ACES ARE BORN: THE EYES HAVE IT! (Part II)
4th Fighter Wing, 335th Squadron, Kimpo AB, Korea: August 1951 - April 1952
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"Gathering of Eagles" (left to right)
Major George Davis, Colonel Ben Preston
(4th Group), and "Bones" Marshall |
The Communists had begun new and more
aggressive tactics and a greater willingness to
engage. They used coordinated “trains” of MIGs
crossing the Yalu River over Antung airdrome in
the west and simultaneously with another train
to the east over the Sui-ho reservoir. On
occasion, they would drop off flights or
sections to engage us in our usual tracks just
south of China and continue with the mass to
Pyongyang to engage us as we would exit, low on
fuel. On their way home some would drop below
20,000 to surprise our fighter-bombers. On rare
occasion, a section would close from the Sea
near Sinuiju in an attempt to tighten the vise.
What kept us from being more effective was
the decision to remain tied to the traditional
“fluid four” flight tactics. For a good part of
my tour we were running around with three
defenders for every aggressor, among us. This
began to change, and one of our squadron
commanders was an instigator by his own devices.
Major George A. Davis, commanding the 334th
was an extremely aggressive and confident pilot,
which in the end cost him his life on 10
February 1952. He led eighteen Sabres to shield
a fighter-bomber attack on railways near Kunu-ri
and saw MIGs high in contrails in the northwest
toward the Yalu. He took only his wingman and
went there and by climbing caught the MIGs off
guard. He descended to 32,000 and shot down two
in a short period. As he pulled in, to fire on a
third, the number-four pilot scored with a
cannon burst that shot down and killed Major
Davis
He was lost because he elected to penetrate
their formation. He risked doing that to assure
kills, and he was such a sure shot, but our 50
caliber machine guns could take many rounds and
some time to do their work while the 37 mm or
two 23 mm cannons of the MIG might be lethal
with a single shot. A MIG wingman got such a
shot at Major Davis stopping his string at 11
MIGs and 3 TU-2 bombers plus his 7 victories of
WW II. He was posthumously awarded the
Congressional Medal of Honor.
Amazingly he accomplished his Korean kills
in slightly over 3 months, at a time when the
MIGs were not at the height of activity they
showed later. He also never had the advantage of
the much superior F-86F, available after our
time. He was clearly one of those pilots with
the most necessary and special gift of sighting
aircraft at a distance and he possessed the
courage to press attacks relentlessly, talent to
out fly his quarry and the skill to shoot
expertly.
His record was broken later by Capt. Joseph
C. McConnell, with 16 MIGs, who enjoyed some
advantage with the F-86F. Joe, on one of his
missions pursued the kills so aggressively, that
he ran too low on fuel to fly home and could
only make it to the Yellow Sea, where an SA-16
amphibious aircraft rescued him and he returned
to complete his tour. He later perished in a
test flight at Edwards, AFB, just as our comrade
Iven Kinchloe would die.
Thirteen days after Davis was lost, our new
sister wing, the 51st got it’s first Ace, Maj.
Bill Whisner, squadron commander of their 25th
squadron. Whisner was in the 94th squadron with
us in Rome.
Bones Marshall proved himself to be an
excellent combat commander. Before he departed,
Bones gave me the unusual opportunity for a
lieutenant to lead a Wing formation of 16
airplanes on a combat mission. It was not a
mission on which the MIGs showed up, which I
have always attributed to great Chinese military
intelligence! Skeptics or smart-asses might say
their bad luck.
I recently made a new friend, Slip Slater,
as we communicated about Bones being viciously
assaulted near his home in Hawaii and his
progress during a tenuous recovery. Slip flew
with Bones back in WW II, when Bones married
Millie, a wonderful lady and skilled pilot, in
her own right. She flew numerous military
airplanes, heavies and fighters, in the Women’s
Air Service Pilots (WASP). In fact, Bones was
her C.O. and I figure she began to outrank him
at their wedding ceremony.
