by Stout, Jay
Betty’s letter also included an admonition that certainly must have echoed the feelings of every other Righetti in San Luis Obispo. Although they were exceedingly proud of his considerable combat accomplishments, they knew he had achieved them at considerable risk. “We’re sweating out these [last] weeks of your tour. And for gosh sakes, Bud, don’t be a fool. You’ve tempted fate enough. Don’t stick your neck out beyond your 300 hours. We’re expecting you home and we’d like to see you stay home when you get here. So that’s enough sisterly advice for now.”
Certainly, as the war was nearly over, the Righettis must have felt that their prayers for Elwyn’s safe return were on the verge of being answered. In fact, on April 16, shortly after Betty wrote her letter, Carl Spaatz, the head of the United States Strategic Air Forces in Europe, declared that there was no need to continue the strategic air war—there were no more worthwhile strategic targets. “The advances of the Ground Forces have brought to a close the strategic air war waged by the United States Strategic Air Forces and the Royal Air Force Bomber Command. It has been won with a decisiveness becoming increasingly evident as our armies overrun Germany.”6 From that point, the American heavy bombers were to be used only as necessary to speed the Allied ground advance. Consequently, the need for the Eighth’s fighter groups—the 55th among them—to escort the bombers was quickly diminishing.
Indeed, the German armies were in retreat everywhere and the Reich’s industry was essentially rubbled. The Luftwaffe was likewise gasping its last and its pilots were increasingly fatalistic as indicated by Hermann Buchner, an Me-262 pilot with JG 7 based at Parchim in northern Germany:
Parts of our airfield were badly destroyed, the accommodation was unusable and the landing strip was being repaired by the engineers again and again, a feat that required their maximum effort … Our sanctuary was the mess at Parchim, where all the pilots would gather together, all who were still with us from the party. Talks were given, battles fought, and we tried to make the best of the defeat. Photographs of our fallen comrades hung on the walls and the young pilots had already put nails in, so that their pictures could be hung there. In spite of all this, the mood was not bad—we would pull through.7
Another German pilot similarly noted the futility of the Luftwaffe’s fight. However, his observation did not end on the same hopeful note.
We were losing pilots all the time, and had to get used to seeing new faces and hearing new names. So now, I can hardly recall a single name—things were all mixed up. Almost every day new pilots came up from the reinforcement units, or the schools, full of hope and optimism. The quartermasters were reluctant to find billets for any more pilots; they hated to see these young men take [to] the air when the grim routine of bringing back their remains had to be so often repeated.8
For his part, Righetti was conflicted about his role in continuing the fight. And it was apparent that he was homesick: “Want to come home so very badly now,” he wrote, “but sure don’t want to leave ’till we get this little chore wound up right.”
As the leader of the 55th he felt that he was personally making a real difference. “Thought you all might be pleased to know that word from very high headquarters gives my group credit for being the largest single factor responsible for Patton’s successful drive. We nailed rail transport to such an extent that movement of anything via train was impossible for the 3 weeks prior to his start—over 400 locomotives, etc. You don’t want me home when I can do stuff like that here.” He was not just writing of his own flying and scoring, but of the results his men had achieved since he had started flying combat.
Although it might have been an exaggeration to say that the 55th was the “largest single factor responsible for Patton’s successful drive,” that information was obviously passed to Righetti by someone. Certainly, the 55th—his group—was a standout among the many air combat units that made it nearly impossible for the Germans to move anything by road or rail during the daylight hours. And no one could argue that Patton’s advance was not made immeasurably easier by the great host of aircraft that swept the battlefield ahead and above his army.
The 55th was sent to harry the Germans once again on April 16; the day that Spaatz declared the end of the strategic air war. It was also the same day that two of Wormingford’s Red Cross workers considered birthday plans for Righetti. He would turn thirty the next day and, as the Red Cross was charged with improving the morale of the men, the ladies considered what they might do. Jan Houston Monaghan approached her friend Nelle Huse, “Tomorrow is Colonel Righetti’s birthday. Let’s invite him for a really nice tea.” Huse considered the idea for a moment before replying, “We have too much to do this week, Jan. We don’t have time for that tomorrow. We’ll do something special for him next week.”9
The group’s assignment that day was not much different than the sorts of missions it had been flying for months. The men were charged with freelancing, or sweeping, through the Salzburg area in support of B-24s from the Eighth’s 2nd Air Division. Righetti led fifty-nine aircraft out of Wormingford just before noon.
