The Ragged, Rugged Warriors

by Martin Caidin

  Kelly’s decision was made even as he thought about it: the crew was his responsibility. So Kelly and his co-pilot, Lieutenant Donald D. Robins, remained at the controls to hold the airplane in steady flight. Once they abandoned the controls the Fortress might roll onto its back or whip into a spin; the men could easily be trapped.

  Quickly the men abandoned their fiery craft. S/Sergeant James E. Hokyard, PFC Robert A. Altman, and PFC William L. Money scrambled out the rear compartment and tumbled through the air. Joe Bean and Meyer Levin popped the escape hatch in the nose and dropped into the sky. Delehanty slumped lifeless in the waist. As the five men leaped clear, Kelly and Robins remained alone in the airplane, as the flames climbed higher around them.

  Now they made their move to break free of the blazing, winged coffin in which they rushed earthward. Choking smoke and fumes billowed thickly into the cockpit, stinging their eyes and tearing at their throats. The big airplane beneath their hands was a dying and flaming cripple. Chunks of metal broke loose and flipped crazily behind the Fortress, the sputum of flames and battle damage. There rose a shrieking keen above the roar of the engines as the wind plucked greedily at torn and jagged metal. The controls were a shambles, and the once-responsive machine answered their demands strangely. Farther aft, the .50-caliber machine guns banged wildly as they flopped around on their abandoned mounts.

  In the brief seconds during which the bomber plunged into the overcast, Kelly and Robins began their fight to live. They released the cockpit escape hatch and began to clamber upward from their seats. They never completed the attempt.

  The fearful explosion came without warning; a terrific blast shattered the interior of the bomber and smashed the great airplane out of control. Robins remembers nothing but the sudden, shattering blast which hurled his helpless body clear of the flaming, plummeting Fortress. He had barely enough time as he fell through the air to yank desperately on the D-ring of his parachute. The silk blossomed out and snapped tight, jerking Robins to a halt in his harness.

  But what of Kelly? It appears that he, too, cleared the airplane; most likely the funneling blast upward into the cockpit flung him away from the exploding airplane. What happened next will never be known.

  Colin Kelly’s parachute did not open. Perhaps the explosion stunned him, or hammered him unconscious, and he never made the attempt to jerk open his parachute. Perhaps, if this is so, he fell unconscious to his death. Or perhaps there was no time, and his body struck the ground with lethal impact before he could release the silken angel in its pack.

  The body of Colin Kelly, with his parachute unopened, was found near the wreckage of his Flying Fortress. '

  On December 20, 1941, the Far Eastern Command announced awards of the Distinguished Service Cross to 13 officers and enlisted men.

  Three of those awards were made posthumously.

  One of them was for Colin P. Kelly, Jr.

  He had sacrificed his life so that other men might live. And there is no legend in that.

  The missions of December 10 were the last to be flown from Clark Field. So shattered was the air base that it could no longer be used even for staging bombers through on flights. Our fighters could not promise even a faint shadow of protection from Japanese air attacks, and without fighters, the bombers could not long survive.

  The sighting of Japanese convoys sliding up the coasts of Luzon—at Zambales on the west and at Legaspi on the southeast—brought the Flying Fortresses quickly into the battle. Six B-17s operated out of Del Monte. On December 12 they flew two bombing missions against the Japanese forces at Vigan, planning to strike two days later at Legaspi.

  On the first mission one Fortress failed to clear the runway when a tire exploded during the takeoff roll; the pilot managed to save the airplane and brought it back to the taxiway. Two others made it off the ground, but returned to the field because of serious engine trouble. The three other bombers hit the invasion fleet and ran for safety, but not before Zero fighters snared one of the Fortresses. They shot the B-17 to ribbons, blew into junk two of its four engines, but failed to keep the plane from crashlanding under control at Masbate. The crew— all of them miraculously still alive—scrambled from their bomber as Zeros strafed steadily and exploded the bomber in flames.

