Click on Picture to enlarge Robert T. Smith

From The Diary Of Robert T. Smith, Flying Tiger

For many years now I have considered the idea of writing a book about my experiences as a pilot in the American Volunteer Group (AVG), or Flying Tigers, as our little band of adventurers was to become more widely known. But I always managed to find a number of reasons for putting if off: not enough time; not many people would be interested; others had already written books on the subject, etc. Add to all that a normal inclination to laziness, and you get the idea; I knew that writing a book was likely to entail a lot of hard work, while not writing one was easy as could be.

I'm not exactly sure why I decided to go ahead and do it at this late date. It's not that I believe there's a breathless public out there eagerly waiting to devour my words, nor do I expect to reap any significant financial reward from such a project. Perhaps it's because my excuses, except for laziness, are no longer valid. Certainly I now have plenty of time, and I have become more and more aware in recent years that there is still a surprising amount of interest in things having to do with the Flying Tigers, even among later generations. And while some of the many books that have been written about us give a reasonably accurate account from a historical viewpoint, in my opinion these third-person accounts often fail to capture the true picture of events that could be seen only through the eyes of a pilot and described in his own words. But perhaps the greatest incentive of all was that in the process of writing the book I would once again receive those hazardous and often desperate months in the company of that wild and wonderful little group of pilots and ground support personnel. Thinking of them, remembering the things we shared and endured, was bound to bring back a flood of vivid memories, both happy and sad. So far as am concerned, that in itself is reward enough.

Fortunately, I had kept a daily diary throughout the nine months spent in Burma and China during the brief existence of the AVG, so I figured much of the writing had already been done! could simply write a few introductory chapters, then copy those diary pages, add a few footnotes and photos, and Bingo! A book, just like that. Well, friends, it ain't been all that easy but it has been fun, and once I'd sunk my teeth into it I discovered I'm not even as lazy as I used to be.

Of course there is nothing new or unique about publishing a diary. In fact, I'm not even the first among Flying Tigers. Just a couple of years ago my good friend, Charley Bond, used such a format with his book, "A Flying Tiger's Diary," which I heartily recommend. Consequently, some of the same ground is of necessity covered by both of us, but I believe the reader will find that in many respects our stories differ greatly, primarily because we were in different squadrons and dealing with different people and circumstances. Bond flew with the 1st squadron, the "Adam & Eves" while I was a member of the "Hell's Angels," or third squadron.

In reading Charley's fine book, I was amazed to discover how little I really knew about the activities and individuals of his squadron despite having rubbed elbows off and on with them for several months. The reason was quite simple; once the AVG swung into combat action the three squadrons were seldom all together for more than very brief periods of time. while one squadron was fighting for its life in Rangoon, another might be enjoying relative inactivity in Kunming, while the third could be moving to still another base of operations in Burma or china. We were moved around like knights (or pawns, as some would have it) on a gigantic chessboard by our tough and crafty commander, Claire Lee Chennault. Even when a couple of squadrons shared the same base they had separate quarters and operations facilities, and more or less tended to stick together. Thus the closest bonds of friendship developed between members of the same squadron, much as might be the case with members of three different baseball teams within the same league.

And so, just as Bond has revealed many of the experiences that he and his comrades shared as members of the 1st squadron. I decided to do much the same from the perspective of the "Hell's Angels." And who knows, maybe some day someone from the 2nd ("Panda Bears") squadron will do likewise, for there are many intriguing stories yet untold, and all too few who feel inclined, or, are left to tell them.

I decided in the very beginning to make at least one rather unusual departure from the ordinary diary format, however. The actual pages of my diary, unedited, are reproduced here exactly as written in my own hand at the time. I thought that somehow this might make it more personal, and at the same time eliminate the temptation to delete or add comments or thoughts from the safe and sage perspective of hindsight. Within these pages such comments appear clearly as footnotes in printed form, or as what might otherwise be considered chapters before or between actual diary entries. I have also included a large number of photos. some of which have appeared in prior publications but many that have never before been seen by the public. Several of those that appear here in black and white are pictures that, were taken with Kodachrome film, and of course are less appealing than they appear in full color. I was most fortunate in this regard: so far as I know, I was the only one in the entire group to get any really good color pictures. So, having decided upon the make-up of the book. all that remained was to sit down at my typewriter and start banging away.

