, with orders in hand, Howard reported
to the Naval Training Station at Pensacola to join
sixty-nine other would-be aviators in Class 109-C. In the
year that followed these pilots-in-training flew every type of Naval
airplane imaginable, learning to deal with every conceivable
circumstance, while moving through five different levels beginning
with Squadron One. It was rigorous and demanding training,
and by the time James Howard got his last check up with
Squadron Five in January 1939, thirty-two of his classmates
washed out. Those who completed the course received a
ceremonial sword and gold aviation wings. James Howard was
now an Aviation Cadet, USNR (U.S. Naval Reserve), the lowest
of the Navy's officer ranks.
After
returning home to proudly display his uniform to his proud
parents, Aviation Cadet Howard was assigned to Fighting
Squadron Seven (VF-7) on the brand new air craft carrier Wasp,
which was still undergoing shake-down in the Atlantic. In
the interim, in March 1939, Howard was sent to San Diego to
fly F4F-1 biplane fighters as part of a fighting squadron
assigned to the carrier Lexington. For three months
all of his flights were ground-based; he had yet to take-off
or land on a carrier. In June Howard received orders
to travel to Norfolk, Virginia, to join VF-7. It would turn
out to be simply another step in a continuing shifting of
orders that left him looking for his place in the Navy. When
he arrived at Norfolk the Wasp was still at sea and
Howard was
assigned to the Ranger, again spending several months
flying only land-based familiarization flights, this time in
the F2F. When at last the Wasp was ready the Navy
discovered its roster of pilots ill-timed for rotation, and new
orders were cut sending Howard to Fighting Squadron Six of
the USS Enterprise, which would ultimately become
legendary during World War II as the "Big E."
Shortly
after James Howard arrived in San Diego the Big E
cruised west to Hawaii. Howard and the other pilots
who had yet to make their first carrier landing boarded the
ship before it departed. The remaining pilots and planes
flew in to land on her deck while the carrier was at sea.
During the following four months in and around Pearl Harbor,
Howard at last began a regular routine of taking off and
landing on the floating air field. His fighter was a Grumman
F3F-2 and was #6F12 in the squadron (pictured behind Howard
in the photo above.) During four months of practice for
warfare, Howard flew near-daily missions to hone his gunnery
skills and dive-bombing techniques. By the time the Big E
returned to San Diego he had become a proficient combat
pilot.
By
the time Howard had been aboard the Enterprise for
nearly a year, war broke out in Europe and the United
States was jockeying for a position of neutrality. Though
the threat appeared to be primarily in Europe, Japanese
aggression in Asia could not be ignored, and five of the
United States' six air craft carriers were ultimately
assigned to the Pacific theater. Throughout 1940 and early
1941 the carriers rotated out of West Coast Naval Bases to
Hawaii for continued maneuvers to prepare their men for
possible war. Along the way James Howard was promoted to
Ensign, and upon his return to San Diego early in 1941
received a rare and high compliment from the U.S. Navy. A
board of officers advised Ensign Howard that after review of his
two-year record of service, the Navy was prepared to offer
him a regular commission. It was an offer extended to only
one other member of Fighting Squadron Six, and provided the
young pilot unusual opportunity for a Naval career. Howard
recalled that meeting by writing:
"I
really agonized over this, for these officers had
considered me superior. A 'no' answer would
amount to a repudiation of their confidence in me and a
denial of the importance of their careers in the Navy.
"I
finally blurted out, 'Please forgive me for giving you a
negative answer. I have always thought of the navy not as
a career but as an adventure. I may rue this day, but at
this moment I must gratefully reject this offer.'"
Howard's
declining a regular commission was a timely and fateful
decision. The following April when President Roosevelt
authorized the American
Volunteer Group, his order provided for recruitment from RESERVE
officers and enlisted personnel of the Army, Navy, and
Marine Corps. Thus it was that in the Spring of 1941 Ensign
James H. Howard found himself submitting an application to
resign from the Navy and join a group of volunteer airmen in
a dangerous and dramatic one-year mission to China. On June
12 his orders came through; his application had been
accepted.
In
a very real sense, though he was a proud and patriotic
American, James Howard was going home!
|
|
|
Airmen
in Burma
Claire Chennault personally
greeted the first group of A.V.G. pilots in San Francisco as they
gathered for a July 10 departure to China, to join a small group of
ground personnel that had departed for Rangoon two weeks earlier.
The 121 young men, including 33 pilots, came from all walks of life
and from all branches of military service. Like Ensign Howard, each
had resigned from their respective branches of military service in order to serve as
American civilians on foreign shores. Their lot included three
doctors and a dentist. Two female nurses completed that first major
group of CAMCO employees.
"The President has
assured us that, as long as we fight for a country that professes
democratic faith, your citizenship will remain intact," Chennault
advised his volunteers. "You will be officially part of the
Chinese military so you won't be classified as a war criminal if you
are captured."
On July 10 the Dutch steamer Jagersfontein
departed San Francisco en route to Burma by way of Pearl Harbor and
Singapore. The 123 A.V.G. passengers carried passports listing them
as missionaries, farmers, salesmen, students, acrobats--anything but what they
truly were--adventurers embarking on one of the most unusual
military missions in American history. Though Chennault had told
them all "this mission is considered secret," he
had further noted "it won't be secret for long." It
wasn't! Even as the steamer passed beneath the Golden Gate Bridge Radio
Tokyo announced that the Jagersfontein would be sunk
before it ever reached the Far East. The pseudo-secrecy and
manipulation of the status of these American citizens was
actually little more than a routine of political expediency. Since Japan had never
declared war on China, despite waging years of combat against
the Chinese people, the arrival of these American civilians
did not violate any sense of neutrality in the ongoing conflict.
In spite of Radio Tokyo's
threat the Jagersfontein reached Rangoon safely, where the
volunteers boarded an aging train for the seven hour journey of 160
miles into central Burma. There, seven miles beyond the town of
Toungoo, the A.V.G. set up shop at the Kyedaw Airdrome that had been
constructed by the R.A.F. but never used. "This is the
stink hole of the world," proclaimed one of the now-veteran
members of the ground crew that had arrived two weeks earlier.
Jeered another, "Your barracks have no screening. All the
bugs of Asia are here to greet you. There's no hot water and the
latrines are out in the boondocks, where you have to step over
snakes along the way." About the only thing in short
supply at Kyedaw Airdrome was airplanes--only two of the promised
100 aircraft had been assembled at Rangoon and flown to the muddy
airfield.
The new arrivals were divided
into three squadrons by their temporary commander, retired Army Air
Corps Captain Boatner Carney. Bob Sandell was appointed squadron
commander for the First Pursuit Squadron, Jack Newkirk commanded the
Second, and Arvid Olson the third. The appointments were
hastily made in a desperate attempt to establish order in the ranks,
placing James Howard in the Second Squadron under the command of a
fellow Navy pilot who was his junior. Howard masked his
disappointment at being passed over and welcomed Newkirk's decision to make him his
deputy. In the months that followed the three squadrons would
develop their own identities, along with distinctive squadron
insignia.
|
American Volunteer Group |
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First Pursuit
Squadron

Adam and Eve |
Second Pursuit
Squadron

Panda Bear |
Third Pursuit
Squadron

Hells Angels |
When Claire Chennault flew into
Toungoo to begin building these three squadrons into an air force
he found himself facing a nearly impossible task. Ten men greeted
him with resignations as quickly as he arrived and others were seriously doubting the wisdom
of their decision to join the A.V.G. despite the high pay and
the promise of a five-hundred-dollar bonus for every enemy airplane
destroyed. "The recruiting was done fairly with an appeal to
patriotism and adventure," Chennault reminded his remaining
pilots and ground crews. "If your hearts and minds are not
in the proper place, we have no place for slackers."
The following day the training
regimen began for those who stayed on. Every pilot who arrived before September 15 received
seventy-two hours of lecture that ranged from history to
tactics. "I gave the pilots a lesson in the geography
of Asia that they all needed badly, told them something of the war
in China, and how the Chinese air-raid warning net worked,"
Chennault recalled. "I taught them all I knew about the
Japanese. Day after day there were lectures from my notebooks,
filled during the previous four years of combat. All of the bitter
experience from Nanking to Chunking was poured out in those
lectures. Captured Japanese flying and staff manuals, translated
into English by the Chinese, served as textbooks. From these manuals
the American pilots learned more about Japanese tactics than any
single Japanese pilot ever knew." (Chennault)
As additional P-40s were
assembled and flown into Toungoo each pilot also began sixty hours
of flight training. The flight practice was sorely needed, as was evidenced by numerous minor accidents that sent several damaged
aircraft up to the CAMCO factory at Lowing, China, for repairs. A
mid-air collision on September 8 destroyed two fighters and caused
the death of the first A.V.G. pilot, John Armstrong. Two weeks later
two more pilots died in training accidents.