As had been typical during the previous few months, the Luftwaffe failed to challenge the 55th in the air. The German flyers were too few and spread too thin to oppose every one of the massive American bombing missions in any meaningful way. Accordingly, once the group cleared its area of responsibility, Righetti turned the 338th and the 343rd loose to hunt on their own while he led the 38th down to low altitude to see what mischief he could create.
It would have greatly displeased Betty. The letter in which she had cautioned Righetti against being “a fool” was still on its way as he coasted across the German countryside. Considering his demonstrated aggressiveness to that point, it is not likely that the letter would have made any difference. And Betty, who had spent most of her life with her brother, probably knew this before she ever put pen to paper. Still, it had cost her nothing to plead with him to mind his personal well-being.
Indeed, Righetti’s actions that day were exactly opposite what his family would have wished. With the 38th Fighter Squadron in trail, he poked along the autobahn between Salzburg and Munich looking for something worth shooting at. As it developed, there was plenty that merited such attention. “At approximately 1430 we were in the vicinity of Rosenheim, did a 180-degree turn and started up the autobahn leading to Munich. On our starboard [right] side we saw Bod [Bad] Aibling Airdrome with numerous aircraft dispersed on [the] north and south sides of the field.”10 Righetti took White and Red Flights—four aircraft each—down for an attack on the airfield and left Yellow and Blue Flights to provide top cover.
John Kavanaugh, the element leader, or number three man, in White Flight recorded that Righetti led two firing passes and, “then called over the radio and said that the squadron should leave the field as he didn’t think the planes parked there had gas in them.”11 Without fuel, aircraft typically didn’t burn when attacked, and although they might be damaged beyond any hope of reasonable repair, it was difficult to make that determination from the cockpit of a speeding fighter. The planes they had hit, and that had failed to burn, were Si-204 twin-engine trainers. That the Luftwaffe wasn’t keeping precious fuel in their trainers when there was not enough for their combat aircraft was not a surprise.
Righetti led the squadron further northwest following the highway toward Munich. Intense antiaircraft fire and a dearth of worthwhile targets compelled him to bypass the airfield at Holzkirchen after making just one pass without firing a shot. The fact that Righetti, always spoiling for a fight, decided to leave the airfield unmolested was an indication not only of the intensity of the antiaircraft fire but also of the fact that he did possess at least a small scrap of “risk versus reward” sensibility.
In fact, after bypassing Holzkirchen, Righetti took the 38th back to Brunnthal, southeast of Munich. It was the “honey hole” where the group had scored so well on April 9. He took the squadron down for several passes, flying through intense antiaircraft fire. N
otwithstanding the intensity of that fire, however, Righetti destroyed three He-111s and two Ju-88s. Together with an Si-204 he shot up at Bad Aibling, it gave him a total of six aircraft destroyed for the day. Altogether, Righetti and the 38th’s pilots destroyed seventeen aircraft before Righetti brought them back to Wormingford.
Ed Giller was leading the 343rd Fighter Squadron and found himself over Brunnthal just as Righetti and the 38th were finishing their work. He led the 343rd against a pocket of well-camouflaged enemy aircraft. “Of course,” he recalled, “one of the rules is that you don’t fly around and around and make multiple passes—[a rule] which I was ignoring.”12
Nevertheless, when the hunting was good, commonsense had little chance of prevailing over aggressiveness, and Giller flamed an He-111, a Ju-52 and an Me-109. But it cost him. “All of a sudden,” Giller said, “there was an enormous explosion and a feeling of a hammer hitting my shoulder.” A 20-millimeter cannon shell smashed into the cockpit and exploded near his head. The majority of the blast was focused away from him, however a large chunk of the shell punched through the nylon webbing of his shoulder harness, cut through his clothes, punctured his chest and subsequently skidded across his ribcage under the skin before punching out near his armpit and rolling down his shirtsleeve.
