by Stout, Jay
February 11, 1945: “Still stinking weather. So, no mission. Goddam.”
During the period following Righetti’s assignment to the 55th, the unit seemed to undergo a metamorphosis. Whereas its record since it began combat operations during October 1943 had seldom been stellar in comparison to other fighter groups, it had certainly been satisfactory. However, the group began to particularly distinguish itself as 1944 gave way to 1945. On February 13, 1945, the 55th’s commander, George Crowell, described to his men just how well they had performed the previous month. Aside from excellent maintenance and readiness figures, the 55th “destroyed 157 locomotives, 5 times as many as the next closest in the Wing [66th].” Crowell further noted that, “The 55th Fighter Group placed second among groups in the 66th Wing in total enemy aircraft destroyed, but led the Wing in aircraft destroyed on the ground claiming three times as many destroyed as claimed by the next closest fighter group.”8
Crowell was in command of the group at this time, and the credit for the unit’s successes consequently belonged to him. And certainly the 55th’s performance had been on the uptick to some degree during the months following the transition from the P-38 to the P-51. But there is no denying the fact that the pace of improvement accelerated following Righetti’s arrival. Indeed, the men of the group emulated his aggressiveness with a spirit that had previously been missing.
And the results were apparent.
“SEEMS LIKE AN EXCELLENT BREAK FOR ME”
When Righetti left the States for England he did so with the hope—if not the expectation—of commanding a fighter group. Notwithstanding his lack of combat experience, his record as a pilot, an administrator and a leader was excellent. He had paid his dues for several years in the training command and had additionally performed well at the 55th as a pilot, a squadron commander and the deputy group commander. In short, he had done everything that could have been expected of him and he did it well, and by the book, and without stepping on anyone’s toes.
And he was finally rewarded for it during mid-February 1945 when the 55th’s commanding officer, George Crowell, reached the end of his combat tour. Righetti wrote home upon being notified, but his tone was matter-of-fact. “Guess I’ve got a little better news today. This afternoon word came through that our group C.O. [Commanding Officer] was being taken off operations and that in a week or ten days I would start functioning permanently as C.O.”
“He was very different from Righetti,” recalled Herman Schonenberg of Crowell. The observation was disputed by no one as Crowell’s conservative approach to combat operations stood in marked contrast to Righetti’s almost reckless aggressiveness. “It seemed to me that he was pretty much all business,” said Frank Birtciel about Righetti. “We were there to engage the enemy and you could just about bet that when he went along, things would pop.” Birtciel, who had been with the 55th during its indifferent combat debut in October 1943 said that he “just wished we’d had him in our early days of the P-38.”1
Still, notwithstanding their different dispositions, there was never evidence of conflict or any kind of a rift between Righetti and Crowell. Righetti’s service as one of Crowell’s squadron commanders, and later as his deputy, was obviously good enough to earn him command of the group. Before Crowell departed, he handed Righetti a commendation: “It is my very great pleasure to extend to you my appreciation and commendation for the superior manner in which you have performed your duties during the time I have been in command.”2 Decades later, Crowell recalled Righetti, as “charming,” and “one you’d like to have as a friend.”3 For his part, Righetti never mentioned Crowell in his letters, but extant photographs show them together in social situations.
“This will make the largest job I’ve had in the Army so far,” Righetti wrote. “A group C.O. has his own station complete. Seems like an excellent break for me.” Certainly, this was the most responsibility Righetti had ever been given. Barely six years earlier he had been accountable for nothing more than a dairy truck. And he was correct in noting that “a group C.O. has his own station complete.” He was in charge not only of the 55th and the base at Wormingford, but also the various support units that performed heavy maintenance on his aircraft and that provided logistics, security and other support. In total, these units numbered just less than two thousand men.