Additional volunteers continued
to arrive in September and October but training accidents continued
to deplete the inventory of flyable fighters as quickly as
resignations depleted the ranks of the A.V.G. personnel. Ten former Navy pilots
arrived at Toungoo on October 29 and as quickly as they arrived,
two of them resigned. Chennault noted that of the remainder, "None
has the sort of experience we want." One of the
eight who stayed subsequently cracked up three fighters in his first week and
damaged two others. It was said that he later painted five American
flags on his aircraft and proclaimed himself a Japanese Ace.
On November 7 Chennault
fired off a nasty letter to CAMCO stating:
|
I
request... that in future a more intelligent employment policy be
followed.
In
telling the A.V.G. story to pilots who may think of volunteering,
nothing should be omitted. Far from merely defending the Burma
road against unaccompanied Japanese bombers, the A.V.G. will be
called upon to combat Japanese pursuits; to fly at night; and to
undertake offensive missions when planes suitable for this purpose
are sent out to us. These points should be clearly
explained.
Then,
after the timid have been weeded out, the incompetents should also
be rejected. I am willing to give a certain amount of transition
training to new pilots, but we are not equipped to give a complete
refresh course. It is too much to expect that men familiar only
with four-engine flying boats can be transformed into pursuit
experts overnight. No volunteer should be accepted in any category
whose record does not show sufficient experience in that category
to limit the transition training to teaching the peculiarities of
a new plane.
Let
me repeat, much money and much irreplaceable equipment has already
been wasted, the A.V.G.'s combat efficient seriously lowered, by
the employment policy that has been followed. I am aware that this
policy makes it far easier to fill the employment quotas. But I
prefer to have the employment quotas partly unfilled, than to
receive pilots hired on the principle of "Come one, come
all."
|
That letter would prove to be
unnecessary. Though recruitment had been planned for a second A.V.G.
the following year, world events halted the program. The last group of twenty-six
pilots assigned to the First A.V.G., including Greg Pappy
Boyington who would later earn the Medal of Honor as a Marine
Corps ace, arrived on November 12 to begin training. By the
end of the month Chennault had 82 pilots, some of whom had not yet
checked out in the Tomahawk. Of his seventy-nine P-40 fighter
aircraft, seventeen were out
of commission and two more had yet to be fitted with radios and
guns. The A.V.G. was quite unprepared for war when, seven days later,
the war came to them.
|
December 8, 1941
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|

Less than one
hour had passed in a new day at Toungoo when World War II
at last forced itself on the United States of America. On
the other side of the International Date Line it was 7:55
a.m. on Sunday, December 7, when more than 300 Japanese
carrier-launched aircraft unleashed unprecedented fury on
Pearl Harbor. It was the kind of deadly aerial assault
Japanese pilots had practiced to perfection for four years
on the cities of China. By the time a telegram with news
of the attack in Hawaii reached Chennault at dawn, the U.S. Pacific
fleet lay in ruins and more than half of the 230 Army Air
Force fighters and bombers based in Hawaii had been
destroyed or damaged.
Before
Chennault could call a meeting of his staff and squadron
commanders, Japanese twin-engine bombers had destroyed
eight of a dozen new Marine Corps Wild Cats on the
ground at Wake Island. As Chennault briefed his squadron
commanders the news continued to come in of more attacks.
That news
was all bad! Within hours of the sneak attack at Pearl
Harbor Japanese forces followed with simultaneous assaults
on Guam, Thailand, Malaya, Shanghai, Peking, Hong Kong,
and Singapore. By the time Chennault's briefing concluded, the last
remnants of American air power in the Pacific lay in ruins
at Clark Field in the Philippines.
For the men of
the A.V.G. those first forty-eight hours were gut-wrenching.
Several A.V.G. pilots including James Howard had come from
the Navy, had flown out of Pearl Harbor, and had friends
still serving there. Many of them were torn between a
desire to return home quickly to rejoin their comrades in
defense of their own nation, amid the realization that as
members of the A.V.G. in Burma they were probably the only
American airmen remaining in a position to avenge the
"Day of Infamy." Just how critical their
position was became abundantly more clear with each
passing hour.
Within
48 hours of the attack at Pearl Harbor Guam had fallen,
British forces were forced to retreat in Malaya, and the
British ships Prince of Wales and Repulse
were sunk in a twenty-minute bombardment by twenty-seven
Japanese airplanes. More than 800 British sailors were
killed in that attack which left the Pacific waters nearly
defenseless.
On December 9
China declared war on Japan. On that same day Thailand
capitulated, opening the way for Japanese ground forces to launch
an invasion of neighboring Burma.
On December 10
the first Japanese ground forces began landing on the
north side of Luzon in the Philippine Islands, forcing
Philippine Scouts and their American allies backward for a
valiant but futile defense on the Bataan Peninsula.
On December 12
Japanese infantry and artillery began their invasion of
Burma, streaming across the Thai border. When British
forces were forced the following day to withdraw from the
mainland to Hong Kong Island, the only opposition
remaining in the Pacific was a beleaguered Marine force at
Wake Island, a few valiant Canadian soldiers still
struggling to hold Hong Kong Island, a vastly outnumbered
British garrison at Singapore, a determined but doomed
Philippine resistance on Bataan, a small R.A.F. squadron
with thirty-six outdated Brewster Buffalos at Rangoon....
and
Claire Chennault's small A.V.G. air force at Toungoo.
|
Flying
Tigers
As the Japanese continued their invincible
assault on Asia and the Pacific, in Burma Claire Chennault went into action. He sent
his third squadron of Hell's Angels to Mingaladon Airdrome
near Rangoon to support the meager R.A.F. forces in their mission of
protecting the important port city. His ground crews, numbering slightly
nearly 200 volunteers, began the long trek across the Burma Road
to the A.V.G.'s new base at Kunming, China.
On December 18 the First and
Second Squadron pilots flew their P-40s to Kunming, eager to settle
into the more modern facilities of what was to be their main base of
operations. The sight that greeted them was not what they had
anticipated. Claire Chennault had long lectured his men about the
war that had raged in China for years and the disastrous toll it had
taken on a proud people of an ancient empire. He had spoken of his
intelligence network that gave advanced warning of incoming Jap
bombers and the cries of "jing bao" that echoed through
the cities to hasten innocent civilians to shelter before the enemy
appeared, unmolested, to rain death on men, women, and children too
slow to escape. The American pilots knew such tragedy had stalked
China for years, but before their arrival at Kunming such tales were
merely second-hand accounts of the savagery of the Japanese air force.
On December 18 when Chennault's
pilots at last arrived in China itself, they came face to
face with the reality of war. The enemy had struck the day before,
killing more than 400 civilians with their deadly bombs. When the
First and Second Squadrons arrived at Kunming it was to find the streets still littered with the body
parts of women and children, struck down by unchallenged enemy
bombers. Author Russell Whelan notes: "To the men of
the A.V.G. it was astounding and infuriating. Every last one of them
was glad, then, that he had come do do something about such evils as
this."
Two days later the Japanese
returned with ten unescorted bombers. For the vaunted Nippon air
warrior such missions were routine;
for four years there had been no air force in China to challenge
them, no opposing airmen to dissuade them from their deadly forays,
and no warriors of the air to protect the hapless civilians in the
cities below. On December 20, after two weeks of unprecedented
conquest in Asia and the Pacific, the invincibility of the veteran
Japanese air force evaporated in the face of a few American pilots
flying their first combat mission.
In a matter of minutes nine of
the ten enemy bombers fell to fire from out-dated P-40s flown by
American civilians. Only one P-40 was lost in the A.V.G.'s baptism
of fire. After shooting down one bomber Ed Rector had been so
determined to make sure none escaped that he had chased the sole
survivor until his own airplane ran out of gas and he had to make an
emergency wheel's up landing. The following morning he phoned in
from a nearby city that he had survived and was returning to base.
James Howard was disappointed
to have missed most of the action. His assignment during that first
air battle
that had sent First Squadron and part of the Second to meet the
incoming enemy bombers, had been to circle the field at Kunming to
intercept any bombers that got past the attacking P-40s. None
did! In fact, as soon as Claire Chennault's pilots had
attacked the inbound bombers, the Japanese pilots jettisoned their load and ran for home.
Only one had escaped successfully. More importantly, the people
of Kunming had been spared tragedy for the first time in years. The
outpouring of their gratitude was prompt and sincere.