  A Distinguished Service Cross went to Lieutenant Hewitt T. Wheless on this day. For 30 minutes a swarm of 18 Zero fighters snarled and chewed up his Fortress; the anger of the Japanese pilots at their own failure to down the big bomber seemed evident as they pressed their attacks to the point of almost ramming the airplane. Despite their failure to shoot the plane out of the skies, they shredded it so badly that they killed one gunner, wounded the other three, shot out one engine, destroyed the radio system, blew away the tail wheel, and sliced off seven out of 11 control cables. There was an estimated total of a thousand holes in the Fortress. Despite the severe damage, Wheless fought his plane out of the sky, and eased to a successful crashlanding in near-darkness in a small, barricaded field near Cagayan, Mindanao.

  By December 14 Japanese formations of more than a hundred bombers and fighters picked remaining targets in the Philippines at their leisure, destroying their objectives in methodical fashion. The Fortresses were ordered out of the Philippines to new permanent bases in Australia. For a brief time they staged northward on long, exhausting flights to strike Japanese invasion forces in the Philippines. The missions were extremely hazardous, with the number of Japanese fighters seeming to grow every day, and the results achieved on the long-range strikes were judged as negligible.

  The bombers—by order—abandoned their bases in the Philippines. Unhappily, the fighters were doing little better to stave off defeat.

  LAST-DITCH STAND— THE FIGHTERS

  The weather, which had so disastrously worked against the American fighter forces on the opening day of the war in the Philippines, came to their aid on the second day. Except for a night raid with a small bomber force against Nichols Field, the Japanese were unable to utilize their strong airpower forces against the stunned American units on Luzon. Four P-40s that took off to intercept the enemy in the night attack failed to sight their quarry; the Japanese released their bombs, killed and wounded 18 men, destroyed a hangar and damaged several planes, then flew back to hazardous landings in storms at Formosa.

  The Japanese managed, despite the torrential downpours, to get several dozen Zero fighters into the air. Unknown to the Americans on Luzon, the Zero formations actually reached the Philippines. Unnoticed from the ground, the Japanese pilots fought their way through storms, but could not press home any attacks. On the return flight to Formosa, the fury of the storms increased and broke up the big Zero formations. The Japanese pilots split up into V formations of three fighters each, scattered well apart, and dove for the ocean surface, racing over the wind-whipped waves at 50 to 100 feet in order to stay below the thick clouds. Several Zero fighters made emergency landings on isolated islands.

  December 10, of course, precipitated heavy action on the part of both the Americans and the Japanese. In addition to the attacks made against Japanese transports and invasion forces, other fighters struggled desperately to halt the marauding attacks of the heavy Japanese formations. The morning of December 10 had been filled with escort missions and strafing attacks; the afternoon proved to be another of those helpless and infuriating days with the Zero fighters asserting their lethal superiority.

  The Japanese struck in their first afternoon raid with a force of 27 bombers and approximately 100 fighters. (Many official reports claiming an escort of 150 Zero fighters are in error; the Japanese did not even have that number of Zero fighters available for missions into the Philippines from the Formosa bases.)

  Fighters of the 17th, 21st, and 34th Pursuit Squadrons took off in force to intercept the Japanese, but found themselves blocked at almost every turn by the precision maneuvers of the Zero pilots. The official records of the interception state resignedly that our planes “were overwhelmed in their attempts to
break up the enemy’s bomber formations.”

  The experiences of the different fighter squadrons were unhappily similar. Ten P-40s of the 17th Squadron rushed in to attack a group of bombers protected by an estimated 40 Zeros, and the American pilots never were able to crack the aerial defenses. Every time the P-40s rushed in, “enemy fighters thwarted almost every effort,” and the bombers continued on their way, unmolested, and methodical in their bombing attacks. During the engagement only two American pilots—Lieutenants Joseph H. Moore and William A. Sheppard—ever got near the Japanese bombers, and their penetrations proved ineffectual when Zeros cut them away from their targets.

  Three P-40s went down from the ten airborne fighters of the 17th Squadron, without loss or even “apparent damage” to the enemy.