Ed Giller, the commander of the 343rd Fighter Squadron, had been with the 55th since before it had arrived in England. He was glad for the change of command. “Righetti was an inspiration from the time he arrived. He was a go-getter. And when he took over, the attitude changed even more—he really fired the group up.”4
Giller also recalled that Righetti didn’t try to make wholesale changes to administrative or operational procedures that were proven and working well. And although Righetti appreciated military discipline and demanded it where it was appropriate, he was no martinet. “He enjoyed mixing with the men,” Giller said. “He was certainly not a recluse.” This casual approach served him well in judging the morale of the unit and in uncovering issues that otherwise might have festered out of sight.
Leedom John was a junior officer who remembered being excited at Righetti’s assumption of command. “He was a good leader and had our deepest respect—he led us! He didn’t tell you how to do it, he showed you by doing it. He was a good leader!” Richard Gibbs, who had shot down a Mistel combination with Righetti on February 3, 1945, and later scored two more aerial victories, observed that the group responded positively: “I do think the 55th was the most aggressive and most successful outfit during the last three months of the war.”5
Righetti officially took command of the 55th on February 22, 1945, and his excitement was still evident a few days later on February 25. “The new job is the best by far I’ve ever had. Lots of responsibility I know, but really satisfying. Now I’m really slapping Jerry with my own outfit and knocking chunks out of him too. We got 14 enemy aircraft today—7 jets—and although I didn’t personally score, they’re all my boys now that I have the group.”
In fact, the seven Me-262s that Righetti’s 55th knocked down that day was the highest single-day jet tally of any fighter group during the war. It was near the airfield at Giebelstadt that the 55th’s 38th Fighter Squadron caught six of them, together with a number of FW-190s, in the process of taking off and landing. Millard Anderson was hit by antiaircraft fire as he sprayed rounds at a pair of just-landed FW-190s. He subsequently started for home with his wingman and shortly thereafter spotted an Me-262 flying low and to his left in the opposite direction. “I immediately did a wingover and closed dead astern to about 750 or 800 feet range. As my gunsight had been knocked out, I placed the Me-262 in the center of the front canopy and held the trigger down until hits were observed. The enemy aircraft caught on fire behind the canopy and the wheels fell down. Then the pilot jettisoned the canopy and bailed out.”6
The mission summary report noted, “All jets sighted were tacked onto and either exploded or crashed.” The seventh jet was spotted at three thousand feet over the airfield at Leipheim. “Blow job racked it up trying to set it down on the field, but it was exploded in midair by a determined Mustang attack.”
Although Righetti didn’t score in the air on that particular mission, he received permission to lead the group on another that same afternoon. He was quoted in a press release: “I thought that maybe we could catch the Luftwaffe out on a mission,” Righetti declared, “but we couldn’t find a single plane. We did spot some German soldiers taking physical training exercises near Weisbaden, and I took my group down to strafe them. The Jerries ran into their barracks, so we shot hell out of their buildings.”7
One of the units at Wormingford for which Righetti was not responsible was the 3rd Scouting Force. Formed during September 1944, about a month before Righetti arrived, the 3rd was one of three scouting forces created late in the war to check weather conditions over targets prior to bombing raids. They were additionally tasked with determining the disposition of enemy antia
ircraft and fighter units at specific locations.
The 3rd Scouting Force was equipped with a handful of P-51s and, unlike the other two scouting units, a few B-17s. Although the 55th initially provided pilots to help man the 3rd at least into December 1944, the unit later received its own pilots—usually bomber men who had volunteered after completing their combat tours. The aircraft wore the same markings as the 55th’s, except that the rudders sported a red and white checkered pattern, painted on the diagonal. All of the scouting units provided good service and the 3rd excelled not only in executing its primary mission, but in downing 22 Luftwaffe fighters while doing so.
Late in the morning of February 27, the 55th launched 49 P-51s in two groups to escort B-17s from the 3d Air Division to Leipzig. The escort across the target and back out was uneventful and once the bombers were safely on their way home, Righetti took his formation down to look for something to kill. Approaching the deck, the group broke into four-ship flights in order to better maneuver.
Righetti flew as low as he dared. “I came up a valley 10 or 15 feet high,” he wrote home, “to keep out of flak, and was really shucking.” His rancher’s eye noted the nature of the landscape over which his aircraft roared. “The valley sloped upward, was farmed in the bottom and had tall green timber on both sides. There was considerable snow about.”