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"I joined Crew Chief Jackson with Lady
Lane" |
Slip related that he and Bones were
together on the U.S.S. Diablo when they were
stationed in Panama, when that submarine fired a
torpedo, which made a U-turn, and returned to
hit itself. Along with his latest recovery from
a cruel and severe beating in his 80’s, that
tale reaffirmed my long-held belief that Bones
is indestructible. Another honor Bones gave me
was my own airplane and a great Crew Chief,
S/Sgt. Jackson. I named the airplane, Lady Lane,
in honor of my 2½ year old, daughter.
Bone’s replacement in the 335th was Maj.
Zane Amel, a very fine gentleman, who didn’t
make a great mark as a pilot, but definitely did
by the respect he gave and received from us, as
an officer, gentleman and comrade.
Operational procedures continued to be
conservative until Col. Walker M. “Bud” Mahurin,
WW II ace with 24¼ kills including his 3½
MIG-15s, took command of our group. He was
fantastic in my eyes because it was patently
clear his greatest thrill was to see the young
pilots scoring victories. When he wasn’t on a
mission he was waving us off, while standing
alongside the taxiway. And he would be there on
return and celebrate dramatically when pilots
signaled success. He had a big impact on
results because he caused the basic fighting
unit to change from the flight of four to an
element of two, doubling our firepower. He
encouraged flights to break down to element
leaders whenever they felt it gave them an
offensive edge, and I don’t have to tell you all
the element leaders loved it. We could separate
with only an advisory call, to the flight lead.
He gave us the confidence that a couple of
lieutenants could take on China and it worked
. PHOTO O73, BUD Mahurin WW II
Hero and Ace
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"Bud Mahurin" |
Sadly, this fine officer and true hero was
shot down, became a prisoner of war and was a
victim of political correctness before it had a
name. He and other POWs were charged with
abetting the enemy. Yet, he did exactly what
the Intelligence Officers from the States had
officially briefed us to do, shortly after I
arrived at Kimpo. Although Bud Mahurin was not
there at that time, it was stated policy, and
for certain it was general knowledge and was
never rescinded. We were briefed to tell our
captors what they wanted to know or hear to
avoid torture, since there was little of
importance we could give them. We were
encouraged with instructions like. “You know
nothing of significance and the free world does
not believe what the North Koreans report”. A
number of our POW’s, including this superb
leader were driven from the service without any
benefits for their prior contributions for
agreeing to ridiculous lies about poison gases,
etc, specific issues that we were briefed to
“divulge”, when torture was imposed.
Col. Bud Mahurin in spite of being one of
our nation’s leading aces, having receiving
every medal short of the Congressional Medal of
Honor and recognitions from all the WW II
allies, was driven to resign from the service,
without benefit of retirement opportunity, just
four years from eligibility, but the dishonor,
for such an honest and honorable man was a
travesty. The great man and fine leader that he
was assured him success in management in
civilian life and he served the military well in
that endeavor, in spite of the deceit in
politics.
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"Bud Mahurin today" |
Fifteen years later, through the abuse of
Bud, that lesson from Korea was not forgotten in
Vietnam. We underwent realistic training to
resist pain and psychological torture, by
experts, and were mentally and morally dedicated
to resist, before posting to Vietnam for combat
missions. I like to think I would have held my
own had I the misfortune of being shot down over
Hanoi in my tour, just as our P.O.W.’s bravely
did. But, in Korea, I would have followed
official advice as Bud Mahurin did, and felt
equally honorable!
Shortly after the improvements went into
effect, I was wingman for Lt. T. Booth Holker of
the 334th when he got his one MIG kill, and I
felt wonderful and proud of him. I had been so
unusual for junior officers to get a shot. As a
wingman I always got a sense of accomplishment
without firing a shot, and doing it for another
wingman made it that much better.
