The Ragged, Rugged Warriors

by Martin Caidin

  The manpower problem had been solved, but fighter airplanes were another—and vexing—matter. No one seemed willing to part with 100 modem fighters, especially in view of the combat situation with Germany. Finally the planes were acquired; 100 Curtiss P-40B Tomahawks, disdained by the British for fighting in Europe against German planes because of the Tomahawks’ inferior performance, had been assigned to Sweden. The Swedish order was canceled, and Headquarters AAF officially placed its blessing on giving the order to China—the AAF was already replacing the P-40B with the newer (faster, higher-flying, more powerful, and more heavily armed) P-40E Kittyhawk model. The first contingent of Tomahawks arrived in Rangoon, Burma, barely in time to permit training operations to begin under Chennault’s careful guidance. By September, 1941, training was under way.

  To whip his volunteer pilots (who included bomber and transport pilots without any fighter experience) into shape, Chennault needed time and help from the British, who provided that assistance willingly. The Royal Air Force, itself sadly lacking in aircraft and manpower, shared with the AVG their Kyedaw training field at Toungoo, Burma, some 175 miles to the north of Rangoon. This gave the AVG a training camp well back of the reach of the Japanese fighters operating against Chinese targets. The AVG in its initial organization went through all the difficulties one might associate with such an endeavor, plus several that seemed particularly made for a difficult operation. Assembling the P-40B fighter planes was a technical nightmare unto itself. Living conditions for the crews were described simply as abominable. Equipment was lacking and spare parts from the very beginning were scarce and always remained that way.

  Toungoo, as described by Olga Greenlaw (who kept an official war diary of the American Volunteer Group; her husband, Harvey Greenlaw, was second-in-command in the AVG to Claire Chennault), was filled with “all the bugs God created to fly through the air or crawl on the ground, floors, walls, ceilings, into your food, down your back, up your legs and in' your hair—beetles, lice, spiders, flies and fleas, moths, mosquitos, centipedes, bedbugs, ticks and a lot more you never heard of. The place was an entomologist’s paradise... -”1

  Kyedaw was raw and primitive. British and native engineers had simply hacked a huge X out of the jungle to serve as two runways. They threw up one hangar and scattered some shacks around it, then began construction of barracks that were both dispersed from one another and removed from the field (and the Japanese bombs that were expected at some time in the near future). Kyedaw came with all the built-in unpleasantries one might imagine—an atmosphere fairly dripping with humidity, hordes of insects and animals, jungle growth, torrential downpours, and unquenchable fields of mud following the heavy rains.

  Despite the unpleasant conditions, by November the AVG had a total of 174 pilots and ground personnel, all of them working hard to whip the group into a fighting force. The pilot ranks from the first were cut back from the expected figure—five pilots became disgusted with the primitive living conditions, the heat and the rain, the insects and the rats that chewed the buttons off their clothes at night; they were fed up with the waiting and the lack of flying, and they sullenly bid Chennault farewell and left for the United States. Overcoming its obstacles, the AVG had 20 Tomahawk fighters assembled for training the first pilots, with another ten at the docks. While the planes were ready for training, they were still an unhappy distance away from comprising a fighting force. There were some machine guns available for the airplanes, but not a single bullet for those guns. Getting around Burma and China proved a towering obstacle, which the AVG eased somewhat by borrowing a Beech transport from the Chinese.

  The organization of the AVG was clearly defined in terms of its personnel. All the pilots (and ground personnel) were strictly volunteers, without an oath signed to either the nation of China or the American Volunteer Group. They were signed under commercial contracts, without military rank, and it was understood clearly from the beginning that no man could be compelled to remain with the group at any time he felt that he “had had it” and wanted out. Although Chennault established a “dishonorable discharge” from the AVG, events proved that those who walked out couldn’t have cared less. It was a discharge of psychological value but little else.

