"THREE SECONDS TO FIGHT"Page Two
| � � An advantage in buzzing at treetop level is that you can let them have it and finish your mission before the flak gets started. We did that at Sfax where the Jerries were using the ball park for an airdrome. We roared right down the streets of the town. The P-38 wasn't designed for a bomber, but we carried a couple of bombs under the wings on strafing expeditions. As soon as we dropped the bombs, we zoomed up to be in position for fighting. � � By the time the Sfax flak was up, we were nearing Gabes. At the edge of a woods I saw several Me-109s take off. I couldn't tell how many there were for the dust, but I called to my flight: � � "Let's take them on. I'll take the first one." � � "I'll take the second,"said Ilfrey. � � Lovell and McWhorter picked theirs. One Me turned head on into me. I had been flown into twice before, so I said to myself, "If you can take it, Jerry, I can." I gave him a squirt when we were 200 feet off the ground. As he blew to pieces, I made a quick turn to the left. Another Me came into my sights. I was on his tail, so I gave him a burst and he dived straight into the ground. � � The other fellows were getting their bursts. There were alot more Jerries than I expected. We had the advantage of position and speed. � � I heard someone's voice yell, "Look out, there's one on your tail!" I looked back in a hurry, but the Jerry wasn't on my tail, he was on Ilfrey's. By that time Jack was saying, "Somebody please come do something." � � It's funny how you say things in a pinch like that. I dived down to get the Jerry on Jack's tail. When I got him in my sights and pressed the trigger for a burst, nothing happened. In the excitement I had used up all my ammunition. It was the most helpless feeling I have ever known � � A three second burst was all that stood between Jack and death. Faster than I can say it, the thought flashed: The only thing to do is ram this guy. As I swerved, the Jerry veered left into the sights of Bill Lovell, who had come up beside me. Bill's burst brought him down. � � One of Ilfrey's engines was out, so we headed for home. Lovell and I hovered above his limping plane. The Jerries broke it off too. We had lost Mac's plane in the skirmish. � � In about three minutes of fighting the four of us had shot down nine Me-109s with the loss of one man. That afternoon Mac limped in, with the engine sputtering. He had been chased into the desert where he came down out of gas. Scouting around he found some auto gas, tanked up, got his engines going and pulled into the airfield. � � In a flash I saw something that narly made me jump out of my seat. Directly below me was a strip stacked with planes, wingtip to wingtip, so skillfully camoflaged that it is only luck that I spotted them. The Desert Fox was saving them for a surprise party, I guess. � � � � "Robbie, you'd better hightail the he** out of here," I told myself. I did, too. Back at the bomber base they warmed up and loaded a squadron of B-26s. I had been led across the ocean and down to Africa by B-26s but this time I led them. We swept into Casa Bonita and unloaded the eggs so fast that only three of the Jerry's fighters had time to take off. Later our Intelligence reported that 128 Axis planes had been destroyed, sitting like ducks, in their tracks. � � |
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� � When we got word that the Germans' field headquarters were in Kiabli, a crossroads in a farming area in Tunisia, I was assigned to lead a flight to strafe them. We buzzed over the treetops, but I couldn't see a German. I couldn't see a thing that looked like a GHQ either and figured that our intelligence had slipped up. � � One of our Flying Fortresses had been forced to land nearby and was lying in some among some trees. The next day it was skip-bombed by P-38s. A lot of Jerries came running out, but we never found out whether that was their General Headquarters. � � After Rommel evacuated Tripoli, our squadron strafed his communications. The strategy is to swoop in figure eights over the line of trucks or railroad trains or bridges and let them have it -- bombs, canon and machine-gun fire. You never come strafing down the road, as most people think. At least you don't do it more than once, because their ack-ack will cut your plane in two the first time you try it. But, with these low level swoops, we turned in plenty of havoc, blowing up trucks and locomotives. � � The bombing missions with the Fortresses were high-level. They assigned six to twelve Lightnings at first to a squadron of twenty B-17s. Our job was to fly above the Fortresses. � � As the Jerry tried to get set to dive on the bombers,we stayed in position to dive on them. As long as they let the bombers alone, we let them alone. They would send a couple of Messerschmitts down to make passes without shooting. We stayed in our places unless they actually attacked the bombers. That's how businesslike the deal was. � � It took plenty of nerve for the Jerries to close in. The bombers were in formation so that no matter from which angle the Messerscmitts attacked, at least nine Fortress' guns were on the attacker. In addition, our Lightnings were hitting them with all we had. Instead of dogfights that the movies picture as air battles, we dived, got in our burst, zoomed up for position, then dived again. We had the speed and power above 30,000 to do that. � � About the time we broke formation was when a Fortress was hit by ack-ack or fire from a Jerry, and fell behind and below the flight. The Jerries were alwyas waiting like buzzards for this to happen. Then it was our task to hover over the injured bomber and fight off attackers while it limoed home. � � I was over Cagaliari, in Sardinia one day protecting a bomber after a battle. He was limping along at about 150 miles an hour. Two Me-109s came in above me. I climbed, trying to get up with them. They stayed on my tail. The other members of our squadron were spread out all over the sky after a battle. � � The Jerries and I went around in a circle at 15,000 feet. I couldn't gain on them; they couldn't gain on me. I called in on my phone, I've got two Me-109s that need some help." Lt. Murdock heard me and swooped in. One Jerry got wise and went home. Murdock got the other one in his sights and gave him a squirt. The Jerry went down in a long streamer of black smoke. � � Over Tunis and Bizerte, these bombiming missions were low-level operations. We could carry bombs under the wings and still have enough gas to fight and get home. In one, I was flight leader of twelve Lightnings protecting two dozen Fortresses. � � We had reached our objective, bombed railroad yards, and were headed back. I had almost twisted my neck off looking around and up for Jerries. They're always trying to sneek in from the rear. � � Just as the bombers warned us by radio, I saw a bunch of Me-109s behind us. I called my planes on the radio, then made a fifteen-degree bank. I could see the pilot in the Lightning to my left eating a chocolate bar. You get as hungry as a horse on these long flights. I guess he didn't hear me, because the next time I looked he wasn't there. The Jerry shot him down. Then they must have thought he was such easy meat that they could take on the rest of us. � � We fought for seventy-five miles, going round and round in a circle about fifty feet off the ground -- eleven P-38s and fifteen Me-109s. |
Jack Ilfrey looking for "Rick's Place" near Casablanca.
(Courtesy of Jack Ilfrey)
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