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"T. Booth Holker and me" |
This new approach changed tactics and
attitudes. It made a big change in Billy
Dobbs. We seldom had very much radio chatter,
unlike the WWII fighter movies hollering back
and forth. But Billy and his wingman of ‘E’
flight, Lt. Mike DeArmond, briefly changed
that. I recall them in their first scrap with
some MIG’s and it was like two radio
sportscasters in the middle of a tremendous and
competitive game. I could almost visualize the
action. The difference was the event was life or
death and the final victim was Billy’s first,
but not his last air victory. I heard that
Billy got four MIGs before he finished his tour.
You just didn’t make chatter, for good
reason, because so many of us depended on one
frequency for critical calls. They took some
verbal abuse, but those who knew Billy were
pleased with the “Coming Out” of a young hero,
whom I knew had the eyes to be an ace. Mike
DeArmond was later shot down and confirmed as a
POW after I returned to the states, and was
repatriated.
John Honaker, who had added a MIG-15 to his
LA-9 kill, had been designated as maintenance
test pilot, as I was. By chance two birds were
scheduled at the same time for us. We agreed
that after we checked out the Sabres we would do
a bit of combat practice, perfectly legitimate,
which we had done so many times together in the
skies of New York. We sometimes started attacks
head-on, but decided this time to take turns
starting in trail for the lead to try and shake
the other, then trying to gain advantage. I
started a hard scissor maneuver with John on my
tail and with lots of ‘g’s’. He radioed me in
such a way that I just sensed something was
wrong. His voice was completely garbled and
muffled, as if under far more than normally
high-g. I just knew something was wrong! I
rolled out, slowed down and turned to find him.
Without luck, I began searching for him, making
repetitive calls with no response. The tower
also could not gain contact with John who seemed
to vanish.
John Honaker was killed when his airplane
impacted in solid rocky hills and Korean
witnesses indicated the airplane was completely
out of control. He must have hit at very high
speed because his’45 automatic, he holstered as
we all did, was bent nose to tail.
John’s death was unfathomable to me, since
we had spent so many hours in flight with far
greater risks than what we were practicing in
this case. By this time, John and I both had
well over 400 hours, a good portion in the Sabre,
which we knew so well. It was a terrible way for
me to start a necessary hardening process for
facing the loss of so many buddies and comrades
in the future. Sometimes there’s an escape after
a fatal accident to surmise that the other
fellow did something wrong or didn’t do
something that was possible, leaving the door
open to the thought, “I would have found a
way!” I had too much respect for and confidence
in John to take that way out. Whatever happened
to him was beyond correction. Of that, I remain
convinced for more than 50 years.
As time passed, other fine men joined D
Flight . Jim Kasler was one of them. He was a
great guy to be around, soft-spoken,
intelligent, very easy going with a dry sense of
humor. The hit tale was his candid description
of his very first sexual encounter when he
returned from overseas in a prior time, as a
young enlisted man. I will skip the foreplay,
to coin a phrase, and jump to the “punch” line,
so to speak. She disrobed, he did likewise and
due to the newness and excitement he fired
prematurely as he approached the target. Sort
of a Navel encounter to put it in terms of Sea
men. She threw him out!
An indication of how much more aggressive
the MIGs became later is that Jim, who had quite
a few missions when I left, got 6 MIGs in the
later course of his 100 missions, so he sure had
learned how not to shoot blanks!
That didn’t end his combat service…not by a
long shot! Jim flew combat in Vietnam, was shot
down on 8 August 1966, and remained in prison
and under severe and brutal treatment, until the
Vietnam POW’s were released in February 1973.
He was one of the heroes of that war as combat
pilot and prisoner, under extremely dangerous
and severe conditions. He owns a golf course,
now. How is that for variety in one man’s life?
I did my job of wingman well and had helped
others score but it was not until my 49th
mission that I was credited with damaging a MIG.