  The pilots were divided into Wingmen, Flight Leaders, Element Leaders, Deputy Squadron Leaders, and Squadron Leaders. The pay scale for all elements of the AVG was set up on a graduated basis. The lowliest clerks started the bottom of the ladder with $150 monthly (American dollars). Mechanics’ pay increased until $400 per month, the highest for the ground personnel, was reached for line chiefs. The pilots’ pay began at $600 monthly for wingmen and $675 monthly for flight leaders, and went up to $750 monthly for squadron leaders. What added incentive to the pay scale was the bonus paid by the Chinese—$500 for every enemy aircraft shot down and confirmed as shot down (confirmation coming only with examination of the wreckage on the ground by the Chinese).

  Accidents under the operational conditions of the AVG during training were inevitable and, in fact, were rendered more frequent by the need for transition training for many pilots who had to step down from what might have been a four-engine heavy bomber into the cockpit of a fighter known for its tricky handling characteristics. But the P-40B could prove to be a handful even for the experienced fighter pilot.

  On September 6, Sandy Sandell cracked up one Tomahawk, but fortunately emerged from the wreckage without injury. Two days later the AVG suffered its first fatality. John Armstrong and Gil Bright collided in midair during a mock dogfight; Bright got out of his smashed airplane and parachuted safely, but Armstrong was killed.

  Frank Schiel was mixing it up with other pilots in a practice dogfight when his P-40B whirled into an outside spin. Frantic efforts on Schiel’s part to bring the airplane out of its deadly maneuver proved useless, and Schiel barely managed to get out of the spinning fighter. His efforts saved his life at the cost of minor injuries.

  Max Hamer was killed in another training accident. Then Pete Atkinson took a Tomahawk up to high altitude to test the fighter in a screaming power dive. At

  5,000 feet the tail suddenly ripped off the airplane. At tremendous speed, the fighter tumbled so violently it went through an explosive disintegration, killing Atkinson.

  The men struggled with and cursed at their equipment. Radio sets, so vital to coordinated combat tactics, often proved to be defective and, just as often, entirely useless. The suffocating, humid heat rotted tires on the airplanes. Vital thrust bearings were found to be faulty and needing replacement—when replacements were so scarce as to be almost unavailable.

  On December 8 (December 7, Pearl Harbor dateline), when Japan ignited the fires of open war throughout the Pacific and Asia, her military forces enjoyed a thorough position of strength on the Asiatic mainland. The Japanese Army occupied the largest cities of China, and maintained a tight grip on the key areas of 11 provinces. Much more to the point, the Japanese controlled some 95 percent of the modern industry of China. Japanese soldiers ruled over one-fourth the Chinese mainland—and controlled the destiny of half the huge Chinese population.

  The airpower position of the Chinese, British, and Americans combined could only be described as perilous. The British had assembled (from English, Australian, and New Zealand forces) a total of 255 planes in Malaya and another 29 assigned to Rangoon. The Chinese Air Force was largely destitute, and the AVG was never to have more than 50 to 60 planes at one time ready to fight.

  Against this force, with many of its planes obsolescent and the pilots untried in combat, the Japanese arrayed powerful airpower elements. In southern Indo-China alone they spread a total of 600 Army and 200 Navy craft, with the crews well blooded in combat against the Chinese and the Russians. Within 800 miles of Rangoon the Japanese operated from nearly three dozen major airfields and auxiliary strips.

  War came to lower Asia with thundering fury. Swarms of Japanese attack bombers, dive bombers, and fighters ripped into Hong Kong the dawn of December 8, 1941
. The major airfield at Hong Kong was left a shambles. Even as the field burned, Japanese troops raced against Kowloon, across from Hong Kong on the mainland, and battered the opposition rushed against them; 17 days later Hong Kong was firmly in Japanese hands.

  Japanese fighters and bombers from aircraft carriers pounded Singapore on the morning of December 8; as quickly as advance landing fields were secured, Army bombers and fighters took up the campaign to smash British defenses. Everywhere the Japanese struck, they scored stunning victories. They rolled from Thailand into the British Malay States, sliced into the Malay Peninsula to isolate British airfields, and began their steam-roller push toward Singapore itself. Early in December Japanese soldiers burst out of Thailand and knifed into lower Burma— and decided the pattern of battle for the Flying Tigers.

  At the request of the British, Chennault assigned the AVG 3rd Pursuit Squadron (Hell’s Angels), led by Arvid Olson, Jr., to reinforce the Royal Air Force at Rangoon. Twenty-one P-40B Tomahawks were to assist the Brewster Buffaloes and Hawker Hurricanes of the British forces.

