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About fifteen years ago when I was flying in northwestern Ontario I had an interesting chat with an old guy one Sunday morning. He was on his way out to a fishing lodge but that morning everybody was tied to the dock waiting for the weather to lift and the fog to burn off, so this gentleman and I sat in the office and drank coffee for a couple of hours.
He had been a B-17 pilot in Europe, and as his tour was coming to an end and the war was winding down he was starting to actually think about getting home in one piece. Then one afternoon this major came around looking for short timers interested in signing up for another tour, and he approached this fellow (Jim Thomas, I believe his name was). He asked him if he was interested and after thinking about it for a minute he said he was - IF he could fly fighters instead, and the deal was done.
His tour ended, he did a week in London he said, and then off to an OTU for a Mustang checkout. (No gunnery training at all, he said!) Then, on his very first mission (Berlin) and as the CO's wingman, they taxied out for takeoff. The weather was just lousy he told me, maybe a half mile of vis and solid overcast. The CO nods his head and off they go down the runway, airborne and into the clag. Flying as a wingman he said all he did was stay glued to the boss's wingtip, but he looked down just for a second to adjust something and when he looked back up...the Mustang was gone! He said he made a RAPID transition to flying instruments and stayed in the climb, chewing himself out for being so stupid as to lose his leader on his very first trip, but also very grateful for the great deal of instrument flying experience that he'd gained in the Fort. He told me that he climbed and climbed and climbed, without a break or a layer or anything, and then finally got on top of the weather at about thirty thousand feet, his Mustang breaking into the sunshine - but ALL ALONE!
What to do! Turn back? Go to Berlin by himself? He said he felt like the world's dumbest excuse for a pilot; "First trip, lost my leader, all alone, not even a real fighter pilot...stupid, stupid..."
There was a Mustang in front of him! And then "pop" up came another one to his left. And there's another over on his right. Then another. There's another one over there!
I guess out of the whole formation, only two guys came up together! Everybody else got seperated just like him. Eventually they all got back in formation, went to the rendezvous, couldn't find the bombers, went to Germany anyway, didn't see anyone over there either and then went home. The bombers apparently cancelled the trip and nobody went flying that day except them - not even the Germans.
He was a real nice guy, and it was a real privilege to hear the story first hand like that. He asked me if I'd ever flown a Mustang (I guess he didn't know what they were worth by then!) When I said "No, but I'd like to" he looked at me and smiled and said "Great machine, fast, agile, long range...but quite likely one of the world's worst instrument airplanes!"
Tailwinds,
Dan
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