I had proven myself a reasonably fair gunner in
the limited training I had, but it was not until
I returned home to train under Bones that I
became an excellent one. However, it was eyes,
not gunnery, which limited me, as I never missed
a shot in Korea even a couple of very long
ones. I saw a flight of 4 in a wide-spaced
trail turning above. The MIG pilots had a
tendency to string out in an extended trail, a
bad practice. There was no way I could climb up
to them so I stayed level and accelerated
turning inside of them toward the leader. I
continued this until I actually was way ahead of
the last MIG. I was finally able to trade my
lead on him for altitude by a pop-up, just long
enough to get some pretty good hits on him from
below and behind, only briefly as climb and
muzzle blast rapidly decelerated my airplane,
thus my first score, albeit a weak one. I hoped
that would finally get me started and it might
have been the end of my handle-bar moustache,
though I don’t recall just when I decided to do
away with that abomination, trained and tainted
by shoe polish, the only available wax. It
didn’t set well inside an oxygen mask, or my
mouth, where it migrated at times.
During this later part of my tour a couple
of “retreads” from WW II joined D Flight. Capt.
Bob Love was activated from the Air National
Guard where he had performed shows as a skilled
acrobatic pilot in the F-80. Actress Betty
Hutton stopped at Kimpo for an overnight rest
and he claimed to have visited with her. Bob
could spin a yarn but was a charismatic and
handsome guy, so I’ve always believed it. After
I returned home Bob got 6 MIGs and became 11th
of the 38 aces of Korea.
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"Ace Bob Love" |
The other, Capt. Philip Colman, a WWII
pilot and reserve officer had been recalled to
active duty. He was a baby food salesman before
recall and I would bet he sold it by the ton,
‘What a line’! He hitched a flight to our base,
got in to see the wing commander and talked his
way into our squadron. He reported the “loss of
his latest flight records” and told us that he
already had checked out in jets. Whatever the
case, in his F-86 checkout flight he ran out of
fuel on approach for landing, couldn’t make it
home, and landed, gear-up, on a small gage
Korean railroad track that passed near the base,
doing surprisingly little damage to the
airplane. His comment I consider a classic:
“Only a damned fool would get into such a
situation, but once in it, no one could have
handled it better!” He arrived as Phil and
lived on as “Casey”, in honor of a previous
famous Railroader. I doubt that our wing
commander was fooled about the jet time and his
decision was a good one to give “Phillip” a
chance. Because “Casey” went on to increase his
5 WW II kills by 4 MIG-15 kills for a total of 9
victories, a great victory for baby food
salesmen all over the world. Maybe the colonel
knew about his war record, but our roommate,
Phil, never mentioned it to us. I only
recently, discovered that in an AFA publication.
I recently located him and learned that Casey
has retired to live in Augusta, Georgia. I keep
expecting to see him talk his way into the
Masters Golf Tournament any day now. He might be
the guy who can psyche Tiger Woods! He sure
could give President Martha Burk, National
Organization of Women, some grief in a
discussion on the right of women to have an
exclusive public national organization, but no
such right for a few men golfers. Another unique
addition to D Flight was a Capt. James Horowitz,
a graduate of West Point and General’s Aide.
Some later claimed it was Jim who wrote a best
selling novel, under pseudonym, based on our air
war with the MIGs. A few who read it thought it
disparaged some folks in our squadron, and
though he enjoyed irony, I personally did not
“see” any of our squadron mates in any of the
characters.
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"Lt. Gen. Frank Everest, Commander of Far
East Air Forces, had visited Suwon (K-13) where
he was greeted by Col. Gabreski." |
Dogfights began to pick up and I was now
flying element lead more often and sometimes
flight lead, when I destroyed my first MIG-15
and damaged another on my 74th mission. As
usually happened whenever the victim found
himself in a very bad position, my victory was
almost impossible to lose, and after waiting so
long it was exciting, yet anti-climatic. I have
remembered watching Hoot’s victory more vividly
than my own.
He stopped at Kimpo, and while there he
presented me the Distinguished Flying Cross in
our briefing room at operations.
