Assigned to 362FS, 357FG, 8AF USAAF. Credited 1 x kill. Failed to Return (FTR) bomber escort to Derben in P-51D 'Chi Lassie' 44-15527, shot down by Fw190 after engaging enemy aircraft, unwittingly, without his wingman - who had blacked out in the pull-out from the bounce, crashed near Gust on 14-Jan-45. Prisoner of War (POW).



MACR 11871.



" I dove on him [Fw190] and almost outsmarted myself. My speed was so great that only a completely closed throttle and full flaps kept me from passing him and becoming the hunted rather than the hunter. My speed equaled his just as I came abreast. We looked at each other briefly, then my plane rapidly lost speed. I kicked right rudder, slid behind him and pressed the trigger. The German plane began to disintegrate, the pilot ejected and somersaulted over me, just missing my prop and canopy." - 24-Dec-44



"Several hours have passed since rendezvous and we're approaching the target at about 30,000 feet. Berlin is easily discernible by the heavy flak smoke at our

altitude. Suddenly, a maze of German pursuit planes come screaming down on us from above. The sky is filled with airplanes. B-17s begin bursting into flame, trail smoke and spin like toys as parachutes pop open. I jettison my wing tanks and take a bead on an enemy fighter. A fellow P-51 drifts across my bow at a 30-degree angle in slow motion, so close I still don't know why I didn't tear its tail off with my propeller. I'm completely distracted and lose sight of my quarry.

I bank left and look behind. There's a plane on my tail but it isn't my wingman. It has a large radial engine and is identifiable as a FW-190. What happened to my wingman who was supposed to cover my tail? To this day I have no idea.

Now I turn to the left. Left rudder, left stick, more throttle. I've got to out-turn him. I see his cannon bursts but he can't lead me enough. I wonder what I'm doing here; a person could get killed. Why did I ever want to be a pilot? I'm only 20 years old and should be home, going to school and returning in the evening to my parents' comfortable home.

I pull into a tighter turn, feeling so many G’s that I can hardly turn my head. Then the stick goes limp. I'm spinning-- but you never, never spin a P-51 because it might not come out. My primary training instinctively takes over. I kick the right rudder hard. The plane stops spinning and I pop the stick forward. I'm flying again at 20,000 feet.

This time I turn to the right and look behind. The SOB is still there. He followed me through a spin and 10,000 feet! It can't be! These German pilots are supposed to be under trained, wet behind the ears kids.

Some scenario. Tighter and tighter to the right. More cannon bursts. Another spin, coming out at 10,000 feet. He's still there. Well, if I can't out-turn him, surely I can out-run him. I shudder at the thought of one of those cannon shells tearing through my plane. In fact, I'm nearly paralyzed with fear.

I point the plane at an approximate 10 degree angle toward the ground and open the throttle. It's working; he's falling behind, out of range. Now I'm at treetop level just west of Berlin passing over the Elbe River. My engine sputters, intermittently spewing white clouds. I cut back on the throttle and lean the mixture, but the sputtering gets worse. Suddenly the engine goes dead, streaming two contrail-like bands from each side. Hurriedly I try the starting procedure several times, to no avail. I'm directly over a dense forest. No place to land. Pull up and bail out. But I'm now going less than 200 mph. Not enough speed to pull up to altitude that will give my chute time to open. Look for someplace to put this baby down dead stick. Dead stick! It was my worst thing in basic training. Without power I would have killed myself every time.

There 20 degrees to the left is an open field running parallel to a railroad track. I'm barely flying so don't turn too sharply. The stick feels mushy. Easy, easy! I'm lined up, 50 feet above ground, wheels up. Then, right in front of me are high tension wires. I close my eyes and pull back on the stick. Somehow I bounce over the wires and hit the ground with a thud. It's a frozen plowed field and my plane skids along like a sled. Up ahead is a line of trees and I'm zooming toward them with no way to stop. But I do stop 50 feet short.

Open the canopy. Nobody around. I hear the clickety-clack of a diesel engine. Look behind. There's that 190 coming right at me. Get out of this plane and get behind one of those trees! I get tangled in the straps so I crouch down behind the armor plate in back of my seat. The 190 doesn't strafe and passes overhead. Now, with him in full sight, I disentangle myself, get out of the plane and run for the trees." - 14-Jan-44



Awards: AM (4OLC), POW, WWII Victory, EAME (1 x battle star).