  By the evening of December 10, the American fighter defense of the Philippines was considered to have had its back thoroughly broken. The Interceptor Command could count a total of 22 P-40 and eight P-35 fighters for the entire Philippines; a number of Boeing P-26 fighters were not even included in this count, and were regarded simply as “virtually useless.”

  General MacArthur’s headquarters made the interpretation of fighter defense official when the orders came through that the remaining fighter planes were no longer to engage in interception or pursuit of enemy aircraft, no matter what the occasion. All fighters henceforth would be used for reconnaissance only. Thus by the 10th of December the Japanese had accomplished their primary mission—eliminatedeffective American airpower from the scene. The bombers had been pulled back to the Del Monte Field on Mindanao, and the fighters were being restricted officially to reconnaissance flights. This urge to preserve the little airpower that was left gave the Japanese a grateful respite—their landing operations could now continue at leisure and without interference from the Americans.

  On December 13, 1941, Captain Jesus Villamor of the Philippines led five other pilots in ancient P-26 fighters against a Japanese force of more than 50 bombers . . • an ineffective but nonetheless courageous attack.

  During December 12 and 13, Japanese formations of more than one hundred fighters and bombers systematically destroyed whatever targets they could find in the Philippines. They smashed ground facilities at Clark Field, Batangas, Olongapo, Nielson, and Nichols Fields.

  Both American and Filipino pilots found it impossible to follow strictly the orders that forbade them to close with the Japanese, and American fighters at various times struck at the enemy formations. On December 13, in a move of incredible courage, Captain Jesus Villamor dove with full throttle against a Japanese formation of more than 50 bombers. What made the interception incredible was that Villamor was at the head of six ancient P-26 fighters! The Filipino pilots in their museum fighter planes failed to down any Japanese planes, but they gnawed and worried so effectively that they minimized damage to the Filipino airfield at Batangas.

  No man inflamed the spirit of the Americans more than Lieutenant Boyd D. (Buzz) Wagner, who proved a genius at the controls of his P-40 fighter, a man of extraordinary courage against superior odds, and “one hell of a fighter” in the eyes of his compatriots. Wagner commanded the 17th Pursuit Squadron, and on December 13 he flew a solo reconnaissance mission to Aparri. The lack of detailed records and the years intervening have clouded some of the pertinent moments of action that day, but there is no question of the effectiveness of Buzz Wagner.

  He descended through heavy clouds over the invasion area at Aparri, and managed to break out of the clouds almost directly over two Japanese destroyers—which immediately opened fire with a heavy barrage. Wagner dove for the sea and ran from the destroyers on the deck at high speed.

  He turned back in a wide circle for Aparri, and discovered that he had attracted the personal attention of two Japanese fighters. Immediately Wagner swung into a hard climbing turn directly into the sun. It would appear that the Japanese pilots concluded that Wagner was running for home; they turned and flew back to their own forces.

  Wagner had other ideas. His P-40 came around swiftly and dropped down in the high-speed attack for which the P-40 was to become so well known. Before the Mitsubishi pilots knew just what had happened, Wagner had cut both fighters to ribbons and exploded their fuel tanks. Even as the enemy planes tumbled and flipped toward the sea, Wagner was into a strafing run over the Japanese planes that had moved into the Aparri airfield. He completed two strafing passes when three more fighters bounced him from above and behind.

  Once again Wagner proved his mastery with the P-40 —two more Japanese fighters went down in flames. Buzz Wagner flew home very satisfied with his work for the day—four Japanese fighters shot down and three to five more fighters burning on the ground from his strafing runs.

  Three days later, Wagner and two other pilots—Lieutenants Church and Strauss—took off for a dive-bombing and strafing attack against Japanese fighters and bombers at Vigan airfield. Remembering the fighters that had bounced him over Aparri several days before, Wagner ordered Strauss to remain on cover patrol, while he and Church started into their bombing runs. Church’s fighter took several direct hits from heavy enemy flak, and burst into flames. Church remained in the dive, released his bombs and fired his guns in a blazing pass across the field —and went into the ground in a long, flaming streamer.