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Robert T. Smith with his #77 P-40

I'm sure most people agree that every story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end, but right away that ancient axiom presented me with a problem. The middle and the end are easy enough to pinpoint, but trying to decide just where and when this story should begin was not as simple as might appear at first glance Was it the day when I was ten years old and the wheels of that rickety old biplane lifted from the bumpy cow pasture just outside the little town of Red Cloud, Nebraska, where I lived? Certainly that first airplane ride with a barnstorming pilot, the very essence of daring and adventure in his black leather helmet and goggles and trim mustache, was the start of something. Still, that's reaching pretty far into the past, for while it planted the seed that made me determined to become a pilot, the events which I was to experience in 1941-42 were still in the dim and distant future.

Perhaps I should start off with a real bang, that first combat action over Rangoon, Burma, on the 23rd of December, 1941, barely two weeks after the disaster of Pearl Harbor. I could begin by describing how it felt when I got that first glimpse of the enemy, and knew that within a couple of minutes I would get my first taste of war in the air I was in a flight of seven P-40s patrolling an area just east of Rangoon, with another flight of seven a couple of miles to the north. All eyes were nervously scanning the skies to the east; the British ground radar, not noted for its reliability of late, had reported a large number of enemy planes approaching from that direction, no doubt from bases in Thailand. Eventually one of us would spot them and then, following the standard reporting procedure and using code words prescribed by our limited training during the preceding weeks, would calmly announce his discovery over the radio. We would hear someone say something like, "Red leader from Red four, many Bandits at two o'clock low." Instead, a voice suddenly screamed, "Hey, Mac! I see the bastards! off to the right and a little below us, a whole slew of 'em." And sure enough, there they were, what appeared to be the entire Imperial Japanese Air Force, large specks in the distance, many clusters of them making up two huge formations of twin-engined bombers, with about thirty smaller specks, fighters, above and behind them. All heading in our direction and closing fast.

Suddenly I was aware of the pounding of my heart as my pulse rate doubled, chest heaving as I gulped pure oxygen from a slimy rubber mask at fifteen thousand feet, mouth full of cotton, the sudden and embarrassing urge to go to the bathroom, and another awe-struck voice coming through the headset, irreverently saying what all of us were thinking, "Jeezus Keerist!" Sounded like Tom Haywood, but I couldn't be sure, followed immediately by the calm voice of McMillan, our right leader, saying, "Okay, knock it off... check your gun switches... here we go!" just like he'd been doing this sort of thing every day for years. And then, moments later, one after another at regular intervals, our handful of little P-40s peeling off to attack, following Mac's lead as he dove toward the right flank of the first bomber formation and began firing. And now it was my turn, diving and turning to line up my gun sight with plenty of "lead" at a bomber, squeezing the stick-trigger and hearing the crackling sound of my four .30 caliber wing guns and the slower, powerful thudding of the two .50s in the nose, like twin jackhammers ripping up pavement; and the pungent smell of cordite filling the cockpit, a good smell. Now aware that dozens of guns from the bombers were firing back, tracers crisscrossing the sky in every direction, black smoke and flames streaming from the left engine of a bomber up ahead, and all the while that creepy-crawly feeling at the back of the neck, knowing their fighters must surely be about to pounce down on us at any moment, sneaking up in the blind spot to the rear, set for the kill.

I have often been asked if I was "scared" that day, which is about like asking if McDonalds sells hamburgers. Let me tell you, friends, that anyone who claims he didn't feel any fear under such circumstances either:

• (a) didn't fully understand the gravity of the situation,
• (b) is lying through his teeth,
• (c) is full of crap, or
• (d) all of the above!

There is simply nothing quite like such an experience when it comes to getting the old adrenaline pumping while at the same time putting a severe strain on the bladder. No doubt you have heard athletes speak of having "butterflies in their stomach" before a big game, Imagine, then, a flock of buzzards flapping around down there just before the deadliest game of all is about to start, and you get the idea. Fortunately it lasts for only a few moments in most cases, after which things settle down to a state best described as semi-controlled panic.