  The 1st Squadron (Adam and Eve) and 2nd Squadron (Panda) transferred en masse to Kunming.

  On December 15, the Tigers lost another Tomahawk fighter when a pilot crashed into a rice paddy and wiped off the airplane; the pilot escaped without injury.

  Still battle had not been joined, and still the Tigers sheared down their operational strength with the inevitable accidents. On December 18, one P-40B nosed in at the end of the runway after a faulty takeoff. Moments later a second fighter plunged into a parked car. Viewing the scene, Chennault snarled, “Christ from Vicksburg!” and stalked off.

  Then came December 20, and first blood for the Tigers. Sandy Sandell described it to Olga Greenlaw for the war diary of the AVG:

  “Jack Newkirk took off first, and his flight was to protect Kunming from the enemy planes by circling the field at 18,000 feet. My squadron was to act as assault echelon and fly to 15,000 feet, patrol the line from Iliang and Chenkiang and intercept the Japs if they came that way, that is, if they got away from Jack’s flight. Well, we were cruising around 16,000 feet seventy-five miles northeast of the field, when we saw ten enemy two-engined bombers, single tail, aluminum construction—and that red sun on the wing tips. There was no mistake, they were the Japs. Two flights of four attacked from beam out of the sun, after overtaking them from the rear; one flight plus two weavers remained above as reserve. Then our flight split into pairs, and singly after the first two or three runs, then we went on with coordinated attacks from all directions, that is, above and below, except dead ahead.

  “After fifteen minutes of combat, reserve flight and •weavers came into attack, and the pilots with jammed guns fell to the rear or turned back to the home base. Every enemy ship seemed to be smoking badly when we broke away to the field. At this time, we were about 175 miles southeast of the field. The enemy flew extremely good formation under heaviest of fire—a shallow V formation. They used the second ship from the left of the V formation as a decoy, flying about 300 yards ahead and a little above the squadron. The two end planes were shot down, and later the second from the right. I saw three go down for sure but I don’t think more than six of them got back to their base.”

  Sandell underestimated the Tigers* claw on their first mission; four of the Japanese bombers got home, leaving six planes out of the ten as wreckage far below.

  All the Tigers came back to their field.

  An unexpected loss struck the AVG particularly hard. China had received several new Curtiss-Wright CW-21 Demon fighters—lithe and lightweight interceptors that could outclimb even the Japanese Zero. Three AVG pilots were assigned to ferry the Demons from Toungoo to Lashio, about 280 miles to the northeast. But the engines ran badly on. the ferry mission, the fuel proved to be filled with water, and all three pilots had to make forced landings. One of the pilots was killed when his fighter exploded on landing.

  Three days after the first bloodletting in China skies, the Hell’s Angels squadron in Burma went up with the British to stop a large Japanese formation of fighters and bombers. As Olga Greenlaw filed her AVG war-diary report:

  “No air raid alarm signal was given at Mingaladon. All ships were suddenly ordered off airdrome. No information of enemy prior to take-off was known. Three minutes after the take-off radio orders were given: ‘ENEMY APPROACHING FROM EAST.* No co-operation was given by anti-aircraft guns—pilots report that it was practically nil and very inaccurate. Fourteen P-40’s and sixteen

  Brewsters (R.A.F.) joined the fight. There was no friendly support from nearby airdromes. There were two formations of enemy bombers. The second formation, about twenty-seven ships, was about ten miles behind the first, and about 3,000 feet above. The enemy flew a very close formation—large V of Vs. They were attacked by the P-40’s and Brewsters before they dropped their bombs. The enemy formation did not change its course or formation until after the bombs were dropped. When individual enemy bombers were shot down, the remaining bombers quickly filled in the key positions by means of fast executed cross-overs. Bombers put out a strong cross-fire from top of turrets, and air was filled with white tracers. The enemy aircraft is camouflaged brown and green on upper surfaces, and a light grayish green on the undersides. The red circles are painted on upper and lower wing tips.”