Young A.V.G. pilots who one day earlier had been seen only as soldiers
of fortune or mercenaries in a foreign land became instant
HEROES. Russell Whelan
recounts, "The grapevine had carried the news of their
victory into every shop and home, and as they walked through the
streets the Chinese greeted them with wide smiles and cheering
calls. The kids of Kunming followed them in jubilant parades, the
bolder among them yelling the words 'Fei Hu' (the Chinese for
'Flying Tiger') over and over again to direct the attention of their
elders to the heroes.
"Word of the aerial
victory over the Japanese spread quickly through the province of
Yunnan, luring people of the hills to the city to see these brave
strangers from beyond the seas and their marvelous wagons that
traveled through the sky."
Claire Chennault, mindful of
his one pilot who had been forced to make an emergency landing in
that first encounter and then work his way through the countryside
to return to Kunming, had the words: "I am an aviator
fighting for China against the Japanese--Please take me to the
nearest communication agency" sewn in Chinese on the back
of his pilots' shirts and jackets. In the months that followed as
the A.V.G. pilots continued to defend the Chinese from the air, the
populace on the ground responded with cheers, thanksgiving, and
critical assistance to downed pilots--often at great personal risk.
A respite came at last to Kunming. Following the Nippon disaster in
their first encounter with the city's newly arrived Fei Hu,
they never again attempted to bomb the city that was now
well-protected by American Flying Tigers.
The winged tiger that became the
symbol of Claire Chennault's Flying Tigers was a
development that came only after the A.V.G. had been in
combat for months and captivated the imagination of the
media and public back home. At the request of the China
Defense Supplies in Washington, D.C., Walt Disney's artists in
Hollywood developed the logo of a winged tiger flying
through a "V" for victory, which was soon painted
on all aircraft of the A.V.G.
Long before the tiger however, it was
the shark that symbolized the aggressive resolve of the
A.V.G. The origin of the distinctive white shark's teeth is
somewhat vague in the legend of the A.V.G. Some accounts
attribute the idea to Eric Shilling, a former Army pilot who
noted that the Japanese, as an island people of fishing
fleets, "entertained a wholesale fear of sharks," prompting
the nose design as an A.V.G. strike at Japanese
superstition.
In his autobiography James Howard
recounts that: "One day Bert Christman had shown me
a picture of a P-40 on the cover of the British newspaper India
Illustrated weekly. The plane was being operated by the
British from an airfield in North Africa. its nose had been
painted with the head of a shark, its sharp teeth glistening
from a wide-open mouth. It was a natural. The air scoop
behind the propeller made a perfect outline for a shark's
head. It was adopted immediately by the three squadrons and
painted on all of our planes. Some men even thought that
this ferocious image would help to scare the superstitious
Japanese pilots and make them turn for home." In
fact, the fearsome shark nose had been used by German pilots
even before the R.A.F. painted teeth on their P-40s in the
Libyan Desert.
Decades later some historians link the
tiger to Claire Chennault's alma matter, the Fighting
Tigers of L.S.U. For his own part Chennault later wrote:
"How the term Flying Tiger was derived from the
shark-nosed P-40s I never will know. At any rate, we were
somewhat surprised to find ourselves billed under that
name."
Whatever the origin, the unique design that has since
been copied by succeeding generations of airmen including
helicopter pilots during the Vietnam War, became famous
because the men of World War II's A.V.G. lived up to the
ferocity of the face painted on the noses of their aging
Tomahawks.

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The Flying Tigers' first
victory on December 20 marked a turning point for the citizens of
Kunming who had endured four years of suffering at the hands of
Japanese bomber pilots. On the larger scale of events however, it
paled beneath a continuing barrage of bad news for the American public. For two
weeks the only ray of hope in a war that seemed lost even before the
United States could mount a response had rested with 400 beleaguered
Marines at Wake Island. Even that dim glow of optimism was
snuffed out on December 23 when the Japanese at last successfully
invaded the island and the defenders of Wake were killed or
captured.
News of the tragedy at Wake was
further compounded for the men of the A.V.G. with the arrival of news that three new Curtiss
Wright Type 21 interceptors, after being refueled at Lashio, had
been lost that same day in the jungles while en route to supplement the A.V.G. inventory
at Kunming. Faulty fuel, not the Japanese, was to blame for the
crash that killed Tiger pilot Lacey Mangleburg, and forced
his two comrades to pancake their own airplanes into a mountain
side. If the Flying Tigers were indeed the last hope
for any good news on the war front, the untested airmen were faced
with not only a daunting enemy, but also a diminishing supply of men
and machines to face off against an armada that outnumbered them
one-hundred to one.
At Rangoon Arvid Olson's Hell's
Angels had heard reports of the first Tiger victory three
days earlier at Kunming, and eagerly awaited the Japanese assault on
Burma that all knew was imminent. Their anticipation was not shared
by the half-million residents of Rangoon, all of whom were well
aware of the fact that nothing yet had stopped the Japanese
onslaught, and all of whom realized that Tokyo had painted a large bulls
eye on the important port city. All that existed to rise to
Rangoon's defense were about fifty British, Australian, and New
Zealand pilots of the R.A.F. with their 36 antiquated fighters, and
twenty-five untested Americans with less than two-dozen Tomahawks.
Air raid sirens sounded
throughout Rangoon early on the morning of December 23 sending the
residents scattering for shelter from an enemy that never materialized.
It was obvious that the fear that had spread throughout
the city in the preceding 24 hours had made the civilian spotters
overly nervous. After a second false alarm a short time later the
dock laborers tried to push aside their feelings of impending doom
to go to work. The sirens sounded again an hour before noon,
but this time they went largely ignored until a formation of
eighteen enemy bombers appeared above the harbor to rain a torrent
of bombs on the docks below.
Beyond the city at Mingaladon
airdrome there had been no warning of the incoming enemy bombers.
Only the sound of the explosions in the distance and rising columns
of smoke from the harbor signaled the moment the Hell's Angels
had been anticipating. By the time a dozen Tigers and
fifteen R.A.F. fighters were airborne, the first wave of enemy
bombers had done their work and turned for home leaving disaster
behind. Climbing to 20,000 feet the two dozen Allied defenders
were just in time to see a second wave numbering thirty bombers
coming in for the coup de grace, escorted by twenty Jap
fighters.
The Hell's Angels left
the fighters to the R.A.F. and dove to intercept the bombers. Henry Hank
Gilbert dove on two bombers at once, firing as he passed between
them until his own fighter was hit by cannon fire and plunged
earthward. He was the first Flying Tiger killed in action.
Nearby his comrades, though vastly outnumbered, dove with abandon on
the enemy force. Charles Older, who would become a double-ace with
the A.V.G., got his first kill. As his victim's airplane erupted in
the sky the explosion and falling debris struck nearby Tiger pilot
Neil Martin, sending his Tomahawk plummeting earthward.
The battle was brief and
bitterly fought. Paul Greene poured deadly fire into a Nakamima
bomber when two enemy fighters jumped him from behind. Forced to
bail out, the two Jap fighters did their best to riddle both man and
parachute as they followed him nearly to the ground, but somehow
Greene survived. In the battle for Rangoon the Tigers lost
three airplanes and two pilots, their first combat casualties. The
R.A.F. lost five planes, and virtually all of the surviving aircraft
returned to Mingaladon riddled with enemy bullets. The Hell's
Angels had been bloodied, had even claimed six enemy bombers and
four fighters to slightly outscore the opposition. But knowing that
the enemy had nearly a thousand airplanes to continue to throw
against fewer than 100 Flying Tigers, the young Americans
knew they would have to do better.
Because of the lack of advance
warning from the R.A.F., too many enemy bombers had reached the
docks at Rangoon to wreak havoc. Fires raged across the harbor and
300 dock workers had been killed in one direct hit on a warehouse.
More than a thousand workers, while running for shelter through a poor
tenement district, had been shredded by a direct hit from above, and
hundreds of civilians had fallen victim to machine-gun fire as enemy
pursuit ships strafed a shopping square. The only thing more deadly
than the indiscriminate fire of Jap bombers and fighters was the
terror that now gripped the city. War had at last reached out to
savage the people of Burma, and tens of thousands of immigrant
workers from India began fleeing for home. The important supply line
inland from Rangoon had, in one deadly attack, been nearly paralyzed.
The enemy did not return on
December 24, a day of mourning in Rangoon where fires continued to
burn and heartbroken citizens bent to the task of mourning their
dead. At Mingaladon the Hell's Angels mourned their own
losses while the ground crews hurriedly patched holes in the damaged
Tomahawks and the pilots reviewed their failed tactics and planned
for the rematch all knew was imminent.
Christmas morning brought more
discouraging news as Radio Tokyo bragged of its continuing
conquests. In a supreme example of the Emperor's faith in the
invincibility of his aerial armada, the broadcaster even bragged to the world that Rangoon could expect "a bundle of
Christmas presents shortly."