Well, that first combat was the beginning of the shooting part of the story, but of course it fails to explain how we happened to be in that forsaken part of the world at that particular time; or how we got there, or why. Too much of a gap between the cow pasture and the macadam runways of Rangoon's Mingaladon aerodrome, as it were. So perhaps it would be best to back up about six months, back to Randolph Field, Texas, a few miles outside San Antonio. Since that is where I first learned of the embryo existence of what was to become known as the American Volunteer Group, I guess that's the logical place for a beginning.

Just a final thought before we get going; while I have been told by many people that my handwriting is quite legible, I am aware that now and then the reader may have to work at it a bit to decipher a particular word or passage appearing in the diary. My sincere hope is that he, or she, will find it worth the effort

R. T. Smith


 

The Diary: December 7th, 1941

 

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From Smith's diary, 12/7/41

Editors note:
On December 7th, the members of the AVG were yet waiting to move up to China. They were still at Toungoo in Burma. As a group they were chaffing at the bit to go north and see some action against the Japanese. Little did they realize that the war would be coming to them very soon.

Please take note that Burma is on the other side of the International Date Line. Therefore, the actual date in the United States and Hawaii is one day behind Smith's diary entries. When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7th, it was already December 8th in Burma.

Below is one of the letters written on Dec.7th 1941 at Toungoo. The letter is addressed to Robert's parents. There apparently exists some concern about Japanese incursions into Thailand. Yet there is nothing to suggest that Smith, or anyone else, anticipates the events only hours in the future.

Dec. 7, 1941

Dear Mom and Dad:

Your last letter received over a week ago, and of course I was delighted with the notes from all the Nebraska folks as well as your own.

I've been holding off in writing to you as I thought surely we'd be in China by now. We've been under instructions to be ready to leave on an hours notice for about ten days. All I can say is that we - half of us, at least are ready. There will be sixteen from my squadron flying up when we go, and about the same from the others. Naturally we're all anxious to get going, and irked at the delay.

There is no news to report here, except that the Englanders are reinforcing their borders. Things are getting tenser and tenser, but nobody knows what'll happen, or when. The Japs have been reported several times as having crossed the Thai border, but all these rumors have been denied. Of course if Thailand is invaded openly we will probably swing into action from here and never get to China. Makes no difference, just so we get to do - something!

On a lighter note, Paul and I have had a lot of fun showing up a few wise-guys who used to make nasty cracks about instructor-pilots. We don't hear any of that crap any more, and both know we can hold our own with anybody when it comes to flying these ships. We've each got about forty hours in them, and by now my P-40 feels as comfortable as an old pair of shoes My plane is No. 77, I've got a hell of a crew-chief and we're ready!

Sure hope you have a swell Christmas. I guess this will be the screwiest one I will ever see. Please tell everybody to write; you can't realize how much a letter means to somebody over here.

All my love to all,

Bob

Editors note:
The following diary pages reflect the events of December 7th (8th in Burma) and the new urgency that is electrifying to the young men of the AVG.

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In the INTRODUCTION to this book I told of my first impressions upon sighting the enemy and going into action. I can only add that the thought flashed through my mind that I would probably be killed on this fine sunny day, and yet despite being scared half to death there was never any thought of turning tail and running. And so, although this wasn't quite what I'd had in mind, I went to work at the profession I had so eagerly chosen, simply determined to kill as many of the enemy as I could before they killed me. I'd never had much use for the Japanese, particularly after reading about the countless atrocities and ruthless slaughter they had inflicted upon the Chinese people, and the AVG had offered a way to come to the aid of the underdog and strike back at the bully. But now, after their sneak attack at Pearl Harbor and their avowed plan to conquer all of Asia, I hated them with a passion.