  The Tigers shot down six enemy planes (confirmed) in the battle, and the British pilots chopped another four out of the sky. Two of the Tomahawks went down before Japanese guns, but the pilots came home, and that was cause for wild celebration that night. The AVG reports shows that the Brewster Buffaloes were so badly mangled that several crashed on landing.

  (Aerial battles such as this particular incident provide nightmares for air-war historians. The AVG records as kept by Olga Greenlaw at AVG headquarters show that two Tomahawks were shot down and that the pilots survived; that the British lost several planes but no pilots. Other records—which much later received official scrutiny and confirmation—show that the AVG lost two Tomahawks and their pilots, as well as having two other Tomahawks “demolished.” Hank Gilbert and Neil G. Martin were shot down and killed in the battle. Paul Greene was shot down, but survived a bail-out and an attack from Japanese fighters while hanging in his parachute. The records list George McMillan’s fighter as being “demolished,” but do not state how. The final study of the first fight in Burma shows four Tomahawks shot down and two AVG pilots killed. Most difficult of all to understand is the report at AVG headquarters that shows only that several Brewsters were lost on landing. The Royal Air Force confirmed that they lost five fighters and five pilots killed. Thus the tally for the first engagement with the enemy over Burma comes to ten Japanese planes destroyed for .the loss of five British and four American fighters—about as even as you can get.)

  In the next Burma conflict, the Tigers sharpened their claws. Twelve shark-nosed Tomahawks dove into the midst of 78 Japanese fighters and bombers. It was Christmas Day, but there was precious little good will for the occasion. Once again, two Tomahawks went down—but only two, and both pilots returned to their home field. Initial reports showed that the Japanese had lost 17 planes; soon afterward, Olson amended the first reports with the following telegram to AVG headquarters:

  “ALL PILOTS RETURNED AFTER BATTLE DECEMBER 25 SHOT DOWN TEN FIGHTERS NINE BOMBERS STOP BRITISH ACCOUNTED FOR SIX STOP LIKE SHOOTING DUCKS STOP WOULD PUT ENTIRE JAP FORCE OUT OF COMMISSION WITH GROUP HERE STOP HAVE ELEVEN PLANES LEFT STOP OLSON”

  But that was only the beginning for the day. Before Christmas was gone, another Japanese bomber force rushed against Rangoon. For the day, the Japanese hurled 108 fighters and bombers against the city. TTie Royal Air Force fighters shot down eight Japanese planes for five of their own lost in battle. The Flying Tigers were able to notch 28 Japanese kills on the AVG scorecard—with only two planes shot down and no pilots killed. It was quite a day!

  The men of the AGV were a cross representation of the American military services, with the excepti
on that they were under no compulsory discipline. Like pilots everywhere, the majority of these men were dedicated to the cause for which they fought. Some of the pilots unquestionably were in the deal for the money; others found their reward in the heady excitement of wrestling with death in the air. And there were some—only a very few— who should never have come. One pilot, who remains nameless in these pages, was reported by the other men to have run away during a fight. As he fled, two Japanese fighters whipped onto his tail. Immediately one of the AVG pilots bounced the enemy planes, shooting down both. For his pains, the second AVG pilot was himself shot to ribbons. He came very close to being killed in his parachute when the Japanese tried to turn him into-chopped meat with their guns as he drifted earthward. The pilot who had “run out” on his mates in the air did not fly combat with them again.

  Before the Tigers and the British finally moved out of the Kangoon area (the Tigers went back to China), the city of Rangoon seemed to go entirely mad. Every man who witnessed the activities in the city insists that nothing could really describe what went on. The whites fled as quickly as they could. Indians in Rangoon were somewhat more stoic about the Japanese tidal wave rushing down on the city; they “just up and left, starting the long walk back to their own country,” explained one pilot.

  City officials released the lepers and the insane, who ran howling and shrieking through the streets and alleys. They rapidly turned the city into a house of horror. Thieves and muggers ran wild. Looters stripped every human corpse of anything they found to their liking. Whole blocks burned fiercely with no attempt to quench the flames. Natives ran amok through the streets, flashing knives and killing on sight anything that moved before their crazed eyes. No one dared to hazard the city at night. The police tried only to survive in the maelstrom of hate and terror that seethed all about them. The Tigers were more than glad to leave that behind them....