The Tigers at Mingaladon
knew the enemy was coming and, despite the one-day reprieve, sensed
that this Christmas Day was the day they would be back. When no
alarm sounded throughout the morning, and having lost faith in the
R.A.F.'s early warning system, at 9 a.m. Arvid Olson sent three
pilots up to fly reconnaissance. Half-an-hour later George McMillan
was stunned by the size of the aerial armada he saw approaching from
sixty miles out. He radioed Mingaladon just as the R.A.F. sounded
the alarm. Three more Tigers quickly took off to reinforce
McMillan, to be joined later by seven other P-40s. Facing these
thirteen determined young men was a force of sixty enemy bombers,
escorted by twenty fighters.
Ten miles out the enemy wave
split with nearly half of the force turning to bomb Mingaladon,
while the remainder zeroed in on what remained of the docks and
warehouses of Rangoon. In moments the Tigers were
diving on the bombers headed for the harbor, five of the big enemy planes
falling in flames in the opening rush. As Nippon fighters moved in
to challenge the Tigers, Chennault's pilots remembered the
lessons drilled into them in the preceding months. In a dogfight the
Japanese fighters could outmaneuver the P-40, and the A.V.G. pilots had
been warned to avoid the strong desire to engage man-on-man.
Instead, they had been instructed to utilize the P-40's two
advantages over the enemy airplanes, diving speed and heavy fire
power. On Christmas Day as the veteran air force of the Empire of
Japan flew towards Rangoon in their classic formation, the Flying
Tigers refused to rise to the bait. They dove and fired, enemy
bombers falling right and left with each pass, and then turned their
tails to the Jap fighters to out climb the enemy pursuit and then
line up to dive again.
At Mingaladon the R.A.F. paid
dearly to protect the airfield; nine Brewster-Buffalos were
destroyed and six pilots killed. Their effort had however, kept the
enemy from dropping a single bomb on the aerodrome and claimed eight
of the thirty bombers that had split from the main formation to try
and wipe out the only remaining threat to Japan's supremacy in the
air over Asia. One Jap bomber made a suicidal attempt to crash into
the Mingaladon headquarters but missed his target, while the
remaining twenty-one bombers jettisoned their loads over the jungle
and turned for home.

In the streets of Rangoon the
terrified citizens witnessed an incredible turn of events as Arvid
Olson's pilots turned the Emperor's anticipated Christmas Day
destruction of the city into a rout. Olson later telegraphed
Chennault that it had been "Like shooting ducks!"
Nippon bombers and fighters fell all across the jungle beyond the
city as two Flying Tigers each racked up an amazing four
kills within minutes of each other. Quickly the demolished
enemy formation was scattered and fleeing for home with shark-nosed
P-40s in hot pursuit.
The enemy's planned Christmas surprise
for the day was a second wave of twenty bombers and eight fighters,
arriving late to perform what they anticipated would be a simple
mop-up after a glorious victory by the first wave. Olson's Tigers
abandoned their pursuit of those already vanquished, and turned to
meet this new threat. Now too low to dive, the shark-nosed P-40s
resorted to an unorthodox upper-cut, flashing in low and
beneath the enemy with guns blazing to rip them apart. Robert Smith
destroyed one enemy at so close a range that disintegrating metal
from the Nakajima's motor were embedded in his Tomahawk. Ed
Overend, after claiming two victories, was forced to break off with
more than 100 bullet holes in his own airplane. Parker Dupouy found
himself under attack by two enemy planes and flamed one before his
guns jammed. Diving towards the remaining fighter he
determinedly and intentionally passed close enough for the dueling
wings to impact. The fragile Japanese airplane broke apart, while
the sturdier P-40 turned for home with four feet of the right wing
missing.
Eleven of the thirteen
Tomahawks that had risen to engage more than seventy-five enemy
returned to Mingaladon when the thrashing was over. Ed Overend and
George McMillan returned to Mingaladon the following day after
making emergency landings in the jungles.
"Final accounts of
the victories varied widely. Officially credited to the A.V.G.
were thirteen Jap bombers and ten fighters, a total of
twenty-three planes. Leland Stowe, the American war correspondent
who flew to Rangoon immediately after news of the astounding Jap
defeat reached the outside world, reported that the Tigers had
brought down at least twenty-eight planes. The Tigers estimated
six additional victories over the Gulf of Martaban, where the Japs
had sunk without evidence. In any case, it was established beyond
doubt that of the one hundred and eight Japanese planes
participating in the two Christmas Day raids, the Tigers with
R.A.F. help, had knocked out at least thirty-six, or thirty-three
per cent. In addition, the Japs had lost not less than ninety-two
pilots and bomber crewmen, as compared with only five deaths for
the R.A.F. and none for the A.V.G." (Whelan)
Japan's inability to understand
what had happened to their invincible air force on Christmas
Day 1941, was quickly evidenced by Radio Tokyo's
announcement that night. Reporting on the battle, it was reported
that thirty Anglo-American airplanes had been shot down and
that Rangoon was now defenseless. At the same time the announcer
contradicted himself by stating, "We warn the American
aviators at Rangoon that they must cease their unorthodox tactics
immediately, or they will be treated as guerrillas and shown no
mercy whatsoever."
Hell's Angels felt that
they could have been paid no higher compliment!
It was two days before Japanese
airplanes dared approach Rangoon again. On December 28 the Hell's
Angels claimed eight more victories but the combat action left
them with only ten, barely-flyable Tomahawks. On December 29
the men who had given their homeland the first ray of hope in a
three-week-old war flew to Kunming for some well-earned rest and
repairs to their fighters. They were replaced at Rangoon by Jack
Newkirk and his Second Squadron. "I was overjoyed," recalled
James Howard. "The Panda Bears were clearly frustrated--we
had missed the opportunity to meet the enemy. Our eagerness for
combat was most compelling....When we arrived at Mingaladon Airdrome
we parked our seventeen P-40s at the end of the east-west runway,
loaded down with fuel and ammunition and ready to go in case of
additional bombing attacks."
To the chagrin of the Panda
Bears, now eclipsed by the heroic David vs. Goliath defense
of Rangoon by Hell's Angels that had turned the Flying
Tigers into international heroes, the Japanese were doing their
best to stay away from the shark-nosed fighters at Mingaladon.
Three days into the new year with no sign of the enemy and the only
excitement having been two false alarms, Jack Newkirk announced, "Let's
take the war to the enemy."
Minutes later when Newkirk,
Howard, Bert Christman and David Tex Hill took off to head
east it marked what may well have been the first American offensive
action of World War II. Since Pearl Harbor every battle had been a
defensive one, all of them valiant but futile efforts to turn back
the encroaching tidal wave of Japanese aggression. On January 3,
1942, four intrepid American civilian pilots turned the gleaming
white teeth of their Tomahawks towards the Japanese aerodrome at Tak,
Thailand.
As the four fighters passed
over the Gulf of Martaban, beneath whose waters now rested the hulks
of uncounted Japanese fighters and bombers felled by Hell's
Angels in the preceding week, engine problems forced Bert
Christman to break off and return to Mingaladon. Newkirk, Howard,
and Hill continued on alone, hugging the deck of the Burmese coastal
plain to avoid Japanese radar. Their timing was perfect; the Tak
aerodrome coming into view in the distance just as the first rays of
dawn spread across the countryside. With throttles wide open
the three invaders swooped in trail to strike the enemy on its own
turf, even as dozens of Nakajima fighters were circling to take off.
"They were getting ready," Howard recalled. "Apparently
we had caught them as they were forming up to hit Rangoon again.
There were only three of us, but we had the advantage of speed and
surprise."
Newkirk came in at the lead, scoring
the first of two fighters he netted that day when he blasted a
circling Nippon fighter near the edge of the airstrip. Behind him
came James Howard, lining up on a fighter on the ground that was
taxiing for takeoff and destroying it with a five-second burst. It
was his own first victory. Intent on the action below, Howard failed
to see the enemy fighter that slipped in on his tail during that
first pass. Fortunately Tex Hill, who would go on to become
the A.V.G.'s second leading ace, dove in to destroy the attacker and
claim his own first victory. Then James Howard's aerial career
almost came to a premature--and fatal--conclusion.
 "I
pulled up sharply for another run at the targets
below," Howard recalled. "I
roared down the line of idling aircraft with my thumb on the
firing button all the way. The machine guns left a wonderful
line of destruction the length of that array of fighters. I
hauled back on the stick for the getaway.
"Nothing doing! As the nose came
up, a dull thump shook my fighter. With mine the only plane
strafing ground targets that day, every Japanese gun on the
field was pointed right at me on the second pass. Smoke
poured from the cowling and the screaming Allison went dead.