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December 23rd was the 3rd squadrons first combat

I learned after only a few passes at the enemy bombers that deflection shooting was for the experts; I was sure I was scoring some hits, but the results were not at all satisfactory. And so I picked out this one bomber, got directly behind him and just under his prop-wash, and opened fire at about 200 yards. I could see my tracers converging on the fuselage and wing roots as I rapidly overtook him but kept firing until he blew up right in my face. His gas tanks exploded in a huge ball of flame, the concussion tossing my plane upward like a leaf. I fought for control, flying through the debris, felt a thud as something hit my left wing, let out a shout of triumph into my oxygen mask and thought By God, I got one of the bastards no matter what happens from now on! I was thinking strictly in terms of "one" plane, not the six or seven members of its crew; they were faceless individuals. seen only as shadow-figures if at all. I was elated beyond words, but there was little time for self-congratulation. With one victory in hand, I wanted more, and God knows there were plenty left. And so I went back to work, my attacks on the bombers now interrupted all too often by their fighters which were every bit as maneuverable as Chennault had said. Outnumbering us as they did, it was hard to get a shot at one before another was on my tail and I was forced to do a half-roll and dive away.

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From the left: Jernstedt, Haywood, Older and R.T. Smith posing with R.T.'s #77

For those who have never flown a fighter plane in combat it may be difficult to imagine just how incredibly busy the pilot is. Of course the flying itself, the movement of stick and rudder pedals and the many other things involved are done without conscious thought, but both hands and feet are constantly busy making adjustments. In addition to controlling the throttle, the left hand must be used for making changes in rudder and elevator trim tabs required with changes in speed and power settings. The right hand grasps the pistol-grip atop the control stick, index finger poised on the trigger, a squeeze of which will fire all six machine guns. Sometimes a gun jams and has to be cleared manually by pulling one of the six charging handles located in the cockpit and connected by cables to the individual guns. And all this time, if the pilot is to live, his head is constantly turning in every direction to locate the position of enemy planes, trying to make sure that one or more of them haven't swung in behind him, ready for the kill.

"Okay, Gibson, give me a few lazy-eights now.... and get your head out of your ass! We're not alone up here, remember?" Well, there's no way of knowing, but I'd bet that the majority of fighter pilots who were killed by enemy fighters never saw the plane that shot them down, never knew what hit them.

I finally ran out of ammunition after chasing the bombers about fifty miles out over the gulf of Martaban, sending another Sally down in a lazy spiral with his right engine and wing ablaze. During all this time - probably no more than forty minutes - I'd seen very few other P-40s, but now as I headed back toward Rangoon another one closed in on my wing: it was Haywood, grinning and giving me the thumbs-up sign. I saw him press his throat-mike and his mouth was moving, but could hear nothing on my radio. It dawned on me then that I hadn't heard anything on the radio since the fight first began; later a Jap bullet was found in the receiver.

Tom and I saw lots of smoke billowing above Rangoon, mostly from fires in the dock area, and more smoke from burning aircraft and buildings at Mingaladon. We buzzed the field, did victory rolls, and managed to dodge the bomb craters on the runway, landing safely. As we taxied to our dispersal area I saw that several of Our planes had already returned.

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Bob Hedman on short final

Jesse Crookshanks, my crew-chief, jumped up on the wing the moment I cut the engine and slid back the canopy. God, I was tired and thirsty, but felt jubilant about the day's work. This feeling vanished immediately when Jesse told me that three of our planes had been shot down. "Who were they, Jesse. do you know?" I asked him. "Yeah," he replied, "Martin and Gilbert and Greene." "Oh God. no!" I groaned, and there was a fleeting thought of a kiss on the cheek and whispered words, "You take good care of Paul over there, R. T., hear?"

But Paul was lucky; he'd been shot out of control, bailed out, then was strafed by enemy fighters while hanging from his 'chute but wasn't hit. He showed up a few hours later with a sprained neck, but otherwise O.K. Unfortunately, Neil Martin and Hank Gilbert were killed. They were buried the following day in the RAF's Airmen's Cemetery.

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R.T. Smith

There has recently been a great deal of debate as to whether or not the AVG ever encountered the A6M "Zero" during their during their seven month tenure. On April 28th, 1942, Robert T. Smith made an entry into his diary about an air battle with what he described as type "0" fighters. After spending a great deal of time searching various source documents and records, I have not found the existence of any A6M fighters deployed to Burma or China on, or around the date the event was recorded. The only group of "Zero" fighters, essentially pre-production aircraft, were withdrawn from China in late September 1941. I can find no record of their return prior to Fall 1943.