  Wagner continued his attack, releasing his 30-pound fragmentation bombs with accuracy. Before ending five bombing and strafing passes, he had set several planes afire, ignited a fuel dump, and raised general havoc at the field. He was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross.

  Several days later Wagner downed his fifth enemy plane to become the first American ace of World War II.

  The rare events of isolated victory in the air against the Japanese began to fade away almost entirely, and by December 23 the beginning of the end hove clearly into sight. A major Japanese invasion force struck at San Miguel Bay in southern Luzon. The 24th Pursuit Group threw every available plane into the action to slow down the Japanese, but the entire force amounted to only 12 P-40 and six P-35 fighters. Armorers loaded the airplanes with 30-pound fragmentation bombs which, effective though they were against troops, could hardly create serious damage to the transports and warships. The fighters struck with fury and managed to disrupt part of the invasion; nevertheless, the Japanese shrugged off the attacks and kept pouring ashore. Miraculously none of the American fighters went down before the vicious antiaircraft fire, although two P-35s were so badly damaged the pilots barely managed to crashland their planes.

  Before two weeks passed, the Japanese locked their grip even more tightly on the Philippines. They poured fighters and tactical bombers into three separate airfields, and increased the weight of their attacks. The dive bombers especially tore apart what few airfield installations remained for the Americans and the Filipinos.

  There is one invaluable document of that air fighting that provides an intimate and rare glimpse of what the events were like. Lieutenant David L. Obert, a flight leader in the 17th Squadron, 24th Pursuit Group, kept a diary of fighter operations. This is the story of how our fighter pilots fought their first campaign in World War II:

  “By the fourth day of the war [December 12, local time, in the Philippines], the 24th Group, except for a few daily reconnaissance flights, had ceased operations and was attempting to reorganize. The 3rd Squadron, without aircraft, was sent south of Manila to supervise construction of a landing strip. The 21st was sent to the Hermosa vicinity to prepare a similar strip. The 34th was left at Del Carmen, and the remaining pilots of the 17th and 20th were pooled at Clark Field to fly away what remained of the P-40s.

  “About noon December 24, air force personnel in the Manila area were ordered to embark at the port within six hours for Bataan Peninsula. The 17th Squadron, of which I was acting commanding officer, was ordered to set up servicing facilities at Pilar airstrip, under construction at Bataan.

  “We decided to proceed to Bataan by truck. Air headquarters at Fort McKinley had disappeared by t
his time, and all units were pretty much on their own. Everyone was scurrying around collecting personal equipment and burning papers. At Nichols Field, the engineers were beginning to set fire to the gasoline stores and were placing demolition charges in the concrete runway. At 1900 hours [7 p.m.], the last of the 17th Squadron pulled away from Nichols Field, which was blazing and being shaken every few moments by explosions. We found several extra trucks, abandoned by units departing by boat, and loaded them with food and clothing from the quartermaster warehouses.

  “Christmas morning our convoy started for Bataan. For two hours there was little traffic, but as we turned on the road leading from San Fernando to Bataan, we ran into an unbroken stream of trucks and cars. The

  Japanese by destroying a few bridges or strafing along the highway could have completely disrupted the road movement.

  “Pilar was really a dust strip over what a few days earlier had been rice paddies. The 20th, 34th and 3rd Squadrons went to campsites in the northern part of Bataan—to Mariveles, where the highway had been widened into an airstrip, to Cabcaben, another rice paddy airfield, and to Bataan Field, three miles north of Cabcaben.

  “The 21st Squadron flew its planes from Lubao into Pilar Field December 29. During this movement Lieutenant Wyott of the 17th Squadron, flying a P-35, was shot down and killed by friendly antiaircraft. All the remaining fighters on Luzon now were located on Bataan and Pilar airfields. Two officers of the 17th Squadron, Lieutenant Majors and Lieutenant Charles Paige, assigned liaison duties with an antiaircraft unit in an attempt to prevent fire at friendly planes, were killed by the muzzle burst from an antiaircraft gun.