My prop idled down until it was just a windmill. I had been
hit by ground fire.
"In the distance I could see the
two specks that were Newkirk and Hill racing for home. I was
alone and going down over a wide-awake enemy airfield. I
yelled my predicament into the radio.
"I was too low to bail out, so I
whipped my P-40 around and aimed for a wheels-up crash
landing. I rolled back my canopy and tried to protect my
descent so that I would wind up at the far end of the field
near the woods. If it worked out I could make a run for it
into the trees.
"My hand was on the flap control
when the Allison gave a tentative cough.
"I advanced the throttle a notch.
She caught again! COME ON! More gratifying
noise up front. the engine picked up more momentum and the
prop started spinning faster. I looked down at the
airspeed...ninety--barely above stall!
"As I skimmed over the field, I
lifted the nose and the plane responded by gathering more
speed. I closed my canopy but as I did I realized that I
wasn't out of the woods yet!
"Nakajimas appeared on either
side of me. We flew straight and level for what seemed
endless moments. then it dawned on me that they hadn't even
noticed me or my predicament. the Japanese pilots apparently
had their gaze fixed on the ground, engrossed in the
confusion and disaster that had befallen their fellow
pilots.
"My engine was not operating at
full power so I applied maximum throttle and soon left my
'escort' behind."
Roar of the Tiger
by James H. Howard
|
James Howard received CAMCO
bonus payment for four fighters destroyed on the ground at Tak. Not
until January 19 did he get another victory, though during that
period the Panda Bears continued to run up a score of
victories equal to those scored earlier by the Hell's Angels.
Howard shared the January 19 destruction of an enemy recon plane
with two other pilots, bringing his total to 4.33. (Often, in the
ferocity of the battles waged by outnumbered Flying Tigers in
a sky literally filled with enemy aircraft, it was difficult to
determine whom to credit with a verifiable kill. CAMCO bonus
payments were sometimes split between as many as six different
pilots.)
On that same day the Japanese
15th Army, supported by the 10th Air Brigade, attacked out of
Thailand in a major offensive to drive the British forces out of
Burma. With three airfields at Victoria Point, Tavoy, and Mergui,
they were able to fly fighter escorts for bombers attacking Rangoon,
and the air war reached new levels of intensity. On January 20
Newkirk shot down two enemy planes, his first victories since the
mission to Tak with Howard and Hill. On January 23 Newkirk became
the Panda Bear's first ace with three more victories, while Tex
hill claimed his second and third in a battle in which the Tigers
destroyed twenty-one of seventy-two attacking Jap planes. The
following day Hill claimed two more to join the ranks of A.V.G.
aces, and Howard claimed his own fifth when he downed an enemy
fighter. It was Howard's first air-to-air victory.
Until Rangoon finally fell on
March 8 the Flying Tigers built a record of achievement
unmatched by any air force in history. "The cold statistics
for the 10 weeks the A.V.G. served at Rangoon show its strength
varied between twenty and five serviceable P-40's. This tiny force
met a total of a thousand-odd Japanese aircraft over Southern Burma
and Thailand. In 31 encounters they destroyed 217 enemy planes and
probably destroyed 43. Our losses in combat were four pilots killed
in the air, one killed while strafing and one taken prisoner.
Sixteen P-40's were destroyed." (Chennault)
When the last demolitions squad
departed Rangoon in the face of the advancing Japanese Army, they fell
back under the protective cover of five Flying Tigers--the
last of the Allies to leave. After the fall of Rangoon the A.V.G. continued to
wage war in a fashion that captivated the American public and gave
hope during the darkest days of the war. Noting the success of the
craggy-faced commander of the Flying Tigers, British Prime
Minister Winston Churchill noted: "God Almighty, I'm glad
he's on our side."
It was the newly arrived U.S.
Army Air Force however, that took steps to insure that Chennault and his men
were on THEIR side. On March 29 Chennault was summoned to Chungking
for a conference to decide the fate of the A.V.G. Present at the
conference were Chiang Kai-shek; his wife, Madame Chiang; Lt. Gen.
Joseph W. Stilwell, commander of U.S. forces in China; and Clayton
Bissell, whom air chief General Hap Arnold had tapped to
command Stilwell's air assets.
Chennault vigorously resisted
all efforts to absorb the A.V.G. into the U.S. Army Air Force prior
to the July 4 expiration of their CAMCO contracts. Chennault did
agree to personally return to duty in the U.S.A.A.F., and was
promoted from his retired rank of captain to brigadier general on
April 23 in order assume responsibility for the building and command
of the China Air Task Force (CATF). He refused however, to barter on
the loyalty of his Flying Tigers, insisting that any decision
to transfer from the A.V.G. to the U.S.A.A.F. upon expiration of
their contracts would be their own.
Chennault did, at Colonel
Bissell's request, schedule a meeting so that he could offer the
pilots and ground crews of the A.V.G. the opportunity to be absorbed
into the U.S. air effort in Indo-China. The meeting did not sit well
with most of the men. A large number of volunteers had come to the
A.V.G. from the Navy and Marine Corps, and many of these men felt
that they would prefer, if returning to U.S. service, to return to
their respective branches. Noting opposition to the proposal
Bissell advised the men that "for any of you who don't want
to join the Army, I can guarantee to have your draft boards waiting
for you when you step down a gangplank on U.S. soil."
It was an ill-fated remark. Men who for months had taken pride in
the unorthodox nature of their operations, and who refused to be
intimidated by the threat of annihilation by the invincible Japanese
air force, took offense at this thinly-veiled attempt at
intimidation by Colonel Bissell.
Late in April Radio Tokyo
announced: "The entire Japanese nation congratulates our
airmen on the destruction of the overwhelmingly superior numerical
force of the American Volunteer Group. Our heroic warhawks have
destroyed two thousand A.V.G. planes. We have cleaned the sky of
American, British, and Chinese military aviation."
In fact, at no time during
seven months of warfare did Claire Chennault's valiant air force
have more than fifty-five flyable aircraft at one time. But to
the previously unbeaten Japanese air force which found itself
soundly defeated in every engagement with the Flying Tigers,
those pitifully few daring P-40 pilots must have seemed like
thousands. After the Burma campaign ended with the capture and
occupation by the Japanese, the A.V.G. continued its fight against
the Japs, first in Western China and then in Eastern China. Under
their protection, not once in May or June did the Japanese launch a
raid against China's provisional capitol at Chungking, a city that
had been subject to repeated bombardment since 1937. Their intrepid
commander noted:
"The group had
whipped the Japanese Air Force in more than 50 air battles without
a single defeat. With the R.A.F. it had kept the port of Rangoon
and the Burma Road open for 2 1/2 precious months while supplies
trickled into China. With less than one-third of its combat
strength it saved China from final collapse on the Salween. Its
reputation alone was sufficient to keep Japanese bombers away from
Chunking. It freed the cities of East China from years of terror
bombing and finally gave both Chinese and American morale an
incalculable boost at a time when it was sagging dangerously low.
All this cost the Chinese $8,000,000 - about $3,000,000 in
salaries and personnel expenses and $5,000,000 for planes and
equipment. After the final accounting was made, I wrote Dr. Soong
my regrets that expenses had exceeded my original estimates.
"He replied, 'The
A.V.G. was the soundest investment China ever made. I am ashamed
that you should even consider the cost'." (Chennault)
During the period from first
blood on December 20, 1941, until expiration of the volunteers'
CAMCO contracts at midnight on July 4, 1942, the Flying Tigers
destroyed 297 enemy air craft, with 300 additional fighters and
bombers listed as probable but unverified. Eight Flying Tiger
pilots were killed in action, two pilots and one crew chief were
killed on the ground by enemy bombs, and four pilots were missing in
action. Against these losses it was estimated that the Tigers accounted
for the loss of more than fifteen hundred enemy pilots, navigators,
gunners, and bombardiers.
In the waning months as
Chennault prepared for the disbandment of the A.V.G. and the
building of the CATF, James Howard found himself flying less and
operating more and more as Chennault's administrative right hand.
Those months provided invaluable lessons in leadership and
organization that would serve Howard well in his second war. As the
date of his contract drew near, Howard was called before a board of
officers in an effort to recruit him to remain in China with the
CATF.
"I was greeted and
commended for my part on the A.V.G. success story and then offered
a squadron of my own the rank of major. Only a year before, I had
been an ensign wingman. How could I resist such an offer? There
was tremendous pressure to get A.V.G. personnel to stay on in Army
uniform, and it was now or never. But in keeping with my promise
(to roommate Frank Schiel) I turned the offer down and went back to
my room." (Howard)
Of the 311 total volunteers,
which comprised the full roster of Flying Tigers recruited in
the Spring and Summer of 1941, more than 200 remained to the
completion of their contracts. Only five pilots and twenty-two
members of the ground crews accepted offers made by the U.S. Army.