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"Everest presents Smith with
Distinguished Flying Cross" |
But the MIGs weren’t scrapping enough to
suit us and it was my 85th, before another
opportunity was presented. My flight-mate and
friend Coy Austin, both in D Flight and at our
next assignment in the States, was on my wing
and we two escorted an unarmed RF-80, which was
doing photo-recce in MIG Alley. We flew along
the main supply route north of Sinanju, Korea,
near the border with China. I spotted two
MIG-15’s preparing to attack our guy and got
into position to attack them as they made their
attack. We drove them off and I hit the wingman
with a burst from long range. He began heavy
evasion and I finished him with a couple more
bursts. In the process Coy got into position on
the leader and he was successful in his kill,
also. We then recovered to escort the F-80 to
safe distance homeward and returned to attack
another flight of MIGs. I got a good shot on
number 4 and slowed him down enough to get more
hits and had him smoking. It appeared that he
was a goner when we were attacked and driven
off, not able to confirm the kill. Film study
on our return added my ‘Probable’ to that
mission. Billy Dobbs had gotten a MIG that same
day, with Mike DeArmond on his wing. We were
photographed with Casey Colman, who had taken
command of D Flight.
Photo: New Scan; Bob an 4
others...
Per chance, I saw that photo in a very
recent article in SabreJet Classics magazine.
My only credit was a last name change that
certainly has a better ring to it than my own:
It was “Smiley”.
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"(left
to right) Mike DeArmond, Billy Dobbs,
me, Casey Colman,
Coy Austin: Total 3 Kills, 1
Probable" |
Early on, it never seriously occurred to me
that I MIGht get even one kill, so the second
kill didn’t change my expectations much that
late in my tour, and my probable kill adds
nothing to status for ace. Looking back, I feel
that even with my limited visual acquisition, I
MIGht have had a fair chance had I stayed
around, for what later proved to be the most
prolific period for MIG hunting, a short time
later. When I left, there was no sign the enemy
would change tactics and no one had ever
extended a tour in the Wing, to my knowledge, so
that idea never even entered my mind, until
years later
I was on my 94th mission when I saw a
single MIG well below me, racing toward the
Chinese border, called my wingman because he was
on one of his earliest missions, and started a
dive, which would definitely put me right up the
MIG’s tail. The MIG was near the limit of my
vision so I never took my eyes off of him, for
fear he might turn and disappear. I was rapidly
closing and descending on him and never would I
get a better shot and more certain kill, when
suddenly, I caught a glimpse of motion out of
the corner of my right eye and, jerking my head
right, just as suddenly whizzed past a MIG. It
was less than 50 feet away, and the pilot
glanced at me as I whizzed passed him, like he
was not moving. I had come down so steeply that
MIG was hidden until that moment.
Instantaneously, he was behind me, out of sight
… I reacted ... rolled hard right, heavy g’s,
throttle to idle and speed brakes deployed,
expecting to end up close behind him for a kill.
My mistakes were two-fold, in that
decision. I expected him to try and stay on my
tail, which was where the situation suddenly put
him with such a good opportunity to fire at me.
And, I violated a cardinal rule in aerial
combat, to never give up airspeed, and there was
no faster way than with idle throttle and speed
brakes. By the time I saw him again, after my
completed roll and tremendous deceleration, I
realized he had, instead of trying to shoot at
me, turned right and started climbing away for
separation, while I lost view of my original
“dead pigeon” and squandered my huge advantage.
Had I done the correct thing, a loose roll
around him trading speed for altitude, I would
have had my choice of destroying him, the other
guy, or maybe both. I never heard a peep from
my wingman, but he was new and besides, it was
not his job to do mine!
My training experiences were always to try
and hang in close in an encounter, with both
parties determined to win, cutting the throttle,
if necessary to get in trail. Actually,
practicing bad habits, but sporting and great
fun. Unfortunately, this guy just wanted to get
away, which I made possible. I was only able to
get a long distance burst into him enough to
damage his airplane as he climbed away, and, the
other guy, probably his leader, was gone. The
concept of energy management in combat training,
had not been developed at that time. The career
failure, which troubles me more each year of my
life, was not making Ace. When you get right
down to the nitty-gritty that is what defines a
fighter pilot, in spite of the greater risks and
emotional challenge of air-to-ground combat. I
could fly and shoot very well and had
outstanding static eyesight but the eyes of Aces
provide acquisition of the moving specks in the
distant skies, where the enemy lurks. The real
secret to scoring aerial victories is to
visually acquire and gain insurmountable
surprise and advantage, from afar. When I got
home, I went to an eye doctor about my concern,
although standard eye tests judged me perfect.