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A6M2 "Zero"

Ki-43 Hayabusa ("Oscar")

Ki-27 "Nate" or "Abdul"

Therefore, one must wonder what type of aircraft did Smith and Greene do battle with that day in April. Perhaps they were Nakajima Ki-43 Hayabusa Army fighters. Certainly, the fighters encountered must have had retractable landing gear. Otherwise, Smith would have quickly recognized them as Ki-27 "Nates" or "Abduls" as they were more commonly called in China-Burma theater, circa mid 1942.

Unless future research can uncover the presence of Navy A6M Type "0" fighters, we might conclude that Smith misidentified the Japanese aircraft which he and Paul Greene had engaged.

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Hell's Angels on patrol

Yet, the fact that so many of the AVG pilots continued to refer to "Zeros" in their post-war writings, and certainly they have seen a great many photos of the A6M, this is perplexing to me. Some of these pilots remained in the CBI theater flying for the USAAF. Smith almost certainly had seen the A6M while flying P-51 Mustangs and commanding a B-25 Squadron. One would certainly believe that when he published his diary, errors of aircraft identification would have been corrected. However, R.T. consistently refers to "Zeros" in the commentary he prepared to accompany the diary. First published in 1986, R.T. still used the designation "Zero". Yet, he used the proper designation of every other type he encountered. Did Smith and many of the other Flying Tiger pilots miss-identify the Ki-43 as a type "0"? Perhaps, but in light of the volume of such claims, they cannot be dismissed lightly. Perhaps the Japanese records are incomplete, or in an effort to save face, maybe they were altered.

Nonetheless, be they A6M Zero's or Ki-43's they were both very dangerous fighters, and their success in shooting down one apiece and escaping the rest by diving away clearly shows that the AVG had a far better tactical grasp on how to defeat the Japanese than did their counterparts in the USAAF and U.S. Navy in the early months of the war.

 

Smith's Diary Entry From April 28th, 1942:

 

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April 28th, 1942

One of the great problems faced by the pilots of the AVG was coping with the extended period away from loved ones and the realization that the possibility of never seeing them again was a very real consideration.

R.T. Smith came to grips with the possibility of death very much as did every other veteran facing combat. He planned for the worst and made sure that his personal property was sent to his family and friends.

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The myth of Japanese fighter superiority:

So much has been written since the war about the inherent superiority of the Japanese fighters over the Curtiss P-40. I recently read in Clash of Wings by Walter J. Boyne, that "the most important (Japanese) fighter was the Zero, clearly superior to any American fighter it would meet." Mr. Boyne also states that the AVG was "equipped with obsolete Curtiss P-40s," I must take exception to Mr. Boyne's comments. Nonetheless, Walter Boyne is a retired USAF Colonel and the former director of the Smithsonian's Air and Space Museum. That I have a differing opinion must be weighed in the light of Mr. Boyne's knowledge and status within the community of aviation writers and historians. I, personally, have nothing but the greatest respect for Mr. Boyne. That, however, does not weaken my argument, per se. The record of the AVG and the Curtiss P-40/Tomahawk has withstood the test of time and the best efforts of the Imperial Japanese Army Air Force. Moreover, the men who beat the stuffing out the Japanese with their "obsolete" Tomahawks will march in lock-step with me on this issue. The Curtiss P-40/Tomahawk was not obsolete in comparison to its Japanese adversaries. On the contrary, it was superior to the Japanese fighters in every category that ultimately mattered in 1942.

The P-40B and C were essentially, new aircraft, in service for less than a year. There was nothing "obsolete" about them. What this illustrates is how deep the myth of the Zero's (and Ki-43 Hayabusa) superiority is engrained in aviation history. Nonetheless, much of this is untrue and pilots like R.T. Smith would argue that the P-40 was the better fighter, and they would be correct.