Fifty-five men including James Howard did agree to remain two extra
weeks after expiration of their contracts to aid Chennault
in the absorption of the A.V.G. into the 23d Fighter Group, tasked
with continuing the mission of protecting the flow of supplies into
China previously accomplished so miraculously by the Flying
Tigers. On the very first day of its activation the 23d Fighter
Group engaged three successive waves of enemy aircraft and promptly
recorded the destruction of five enemy aircraft with no losses to
itself. These men too, became known as Flying Tigers, as did
the 14th Air Force that was subsequently formed from the CATF the
following year under the command of Major General Claire Chennault.
As the day of disbandment
approached James Howard faced the final chapter of the A.V.G.'s
legendary story with much emotion. "While I had become an
ace,*" he recalled, "I was still disappointed that
much of my time had been spent on nonflying duties, away from
combat." On July 4 Howard and Frank Schiel led two flights
of Tigers in their final engagement, during which Howard
claimed his second air-to-air kill, one of five enemy planes shot
down in the Tigers' final foray. At midnight the
A.V.G. ceased to exist. After two weeks of voluntary service to the
U.S.A.A.F. James Howard boarded the Mariposa for the trip
home, this time by way of the Cape of Good Hope and the South
Atlantic ocean. Exhausted, suffering from dengue fever, and
homesick, he was looking forward to a well-earned rest before
deciding what to do next.
It was August 1942 and the
world was still at war.
-
In China Howard's comrades, as
well as newly arrived American airmen ,continued to fly the hump
from India to China to keep a flow of supplies moving into Asia.
-
In the Pacific U.S. Marines
were battling to gain control of a small island called
Guadalcanal.
-
In New Guinea the Fifth Air
Force was struggling to gain aerial superiority.
-
In England the newly
arrived Eighth Air Force was flying its first air missions.
-
Meanwhile, in St. Louis
James Howard was returning from his first war.
| *Since CAMCO
counted aircraft destroyed on the ground in calculation of
bonus payments, James Howard became an ACE in China under
CAMCO standards with 6.33 total victories. The U.S.A.A.F.
however, only counted air-to-air kills, making Howard's
official tally in China 2.33 kills. |
|

On December 1 Lieutenant Colonel
Don Blakeslee, deputy commander of the Fourth Fighter Group in England, arrived at
Boxted to lead the Pioneer Mustang Group on their first combat
mission. Blakeslee was a veteran who wore the wings of an Eagle
Squadron pilot, and had been flying out of England since May 15,
1941. Before transferring to the U.S. Army Air Force Blakeslee had
claimed three aerial victories as an Eagle Squadron pilot. In 1943
Blakeslee had begun flying the new P-47 Thunderbolt, a gangly
fighter often called the jug. On April 15, 1943, Blakeslee dove
his Thunderbolt into three German FW-190s over France, netting
his first victory as a U.S.A.A.F. pilot and becoming the first man to
score a victory in the dubiously received Thunderbolts.
That victory and a subsequent kill the following month failed to
convince Blakeslee of the P-47s value as a fighter. When he was
congratulated for proving that the Thunderbolt could out-dive the
Focke-Wulf, Blakeslee flatly replied, "By God it ought to dive,
it certainly won't climb!"
Major Howard welcomed the
leadership of a combat veteran, indeed felt something of a kindred
spirit with the man as the Eagle Squadrons had served the British
in much the same unofficial status as the Flying Tigers had
served the Chinese. He also recalled well the tactical briefing
Blakeslee offered the young pilots of the Pioneer Mustang Group
before their first mission unfolded:
"In Blakeslee's
briefing that afternoon, he explained we had three tactics to use
against the enemy: (1) shoot down the enemy plane (or be shot down),
(2) make the enemy fighter break off an attack first, (3) if the
enemy fighter fails to break off, continue on a collision course.
"We were stunned. Did
he mean we should deliberately ram the enemy head-on?
"Blakeslee hesitated
for emphasis and then said, 'We never turn away from a head-on
attack. If we do, the word will get back to Luftwaffe pilots that
the Americans break first in a head-on pass. they will then have a
psychological advantage of knowing beforehand what we will do.
"A young pilot in the
front row asked what would happen if the German pilot followed the
same orders. Blakeslee looked down at the young man with a
contemptuous smile and said, 'In that case you've earned your flight
pay the hard way!'" (Howard)
Lieutenant Colonel Blakeslee led
twenty-eight P-51s on a sweep over Northwest France that day in a brief
but positive trial run of the new Mustangs. No enemy fighters
were encountered but the pilots of the 354th were more than pleased with
how their new fighters performed. It was also on that day that two
veteran pilots, Don Blakeslee and James Howard, realized that they had
finally been united with an airplane that could meet--perhaps even exceed,
an ambitious fighter pilot's wildest dreams.
Four days later Lieutenant Colonel
Blakeslee led the Pioneer Mustang Group on their second combat
mission, and their first in what would be a series of escort missions
for Eighth Air Force bombers. Two days earlier ACM Charles Portal, the
Royal Air Force chief of staff and the officer charged with direction of
the Combined Bomber Offensive by the Combined Chiefs of Staff, released
a memorandum stating that Pointblank was three months behind in
relationship to the tentative date for Operation Overlord, the
cross channel invasion which had been tentatively set for May 1, 1944.
The pressure was on the Eighth Air Force to become more effective in
their destruction of enemy aircraft by bombing enemy air
fields, production plants, and thereby wrest aerial superiority over
France from the Luftwaffe.
On December 5 some 550 heavy
bombers and 52 Ninth Air Force B-26s were dispatched to bomb enemy
airfields throughout France, as well as industrial plants at Paris.
Weather mounted the primary opposition to the mission, cloud cover
masking most of the targets. The Mustangs that escorted the heavy
bombers against Aimens were threatened only by heavy flak. No enemy
bombers rose to meet the eager P-51 pilots, but the performance of the Mustangs
increased the confidence of Blakeslee and the men of the 354th
in their fighters' great design.
On Saturday, December 11 Blakeslee
flew wing for Colonel Martin as the group commander led his first
mission for his Mustang group. It was also the group's
first incursion into Germany. More than five hundred B-17s and B-24s hit
the docks and industrial area at Emden, just beyond the border from
Holland. For the first time the Mustang pilots saw enemy fighters
in the sky but none came close enough for Martin's eager young pilots to
engage them.

On Sunday the men of the 354th
rested, but on Monday morning they were again taking to the skies amid the
largest American bombing force yet mounted. More than 600 heavy bombers
headed out across the North Sea to pummel the submarine yards at Bremen,
Hamburg, and Kiel. Heavy bombers had hit these targets repeatedly
throughout the year and suffered heavy losses. For the first time
however, on December 13 the formations were escorted all the way to
their targets by American fighters. The P-51s circled high over Kiel
while the bombers unloaded their ordnance on the enemy sub pens below. A
few enemy fighters rose to challenge the bombers, but none ventured very
close to the circling Mustangs. For the first time however, some of
Martin's pilots at last found targets for their still-factory-fresh
.50-caliber machineguns, and one ME-110 fighter was seen falling with a
trail of smoke behind him. Lieutenant Glenn Eagleston of the 353rd
Squadron was credited with a probable and, though denied the
opportunity to claim the first P-51B confirmed kill, Eagleston
would go on in the following months to become the leading ace of the 9th
Air Force with twenty-one confirmed victories. On December 13 however,
the most amazing statistic was the incredibly low number of Allied
losses. Of nearly 650 heavy bombers dispatched in the continuing Battle
of Bremen, only five were lost.
On December 16 the Eighth Air Force
hit Bremen again, this time with more than 500 heavy bombers, and
again escorted by P-51s from the Pioneer Mustang Group. As
before, enemy fighter resistance was light but one ME-109 pilot ventured
too close to the blazing .50-caliber machineguns in the wings of
Lieutenant Charles Gumm's P-51. This time the kill was certain, marking
the first P-51B Mustang victory of the war. Anti-aircraft fire was heavy
and accurate, but only twelve heavy bombers were lost in combat, along
with one P-51 fighter. Lieutenant Eaves of the 353d Squadron
became the first casualty for the group when he was forced to bail out
over enemy territory. He was to spend the next eighteen months as a
prisoner of war.
During the first nineteen days of
December it was the cold, cloudy winter weather that presented the
greatest obstacle to the Mighty Eighth Air Force's challenge of
crushing Hitler's war machine. Only five major bombing missions were
mounted in the period, during four of which P-51s escorted massive
formations to and from their targets. Save for heavy flak, opposition
had been light. Despite the lack of enemy fighter resistance the Pioneer
Mustang Group gained valuable experience, and Lieutenant Colonel
Blakeslee pronounced them proficient after the December 16 mission and
returned to Fourth Fighter Command.