I knew, my distance vision was outstanding, but
he demonstrated that I had a definite delay in
acquiring a focus when I scanned in line of
sight, in effect my eyes took split seconds to
refocus, limiting 3-D scanning. Not even
noticeable in normal situations, but searching
for airplanes required a constant scanning, with
both distance and azimuth constantly changing,
requiring virtually instant refocus. I could
never have been a big time Ace, except maybe
with Billy on my wing. Nevertheless, 5 kills
was a possibility that I blew that day, because
with three or four, I may have been offered an
extension of my tour. Pride would have kept me
there no matter how much I missed family. That
day of failure didn’t bother me nearly so much
at age 22, as it does today, when I dwell on the
impact of my bad decision. Aerial combat demands
both control and aggression and I lost control
that day, because a full throttle, defensive
turn would have made my day a success.
It haunts me most, when I think of how
close I came to the “Brass Ring”, because of the
extent to which the Chinese increased combat
engagements soon after I left, in April ’51.
The next month, MIGs shot down an F-51, three
F-84s and five 86s, but the Sabres destroyed 27
MIGs and 5 other airplanes, and three of my
comrades achieved jet Ace, Col. Thyng, Bob
Latshaw and Jim Kasler. The fact stands: a
fighter pilot hasn’t “done it all’ until he is
an Ace.
John, Billy and I did pretty well for
novices, and collectively were credited with
destroying 7 MIG 15’s and one La-9, one MIG
Probable and more than 3 MIG’s damaged---- I
don’t know the count on damages by John and
Billy. We would have happily celebrated that
combined score, together, if we ever had the
chance, which was not to be after we lost John.
Then, Billy Dobbs returned home to his
assignment as an instructor at the Fighter
Weapons School at Nellis AFB, and married his
childhood sweetheart only to be flown into the
ground, sitting in the back seat of a T-33 jet
trainer, by a student who failed to pull out in
time on a ground-strafing run. I will never
understand assigning an instructor into the back
seat for low angle strafing, where both pilots
die if the student misjudges, and the infallible
image of the Air Force Weapons School lost some
luster. The difference between a perfect run and
death is measured in a split second in low angle
strafing, with no time for second-guessing, even
for the pilot, much less an “instructor” in the
back, who cannot dare keep his hand near the
controls!
The irony of Billy finding the wedding ring
on the hand of another young pilot killed in
such an accident during strafing such a short
time before, when we were shooting gunnery in
Florida, has stuck with me all these years.
Another melancholy remembrance of that tour
is about a young, handsome lieutenant that I met
in my brief stint in Hoot Gibson’s flight. I
never had news of him after Korea, until I read
an article written for the magazine, SabreJet
Classics, in the fall of 2001 by my good friend,
Alonzo Walter Jr. (B/G Ret’d). That magazine is
the primary publication of the F-86 Sabre Pilots
Association, one of the biggest organizations of
its kind, that in itself is another tribute to
the ubiquitous Sabre. I know Lon won’t mind my
repeating it in part, beginning at the point of
my tour with Hoot, about the young lieutenant,
Tom Davis:
“Tom Davis continued his progress, and
became one of the best wingmen in the outfit.
He learned his trade well, even downing a MIG
while flying with Hoot Gibson, who later became
an ace. When Tom finished his tour, he returned
to the Air Defense Command at Griffis AFB, NY,
then went to Tyndall AFB, FL in 1954 to fly the
F-86D. It was there that he achieved greatness.
On a dark night in December, Tom was over
the Gulf of Mexico when his cockpit lighted up
with the red glow of fire warning lights. Smoke
and a loss of power confirmed that this was much
more than a malfunctioning warning circuit.