 

Let's compare the Zero to the P-40B:

1) The P-40 is 20 to 30 mph faster at all atitudes below 20,000 ft.
2) The P-40 has a far higher dive redline and accelerates much faster in a dive.
3) The Zero was a light weight fighter, incapable of absorbing battle damage without coming apart or burning. The P-40 could take a great deal more punishment, had self sealing fuel tanks and could tolerate the abuse of high G maneuvering.
4) The P-40 had a better and more effective armament than any comtemporary Japanese fighter.
5) At speeds in excess of 250 mph the P-40 could easily out-roll the Zero or Oscar and actually turn better as well.

The Curtiss P-40 Warhawk

Mitsubishi A6M Zero-Sen (ZERO)

 

The advantages of the Zero:

1) The Zero (and Oscar) had better low speed turning ability.
2) The Zero (and Oscar) could climb faster.
3) The Japanese fighters, especially the Zero had outstanding endurance (range).

One can see that the Zero and it's bretheren were only effective if their enemy decided to fight a low speed turning dogfight.

The Zero and its pilot were dependent upon the P-40 pilot fighting to the A6M's strengths. If not, the Zero was at a decided disadvantage. Battles, be they air battles, ground battles or sea battles all hinge on tactics. If your enemy avoids fighting by your terms, you will lose. It's simple really. If the Zero is a great low speed turner, don't get into low speed turning duels. If it climbs well, don't try to get away by climbing.

The superior fighter is not neutralized by tactics, as is the case of the Zero. What tactics could neutralize the P-40? None. The pilot of the faster aircraft sets the rules of engagement. The pilot of the slower fighter has no choice but to accept them and hope the other guy makes a dumb mistake.

Let Erik Shilling explain the tactics used to defeat the nimble Japanese fighters:

"To show a couple examples of attacking enemy fighters:
If you attack head on, which the enemy was reluctant to do, because our guns outranged theirs, they would normally pull up. (If he started turning away, he would already be at a disadvantage.) You started firing at Max range, and then dive away, under these conditions we didn't turn and tangle with a Jap fighters."

"Attacking the enemy from a 3 to 6 o'clock position."

"Why roll rate was important, is that one must remember that all maneuvers, except for a loop, started with a roll. The slower the roll rate the longer it took before the turn began.
1. If he turned away, he set you up on his six. A most undesirable position for him, because he would be a dead duck.

2. The enemy invariably turned toward you which was normal and anticipated. With his slower roll rate, you could beat him into the turn, get a deflection shot at him, and when you slowed down to where he started gaining on you in the circle, you rolled and dove away before you were in his sights. If you haven't tried it, don't knock it."

"This is where roll rate came into the picture. As far as Japanese fighters were concerned, their inferior roll rate was at all speeds. Above 240, it would take the Zero 3 seconds before he attained bank angle for max turn. (And the airplane doesn't start turning until bank angle is established)."

"Since you could see him starting to bank, which you would have anticipated, you could easily bank more quickly and establish max bank angle within 1 second, and pull whatever "Gs" necessary to establish lead."

"At this speed, and with your lead already established, you could maintain lead for some time before speed bled off to where the Zero could turn inside, you got the hell out (Don't forget, the same speed and same "G" equal same radius of turn). Above 220 IAS the radius of the circle was determined by pilots ability to withstand "Gs." You could turn with the Zero as long as the speed was above 220 IAS.

If his reaction was only to pull. At these speed the "G" factor still applies, beside the Zero could not take 6 "Gs," and the P-40 could pull over 9 "Gs." Most fighter pilots could "momentarily" withstand 9 "G's" or more without blacking out."

"If the situation was reversed and the Zero was attacking you. Your roll rate would save your ass by allowing you to roll to max turning bank, use 6 "Gs" or more, then continue rolling to inverted and dive. Rolling 180 degrees to dive would take less than 2 seconds, the Zero took 6. The Zero would never get a shot. He couldn't get lead, and by the time he was inverted you would already be out of range, gaining speed much more rapidly than the Zero."

"As can be seen from the above illustration, that in the beginning roll rate was the primary factor in starting any maneuver except the loop. After bank angle was established then speed was the primary factor. To escape from a zero, roll rate again became the primary factor then speed."

"Anyone who disagrees with the above has never been in combat, and as far as I know, few books if any bring this out."