Shortly after sunrise on December
20 the 354th took off for its fifth combat mission. Colonel Martin led
his fighter group on the now-familiar route to Bremen as escorts for 470
heavy bombers. James Howard flew as the group commander's wing man as
the large formation returned for what might have been considered a mop-up
of the enemy submarine station that now resembled a waste-land. There
was no early indication that this mission would be any different from
the previous two, attacks that had been subject to heavy ground fire
but little fighter resistance. Of nearly 1,200 heavy bombers dispatched
on December 13 and 16, American losses had totaled only 17, plus one Mustang.
One hour before noon the P-51s rendezvoused
with the massive formations of B-17 Flying Fortresses and B-24 Liberators
as they crossed the coastline of Holland. Puffs of flack began to rise
in the mid-day sky, as was to be expected. Then came the unexpected.
Less than fifteen minutes after entering enemy territory scores of
rocket-firing German ME-110s and JU-88s unleashed deadly fury on the
inbound bombers--and all hell broke loose.
The cold winter air caused
the in-bound bombers to leave heavy white contrails in the sky, providing enemy
fighters ample cover under which to slip in on the unsuspecting Forts
and Liberators. Colonel Martin dove on an ME-110 that
had just shot up one B17 with Major Howard following to protect his commander.
For nearly a full hour the skies over Bremen were filled with
explosions as rockets ripped into big bombers and tracers spewed
deadly streaks through the misty clouds. Dark trails of smoke
followed one bomber after another as they fell to earth, and
pilots dodged not only the fusillade of bullets and exploding
metal, but falling bodies and an occasional parachute. For the
first time the fighter pilots of the Pioneer Mustang Group
witnessed first-hand, the deadly price American bomber crews had
paid for more than a year in their effort to destroy Hitler's
U-boats that stalked the seas, and his mighty Luftwaffe that ruled
the skies over Western Europe.
Major Howard watched with
admiration the determination of the bomber crews that valiantly
fought off the attackers, while determined pilots continued their
course to target. Flying through flak and the fury of diving enemy
fighters, bomber after bomber remained intent on first completing
their mission before making a desperate run for home.
Several Forts and Liberators were forced to dive
after dropping their bombs, smoke trailing behind damaged wings
and tails, as desperate airmen fought to keep their big planes in
the air. Enemy fighters were quick to spot these crippled
bombers and circled like sharks in a blood-frenzy to rip them
apart.
Among the badly-damaged Forts
trying desperately to stay alive after releasing their bombs was a
B-17 from the 303d Bombardment Squadron named Jersey Bounce,
Jr. Inside the Fort's shattered fuselage a radioman named
Forrest Vosler, blinded while defending his plane, was desperately
clinging to life to man his radio. Major Howard may or may not
have contributed to that bombers' successful escape during which
Vosler would earn the Medal of Honor. Certainly, his description
of the action that day that brought him his first aerial victory in Europe
holds some similarities to descriptions of the battle later
recounted by the crew
of Jersey Bounce.
"Below
me I saw a lone B-17 struggling toward England. An ME-109 was
behind it ready to fire. I dived and got within a hundred
yards. I flipped on my gun switch and had the critter in my
sight, but then I wondered: Is it really an enemy or could it
be one of my own? I pushed the throttle forward and came
alongside within a few yards to find out. I could see the
surprised look on the face of the German pilot, who split-Sd
for the deck.
"I was near the
border of Holland, heading back to England, when I spotted
another lone B-17 five thousand feet below. Two ME-109s were
circling above it, ready to pounce....I rolled and dived on
the first ME-109. With a twenty-degree deflection from the
rear, I fired two short bursts from three hundred yards. I
didn't see any hits, and the German pilot continued flying
straight and level, unaware that his life was in danger. I
closed to eighty yards, and several of my slugs hit in the
cockpit area. the plane went spinning down in a wake of white
smoke.
"My speed had
carried me past the Fort as I applied throttle at full bore
with sixty inches of Mercury in a climbing turn. I glanced
behind. the other ME-109 was approaching in the distance. We
squared off and zoomed by each other only a few yards apart,
then began circling each other. I did my best to close the gap
by lowering speed flaps but to no avail. After some ten
circles, getting nowhere and low on gas, I broke off and dived
for the deck. The ME-109 failed to follow." (Howard)
Any joy in Major Howard's
first victory, along with the victories scored by at least two of his
comrades in other squadrons of the Pioneer Mustang Group,
was tempered by the losses. Two P-51s of the 353d Squadron,
including Squadron Commander Major Owen Seaman, and one Mustang
from the 356th Squadron were lost in the heavy combat of that
mission. Even deadlier had been the bomber losses. More than two
dozen heavy bombers failed to return, carrying more than two-hundred valiant
American airmen to their deaths or captivity.
"Our Big
Friends"
The courage, sacrifice, and
carnage Major James Howard witnessed over Bremen on December 20
left an indelible mark on his psyche. As a fighter pilot in China
he had lived something of the lore of the air war of the First
World War. He had been a warrior of the skies, attacking the
attackers and matching his skills against those of the enemy in a
man-to-man heavenly joust. The Tigers had flown
escorts for bombing missions against Japanese airfields and ground
positions, especially in the latter months of the A.V.G.'s existence,
but never had Howard witnessed the kind of aerial contest he saw in
the Battle of Bremen. Major Howard developed a new appreciation
for the crews that flew in the big bombers, whom fighter pilots called Our
Big Friends, and determined that he would commit himself and
his skills to doing all he could do to protect them.
On December 30 the Mustangs
flew escort for 658 of their Big Friends in an attack on
the oil plant at Ludwigshafen. Two more Mustangs were lost
in a mid-air collision, one enemy was shot down, and twenty-three
heavy bombers went down with more than 200 airmen. The following
day nearly 500 of Howard's Big Friends attacked targets
throughout France, and the Mustangs escorted a formation
deep into southern France to Bordeaux. Colonel Martin got his own
first victory which he shared with Lieutenant Richard McDonald
when the two pilots dove on three ME-109s that were attacking a
damaged Flying Fortress struggling to return home.
The other two attackers broke and ran at the sight of the Mustang
fighters. James Howard attacked an ME-109, causing a trail of
smoke to follow it into a cloud bank that prevented him from
claiming a confirmed victory. Of the 658 bombers that flew
missions that day, twenty-three never returned home.

Many of the Pioneer
Mustang Groups' P-51s were now showing new paint, small white
flags with black swastikas that indicated the growing tally of Mustang
victories. Major Howard's fighter sported six Japanese
flags, one German swastika, and large white letters identifying his
airplane as "Ding Hao!"--Chinese for "Very Good."
Meanwhile the men of the Mighty
Eighth kept up the pressure with more than 500 bombers
attacking Kiel and Munster inside Germany on January 4,
1944. Fifty-two Mustangs escorted their Big
Friends all the way to target and back, P-51 pilots claiming
more victories over the Luftwaffe's best.
The increasing number of Mustang
victories was a mixed blessing. The growing tally was evidence
that the P-51B was indeed a formidable fighter, capable of meeting
and defeating the best fighters Germany could put in the
air. It was also evidence of the increased number of enemy
fighters being moved into Northern Germany from the Reich's
eastern campaigns in efforts to turn back the successes of the Mighty
Eighth's bombing campaign. Where previous bombing missions
might have found the Forts under attack by fifty, one
hundred, or even two
hundred enemy fighters, bombing missions in January found them
flying into enemy fighter formations that numbered much more. In fact, Eighth Air Force reports following the January
11 mission against Oschersleben
estimated enemy fighter strength at more than five hundred
ME-109s, JU-88s, and others. Never
before had protecting the Big Friends become so demanding
for Major James H. Howard, and he made this responsibility very clear
when he briefed the squadrons for their mission on January 11.
"I emphasized the
need for all (P-51) planes to reach the bomber formations and
not to be diverted by German fighters enticing us to drop our
fuel tanks and enter into combat. Our first aim was to meet
and protect our bomber force.
"Each bomber, I
said, is manned by ten loyal Americans who are solely
dependent upon us to ward off enemy fighters. If we fail in
that, we will be condemning to death men who could have been
saved if we had been more steadfast in achieving our number
one purpose. Our job is to reach the bomber stream with our
whole group intact. If we are intercepted along the way it
simply means that our Big Friends will have that much less
escort. I also want to remind you not to become so engrossed
in chasing after enemy fighters that your leave our bombers
open and vulnerable to attack." (Howard)
More than 650 heavy
bombers took off from their airfields across England on the
morning of January 11 in newly-arrived General Jimmy Doolittle's
first major attack at Germany since assuming command of the
Mighty Eighth five days earlier. The objective was to deliver
a devastating blow to the German aircraft industry by mounting
three divisions against Luftwaffe plants bunched together in and
around Brunswick, Halberstadt, and Oschersleben. The targets were
strung out to the west and south of Berlin, in was to be the
Eighth Air Force's deepest penetration into Germany since the
ill-fated Schweinfert raid of Black Thursday three months earlier.