Suddenly he had only one option. After making
the “Mayday!” call, he initiated the ejection
sequence.
Night is NOT the preferred time for a
fighter pilot to find himself alone, in a
parachute, and descending into a large body of
water. But Tom Davis, as he had so often in the
past, was up to the task. Although he had a
terrific headache, he oriented himself enough to
decide that he could paddle to land if he could
get rid of his chute once he hit the water; then
inflate his dingy and board it.
Again he performed flawlessly, and
eventually reached a beach in northwest Florida
near Apalachicola Point. Alone, having survived
an ejection and water landing, and now
dog-tired, Tom shouted for help, set out his
emergency flares, then walked up and down the
beach trying to locate someone who could help
him notify his unit that he was OK. Finally,
and with his head still aching, he decided to
wait until daylight for the searchers who would
surely find him.
The dinghy looked like as good a bed as he
had available, and he decided to lay down with
his head on the inflated side of the raft. When
he did so, the fractured spine!! he had
unknowingly suffered during the ejection, and
the cause of his headache, shifted just enough
to sever his spinal cord. He died instantly and
painlessly, and was found the next day by
searchers.
Much of what I have written was deduced
from his footsteps on the beach, the flares, and
other indications of his last heroic moments.
Tom Davis was a fighter to the end. On his last
flight, he conducted himself with greatness and
courage, just as he had done in every severe
test of his young life. He was a GREAT fighter
pilot.
I felt pleased with my results, while my
disappointments grew later, and I was eager to
get home to my family. I had promised Martha we
would meet at the Top of the Mark Hopkins on my
return, and so it would be. I was flying by
contract airline to San Francisco and we made
the necessary arrangements, for the appointed
day of my arrival. But our flight to the States
was delayed by mechanical problems.
Martha arrived, to announce to the desk
staff that she was Mrs. Smith, whose husband Bob
was in the hotel. The name Smith is suspect
under such situations, one might suppose. It
was evening and she was alone and terribly
embarrassed by the questioning stares from the
desk personnel, in a time when morality was at a
higher norm than today’s broad coverage TV era.
She had no idea when I would arrive, and I
suppose it became clear to those folks because
they granted her a room and I arrived the next
day, to fulfill my promise of our happy reunion,
in that grand hotel of the time.
The next wonderful event was to get to my
folks home in Albuquerque and begin the bonding
process with Lane and Bobby. It was great and
simple to establish a home and complete my leave
without the usual cross-country household and
family move. I arrived on leave within a few
miles of my new assignment, and with the
pleasure of working for and flying with Bones
Marshall, again. I would find satisfaction in
flying with a new mentor, friend and idol, Kenny
Chandler, one-half of the pair that had
unknowingly “challenged” me to learn the F-86
flip-over, my most challenging new maneuver.
That Korean tour may have been less than
what I wished for, from the standpoint of my
accomplishments, but I learned to admire and
respect some very wonderful men who showed me
why the American fighting man was portrayed so
elegantly in the movies. We may be spoiled by
our blessings, but are empowered by pride in our
country and America’s enduring integrity is part
of us.
I never forgot those B-29 crewmen, who
virtually defenseless continued to targets, not
because they were vital to a war effort, or the
war was critical to our homeland, but because it
was their duty to do it! The gruesome sight of
the shredded B-29’s, which made it home with
wounded and the dead is a different vision than
the surreal though deadly game of fighter
combat. Those bomber guys were the epitome of
the American fighting spirit and models for the
term Hero!
And there were a large number of Americans,
known captured during that war but were never
heard of again. In fact, it was discovered
after the break up of the USSR that many
survived to be prisoners in Russia and at least
one entire bomber crew was executed by firing
squad, when their usefulness was served out.
With people like them, and our troops who fought
and serve in Iraq, why should we worry about
what the Frenchmen think, or the Germans or the
Russians? We saved them from each other so
often that they despise us more for those
embarrassing memories than our decisions or
history of accomplishment. |