Instinctively, Giller shoved the throttle forward, pulled back on the control stick and pointed his ship home. At the same time, he called to his wingman, Robert Welch, “I’m hit, we’re going west.” Frank Birtciel recalled that, notwithstanding the fact that Giller was in extremis, Welch was overly excited about the number of aircraft the Germans had hidden along the autobahn, and was reluctant to leave the excellent shooting behind. “Welch wanted to get some more airplanes but Giller repeated his call to head home, and said that he was losing blood.”
The group’s mission summary report—in decidedly unofficial terms—recounted the broader action, squadron-by-squadron. The review of the 38th Fighter Squadron’s performance included the following description:
Dropped down a little lower in the fast traffic lane and drove right up the autobahn into Brunnthal L/G [Landing Ground], where we found 40–50 mixed types up and down the road. Worked this over, destroying 12, as the intense flak belched, blistered, exhaled, emitted and sputtered from every direction. Even the trees were barking. A stone’s throw up north (they were throwing those too) we found Neubiberg and skimmed across snagging a Ju-52 and a U/I [unidentified] T/E [twin-engine aircraft].
The report noted that the enemy flak was “intense and very, very, very accurate, indeed.” The author was undoubtedly Tom Welch, the 55th’s much-liked and capable intelligence officer. Still, the tone of this particular report is remarkably callous when it is considered that the group lost four men in the day’s actions.
Donald Best of the group’s 38th Fighter Squadron had been flying combat less than a month. He went down at Brunnthal. His element leader, John Kavanaugh, lost sight of him during the several firing runs. “During the above action, I heard Lt. Best say that he had been hit and was going to have to bail out. I pulled up and looked around but could not locate him. Our group leader [Righetti] told Best to head for friendly territory and to stay with the plane as long as he could. Lt. Best said that he would. That was the last we heard of him.”13
John Cunnick was part of Kavanaugh’s flight and didn’t believe that Best was hit by enemy guns. “I think he picked up friendly ricochet fire during a strafing pass. He disappeared into the trees and I couldn’t find him.”
Patrick Moore was with the 343rd Fighter Squadron which hit Brunnthal and the nearby autobahn shortly after the 38th departed. Moore tipped up on a wing, presumably to get a good look at the airfield below. “The plane started a split S,” reported squadron mate Walter Strauch. “Lt. Moore tried to roll and pull out at the same time and succeeded in doing both but as he leveled out he hit the ground and exploded.”14
Vernon Tally of the group’s 338th Fighter Squadron was hit by flak and joined with squadron mate Leedom John who had also been hit and was headed for Wormingford. Either because he was confused or in shock, or because his aircraft was too badly damaged to keep up, Tally drifted away from John. Later, John spotted a distant aircraft and circled back to discover it was Tally. The two joined again and were almost immediately attacked by a four-ship of P-47s which fortunately held their fire. However, John lost sight of Tally during the mix-up and the two never joined again. As it developed, Tally eventually crashed in friendly territory, was knocked unconscious and hospitalized. The 55th was not notified that he had been recovered, and filed a Missing Air Crew Report several days later.
Chester E. Coggeshall, Jr., of the 343rd Fighter Squadron, was flying the last flight of his second combat tour, having started flying P-38s with the 55th in January of 1944. Despite the fact he had been in combat for more than a year, he had never seen an enemy aircraft airborne. Walter Strauch, who had seen Patrick Moore hit the ground and explode, also reported on Coggeshall’s demise: “… and when we pulled up to about 1,000 feet I noticed Red leader, Capt. Coggeshall, making a very gentle turn to the left and losing altitude. I immediately started over toward him and noticed his airplane was covered with oil and about this time he made a fast belly landing, dug a wing in, and cartwheeled.”15
Coggeshall’s aircraft came down in the small village of Sillersdorf, where it smashed into a small brick building. Incredibly, he survived, although he was injured. He was immediately captured by a band of local gendarmerie and military men who put him on a stretcher, loaded him into an armored vehicle and moved him about 3 miles to the town of Freilassing. There, a German sergeant ordered the men to move Coggeshall into the dispensary for first aid but their way was physically blocked by August Kobus, who said, “This pig needs no aid.”