“As I popped over the ridge at the head of the valley and started down the slope on the other side, I was very tickled to see laid out before me a beautiful cavalry post complete with corrals, stables, barracks, haystacks and Heinie soldiers. There were about a dozen of them squatting cowpuncher style around a pretty bonfire in one of the corrals straight ahead.” Righetti dipped a wing and flew directly at the fire.
If, as a rancher, he felt any empathy with the German horsemen, he didn’t let it get in the way of his war-making duties. “Dropped the pipper on the bonfire and squeezed [the trigger]. Was just a little [too far] out of range to put out just the fire—boyish prank—as I originally intended, so the .50 [caliber] slugs rendered the meeting adjourned and the one German hay hustler still able to navigate dragged himself in front of my wingman.”
Righetti and his men wheeled around and shredded the enemy camp with gunfire. “We worked the place over for a few minutes and left with the detachment pretty much written off Adolph’s [sic] books—sure did burn pretty.” The truth of the matter was that the scene the 55th left behind was anything but pretty. Barracks, paddocks and haystacks burned bright orange against the cold, leaden sky. Horses and wounded men screamed. Loose animals galloped across the frozen, blood-spattered ground, chased by the men who were still able to do so, or who weren’t tending their dead or wounded comrades.
Righetti tallied his claims for the day: “2 loco[motive]s destroyed, 2 trucks destroyed, 3 high tension towers severely damaged, 12 goods wagons [boxcars] damaged, one radio tower rendered useless, plus the cavalry post on which I claimed 20-plus Jerry groomsmen, 4 barracks complete with sack artists [napping soldiers] and 40-plus head of cavalry mounts. Tough war. Hope this isn’t too ugly.”
In fact, it was ugly. And perhaps it was too ugly for the family to consider. But the horse and “Heinie” killing was also necessary. Notwithstanding the stereotypical image of the German army and its blitzkrieg attacks, the truth was that only 20 percent of its units were mechanized. The balance relied on horse transport which was slow, unreliable and manpower-intensive. On the other hand, horses—many horses—were available in Germany and the territories it conquered. The Wehrmacht used nearly three million of them during the war—more than any other nation’s army. And they were used to move artillery, ammunition and other war material—stuff with which to kill Allied soldiers. And so, just as trucks and trains were legitimate targets, so were horses. Righetti must have reconciled himself to killing the enemy by that time in his combat career, but this was the first mission during which he had shot up horses. Because he had grown up with them, and learned to love them, it is likely that the casual tone of his letter did not match what he felt.
In fact this notion was buttressed by a radio show broadcast by Ted Malone a couple of months earlier. Malone was a radio celebrity, sponsored by Westinghouse, who specialized in human interest stories for the “folks back home.” The focus of his December 6, 1944, show—transmitted via shortwave from England—was the good work of the 4-H Clubs of America which was finishing its national convention in Chicago that evening. Malone featured a couple of former 4-H members, now fighting the Nazis.
“Tell you another fella who’d like to be there tonight too,” said Malone. “Lieutenant Colonel Elwyn G. Righetti of San Luis Obispo, California. He’s the C.O. of one of our Mustang fighter squadrons. Lives on a cattle ranch back in the States.” Malone strengthened Righetti’s 4-H connection by noting that, as a member, he “always went to the stock show in South San Francisco.”
Malone went on. “The fellas say that in strafing, Colonel Righetti doesn’t mind shooting up trains or convoys, but he always avoids a team of horses.” The truth was that Righetti actively looked for trains and convoys and other legitimate targets. And now, more than two months after the broadcast, his reluctance to shoot horses, which were also legitimate targets, had faded.