R.T. describes a swirling air battle that took place right over an AVG air field. The remarkable thing about this battle is that it took place at tree top level, giving away the P-40s advantage in dive speed. The Tigers battled later model Ki-43 Japanese Army fighters, not the Ki-27 Nate. The references to "Zeros" were not unusual. It was common for Allied pilots to refer to various Japanese fighters as "Zeros" or "Zekes". In general, the Ki-43 Hayabusa (Oscar) displayed greater maneuverability than the A6M2 Zero. It was, however, somewhat slower than its Japanese Navy counterpart.

 

R.T. tells the story in greater detail:

"This was a most unusual day in a couple of ways. First, it was bright and clear For a change in our little Shangrt-La valley, and secondly it was to be one of the few times that we'd tangle with enemy fighters on nearly even terms; I believe there were only about fifteen Zeros to our even dozen P-40s. As usual, the warning was short, and as usual we were all airborne within a couple of minutes. I led the alert flight of Tomahawks, and Oley and his three Kittys followed moments later. Bob little and Fritz Wolf of the 1st Squadron were with us."

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"We headed south in the direction of Lashio, climbing "balls out," as we used to put it, and breathing easier as we reached ten thousand feet. Suddenly our radio operator at Loiwing excitedly reported enemy planes strafing the field, but didn't say how many or what type. I immediately headed back, slanting down now and indicating about 300mph. Soon the field was in sight and I could see Zeros buzzing around like flies and a column of smoke rising from a burning plane. I called the others, told them to spread out, check their gun switches, and pick out individual targets. I fired a short burst to test my guns, and saw Cliff Groh, my wingman, do the same as he eased off to the side."

"What followed was the damndest rat-race imaginable; like it or not, this was to be dogfighting right on the deck, no way to escape by diving away this time. But what made the situation truly unique was that we had everything going for us for a change; speed, altitude, and surprise. Better still, we blasted four or five of them out of the picture on that initial attack, and suddenly we actually outnumbered them."

"I picked a Zero that was just completing a strafing run, apparently unaware that I was behind him. I opened fire at about three hundred yards as he began to pull up, closing rapidly, all six guns working beautifully. I couldn't miss, and the Zero flipped over on its side and dove for the ground, crashing in a ball of flame. I pulled up in a chandelle, still with lots of speed. and turned back toward the field. And then saw a strange sight: a Zero chasing a P40 that was chasing another Zero, like follow-the -leader. I cut across to intercept the last Zero, fired a wild burst at him at too great a range and too much deflection for accuracy, but it scared him off the chase and he pulled away in a steep climbing turn. I was tempted but refused to take the bait, turning away and back to the Field instead."

"I spotted another Zero just starting a strafing run and peeled off after him. By the time I could get within range behind him he'd completed his run and was pulling up in a shallow climb. Just as I was about to open fire he began to roll to the left; I did the same, thinking he was about to turn around in a sharp turn, but instead he kept right on rolling, still straight ahead. By then I was already committed and had to follow his maneuver, nearly inverted when I opened fire and thinking, 'This crazy bastard's doing a victory roll.' Mine was more of a sloppy barrel-roll, and I could see my tracers flying wildly all around him, like the stream from a garden hose held by a slowly circling hand, until I kicked rudder and saw them finding their mark, smoke and flame poured from his engine, and that was that. Sayonara....."

"This sort of thing continued until there were no more Zeros to be seen, a few of them having scooted away safely. I believe our final tally for the day was eleven. Fritz Wolf got a couple, and Oley, Overend, little, Hodges, Donovan, Laughlin, and Groh each chalked up one apiece. The guys on the ground had a worm's eye view of the whole show from their slit-trenches and enjoyed it immensely. So did we."

Perhaps, the myth of the Zero, may someday, be put to rest. Certainly, the men who faced the best planes and pilots of the Japanese Army Air Force defeated them soundly. Moreover, the P-40 continued to defeat the A6M, Ki-43, Ki-44 and Ki-61 well into 1945.

R.T. Smith, Erik Shilling and hundreds more like them would never accept the myth.....

From The Diary Of Robert T. Smith, Flying Tiger
 

 

 

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