Kobus was the town’s burgomeister and ortsgruppenleiter—the mayor and local ranking Nazi official. Neither position carried any military rank or authority, but as the German government crumbled, many men in Kobus’s position grabbed power when and where they could. Kobus declared that he had been directed by his political superior to “finish” Coggeshall. He ordered the German military personnel to follow him, then climbed onto his bicycle and led the armored car into a wooded area.
Coggeshall was unloaded from the armored car. Kobus shot him once in the head with a .32 caliber pistol. The American airman shrieked and moaned. Kobus shot him again and killed him.16
Coggeshall had been murdered even before the 55th landed back at Wormingford.
Ed Giller, still bleeding, pressed westward. “I had a light suit on,” said Giller, “and I put my hand inside my shirt and my finger goes into my chest and comes out covered with blood.” Worried that he might faint due to loss of blood, Giller called out, “We’re gonna head for the lines and if I’m beginning to run out of blood, I’m going to belly in.” As it developed, his condition stabilized and after briefly considering landing on the continent for medical care, Giller pressed on to Wormingford. “I landed using just my right hand—throttle, stick and wheels.”
After Giller got himself safely on the ground the squadron flight surgeon supervised his movement into a waiting ambulance. There followed several weeks of recovery. “The worst part was that for two weeks I got a penicillin shot every four hours. That got pretty tiresome.”
The 55th’s three squadrons recorded 52 enemy aircraft destroyed on April 16, 1945. Of that total, Righetti claimed six. However, the frenetic pace continued to fatigue him. Whereas flying was the only job for the majority of his pilots, he had a considerable administrative workload and was often called away to meetings at other bases. Combined with the considerable stress of leading his men—sometimes to their deaths—it all wore him down. He said as much in the letter he wrote to Cathryn after midnight: “Dearest Darling, Only a short note again because tonite Pappy’s kinda pooped.” In the letter he described how he stayed up late because he wanted to write to her on his birthday—April 17. He also wrote with some excitement about h
is imminent promotion to colonel. And he wrote of the time they planned to spend together upon his return from the fighting. “Need it worse every day, but still holding out as always.”
Finally, he noted the hurt the group sustained during the strafing attacks on Brunnthal that day. “Lost 3 very good friends again today. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that the final stages of the European war were easy.” He signed off to his wife as “Rig” and, “with all the love there is.”
German civilians and officials did not murder Allied flyers whenever they found them. Most downed airmen were not killed and there were many instances when those who were injured were given aid and succor until they were moved to where they could be given professional medical care. There were other instances of kindness as well.
Bert McDowell of the 55th’s 338th Fighter Squadron was shot down late in the war. He recalled being under guard awaiting train transport following his capture. “While sitting in the tiny station, a small boy of about eight, who was with his mother, kept staring at me. Finally, he walked over to me, pulled out a cheese sandwich from a brown paper bag and offered it to me. I said ‘Dunker’ (thank you, one of the few German words I knew). I almost cried, I was so overwhelmed by this gesture of generosity and friendliness to a prisoner of war.”17
“ONE MORE PASS”
In light of the fact that Spaatz had declared an end to the strategic air war on April 16, and had stated that “our Strategic Air Forces must operate with our Tactical Air Forces in close cooperation with our armies,” there must have been a tactical imperative to attack Dresden the following day. Regardless of whether there was or not, the 55th and the Eighth’s other fighter groups took the heavy bombers deep into Germany on a mission that looked no different from any of the hundreds that had earlier combined to help bring Germany to its knees. Then, having hit their targets, the bombers headed back to England and the 55th’s pilots dropped down to shoot up whatever targets they might find.