Malone kept with the theme of the broadcast and made a declaration that wasn’t true but which made the story a bit better. He described how Righetti’s aircraft, Katydid, “has a big four-leaf clover painted on it. And in each leaf there’s a big ‘H’ painted—4-H.” Understandably, considering his audience, Malone did not mention the bare breasts of the katydid caricature that also graced Katydid’s nose.8
The 4-H clover might never have been painted on Righetti’s aircraft. In a letter home he described the meeting with Malone during which he promised the broadcaster, “to paint a 4-H insignia on Katydid, which I had planned to do anyhow.” However, there is no evidence that his P-51 ever sported a clover. It is likely that the exigencies of wartime operations overtook the necessity of decorating the aircraft per Malone’s request.
It didn’t take long before the leadership at the 66th Fighter Wing tried to rein in their new commander at the 55th Fighter Group. Although Righetti’s aggressiveness and guidance in the air were appreciated, the 66th’s staff wanted more of his time for administrative activities. “Didn’t fly today,” he wrote on February 28. The general [Brigadier General Murray Woodbury] says that one out of three [missions] is all I can have, but I think I’ll cheat a bit.”
Righetti led the 55th again on March 3, 1945. The group was tasked to escort B-17s of the 1st Air Division to the synthetic fuel production plant at Ruhland, north of Dresden, in eastern Germany. No enemy aircraft were encountered and the group broke up and descended from thirty thousand feet to look for targets of opportunity on the return leg. Righetti was at the head of the 338th Fighter Squadron but uncharacteristically was unable to find much worth shooting at. The group’s mission summary report shows that the squadron shot up a factory of some sort but the action was literally nothing to write home about as Righetti did not mention it in any of his letters.
Such was not the case with Robert Cox of the 38th Fighter Squadron. On the leg to Ruhland his engine stopped and he jettisoned his drop tanks. After a gut-wrenching moment he coaxed the engine back to life. Still, with a diminished fuel supply and an engine he did not trust, Cox turned for home on his own. In fact, the group experienced an unusually high number of problems that morning as a total of eight of the forty-nine aircraft it sent airborne turned back to Wormingford without completing the mission.
Cox evidently regained confidence in his engine as the route he chose took him toward southern Germany rather than directly back to England. The adventure turned into everything that Righetti could have wished for himself. Motoring along at only two thousand feet, Cox spied “two radar-equipped Dornier 217s over Kitzingen Airfield. One was circling the field at 1,000 feet and the second was just taking off, ninety degrees to my flight path.” Kitzingen, to that point i
n the war, had been an operational training field. When Cox stumbled over it that day it was readying to transition to full-fledged combat operations.
Cox dove after the circling Do-217. “Making a shallow turn to the right I closed to about 300 yards, dead astern, and started firing. After one long burst, strikes were seen on the bomber’s fuselage, right engine and right wing. The engine burst into flames and the plane rolled over and went straight in from 500 feet.”
The other Dornier turned hard back toward the field. “I then went after the second Dornier,” Cox said, “and as I closed to within range and was about to fire, the pilot attempted to turn into the field for a landing. His hurried turn resulted in his wing hitting the ground which sent him cartwheeling down the runway, exploding and burning.”
Laid out below Cox were, “fifty-plus aircraft parked wingtip-to-wingtip in front of hangars with others dispersed about the field.” He made repeated passes on the neatly arrayed aircraft, setting five Do-217s and a fuel truck ablaze. “On my last pass I had only two flak guns shooting at me and my aim was erratic so it was time to head for home.”
After climbing to altitude, Cox spotted a flight of ten Me-109s headed directly for him. “I had no doubt they were being vectored to me by the information supplied from Kitzingen Field. They broke into me, firing as they came. I turned into them upward, passing directly under the lead ship and went into the overcast flying on instruments until well out of the area.”9
Aside from Cox, the 38th, like the 338th, found little worth molesting and made no claims. However the 55th’s third squadron, the 343rd, created plenty of action. Half the squadron dropped down to shoot up train and road traffic in the vicinity of Brux, Czechoslovakia, making claims for 21 locomotives. The other half of the squadron discovered a hodgepodge of approximately 35 aircraft parked on the airfield at Prague/Letnany. The group immediately started strafing and made multiple passes despite heavy antiaircraft fire.