The First Division was to lead with 170 heavy bombers assigned to
attack the A.G.O. Flugzeugwerk at Oschersleben, 140 miles
southwest of Berlin, which was responsible for nearly half of the
Reich's FW-190 production.
Enemy fighters attacked the
First Division as quickly as the big Forts crossed the
enemy coastline at Zuider Zee, Holland, wreaking havoc despite the
escorting P-47s. As the formation continued on towards
Oschersleben, General Robert Travis came over the radio to advise
his First Division that the weather had worsened and that the 2d
and 3d Divisions were being recalled. "Because we are this
far into Germany," he continued, "I'm electing to
continue on and bomb the primary target."
Fighting it's way in from the
coast the bomber formation found itself facing almost
unprecedented numbers of fighters in a fury of attacks. General
Travis reported, "Our first attacks were four FW-190s, the
next was 30 FW-190s, the next was 12, and they just kept coming.
They attacked straight through the formation from all angles
without even rolling over. They came in from all sides and it was
quite apparent that they were out to stop the formation from ever
reaching the target." And then, still well beyond
Oschersleben, the P-47s reached their maximum range and turned
back to leave their Big Friends to continue on, though this
time they were not alone.
Flashing in to escort the
First Division the rest of the way to target came forty-nine Mustangs
of the 354th Fighter Group. Major Howard, who had been
rotating mission leadership with Colonel Martin, led today in Ding
Hao. Shortly after entering enemy territory a flight of
ME-109s were spotted below, but refusing to rise to the bait,
Howard dispatched only two Mustangs to put these to flight
while the remainder hurried onward to protect their Big
Friends. When at last they spotted the bomber formation in the
distance it was obvious that enemy fighters were exacting a deadly
toll on the Flying Fortresses after the P-47s were forced
to turn back.
Howard promptly directed his
353d Fighting Cobra Squadron to one side of the formation
that was strung out for miles, and dispatched his 355th Pugnacious
Pups to defend the other. Ahead in the distance, at the head
of the stream, enemy fighters swarmed the lead bomber squadrons
and Ding Hao shot straight ahead with the 356th Red Ass
Squadron following their leader.
As Howard neared the lead
formation he spotted an ME-110 streaking in from the rear to
attack the trailing Fortress. Howard nosed into the enemy
fighter, diving until it was almost impossible to miss. He raked
the intruder with such fury that it nosed straight down in a
plummet so fierce that the wings wrenched loose before it slammed
into the ground 14,000 feet below.
Quickly Howard pulled out of
his dive to climb above the friendly bombers, intent on changing
his position. The Mustang had a strong resemblance to the
ME-109 even at a fairly close range, and could quickly be mistaken
for a tail gunner's target when coming up on a bomber from the
rear. As he pulled out Howard spotted an ME-109 moving in on
rear of the Fortress formation and raked it with his four
wing-guns, sending it out of control and trailing smoke and fire
as it fell.
In those first moments upon
reaching the lead bomber formation, Howard was so busy he did not
notice that the only friendly fighter up front was his
own. The rest of the squadron was further back in the
formation, dueling on their own to save their Big Friends.
In the Flying Forts of the 401st Bombardment Squadron,
three-hundred airmen watched the blitz by a single American pilot
as Howard opened fire on a third enemy fighter in scant minutes.
As the FW-190 crossed in front of Ding Hao, Howard pulled
up after it in a chandelle. Closing in for the kill and
preparing to fire when he was less than 100 yards away from what
might have appeared to be an imminent collision, the German pilot
jettisoned his canopy and bailed out.
The chronology of Howard's
valiant one-man stand is confusing to reconstruct. For his own
part, Howard remembered the battle as simply a half-hour string of
attacks on enemy aircraft as he fought to defend the bombers. Two
days after the battle he recalled it for Stars and Stripes
correspondent Andy Rooney:
"I circled trying
to join up with the other P51s. I saw an ME-109 just
underneath and a few hundred yards ahead of me. He saw me at
the same time and chopped his throttle, hoping my speed would
carry me on ahead of him. It's an old trick. He started
scissoring and then we went into a circle dogfight and it was
a matter of who could maneuver best and cut the shortest
circle.
"I dumped
20-degree flaps and began cutting inside him, so he quit and
went into a dive, with me after him. I got on his tail and got
in some long-distance squirts from 300 or 400 yards. I got
some strikes on him, but I didn't see him hit the ground.
"I pulled up
again and saw an ME-109 and a P-51 running along together. The
51 saw me coming in from behind and he peeled off while the ME
started a slow circle. I don't remember whether I shot at him
or not. Things happen so fast it's hard to remember things in
sequence when you get back.
"Back up with the
bombers again, I saw an ME-110. I shot at him and got strikes
all over him. He flicked over on his back and I could see gas
and smoke coming out--white and black smoke.
By this point in the mission
Howard had been in action non-stop for nearly half-an-hour, and
was down to two functioning wing guns. Climbing back up to join
the bombers he found an ME-109 slipping in to attack from the side
and attacked it, now down to one functioning gun. "We were
both pretty close to the bombers, and I was close to him. I gave
him a squirt and he headed straight down with black smoke pouring
out." Howard continued the fight until he was out
of ammunition, then resorted to bluffs to break up enemy attacks
on the bombers by diving at incoming fighters until his fuel was
dangerously low and there were no more bandits in sight. By that
time the 401st had bombed its target successfully and had begun
the long return flight to England. Though four of the 401st's
planes were lost on the January 11 raid, not one of them was shot
down during Jim Howard's epic battle against overwhelming odds.
Returning to Boxted Howard
learned that the 354th had posted its greatest string of victories
to date, fifteen enemy fighters destroyed, eight probables, and
sixteen damaged. Howard himself claimed only two enemy fighters
destroyed, two probables, and two damaged. (Ultimately he was
credited with four confirmed victories on January 11 which, when
combined with his December 20 victory, made him the newest Mustang
Ace.)

What James Howard witnessed from the cockpit of his Mustang during
the half-hour duel over Oschersleben, and what the crews of thirty
B-17s from of the 401st Bombardment Group had witnessed, were
quite different. Upon returning to their base at Deenethorpe the
young airmen who had just completed their fourteenth mission
buzzed with news of the daring Mustang pilot who had
single-handedly charged into a swarm of at least thirty enemy
fighters to protect them. Major Allison Brooks, who had led the
Bomb Group stated, "For sheer determination and guts, it
was the greatest exhibition I've ever seen. It was a case of one
lone American against what seemed to be the entire Luftwaffe. He
was all over the wing, across it and around it. They can't give
that boy a big enough reward."
Squadron Commander Edwin
Brown spoke for all of them when he said: "We don't know
who he was, but there isn't one of us who wouldn't like to shake
his hand. He's my idea of a hero." On a day when news
from the battle front was the worst since the Schweinfurt raid in
October, forty-two bombers lost out of the First Division's total
170 dispatched, the unknown Mustang Ace provided some badly
needed good news. The men who had witnessed the incredible act
claimed to have seen at least six enemy fighters shot down by the
lone Mustang.
By the following morning the
story had reached headquarters, prompting General Doolittle to
inquire as to the identity of the pilot who daringly placed
himself between seemingly doomed bombers and a force of more than
thirty enemy. An immediate investigation was launched to find the
pilot of the plane coded only as AJ-X until James Howard was at
last revealed. So intent on releasing the incredible story was the
news media that General Carl Spaatz, commander of all U.S. air
forces in Europe, cabled Hap Arnold for permission to at
last lift the security that had previously shrouded the P-51 and
the Pioneer Mustang Group.
More
than 100 correspondents attended the January 17 press conference
at Boxted that introduced America to its vaunted new fighter
airplane and the men who were poised on the verge of re-writing
the book on combat aviation. Major Howard was introduced and asked
to recreated the briefing he had giving his pilots for their
January 11 mission before answering questions.
"Why, when you knew
you were surrounded by enemy fighters, didn't you join up with
your own P-51s?" asked a reporter.
"He who rides a
tiger cannot dismount," Howard replied flatly,
reciting an old Chinese proverb.
"Why did you risk
your neck doing what you did?" Asked another. Replied
Major Howard,
"I seen my duty and I
done it!"