David C. Wilhelm wrote
Fly Boy, an account of his experiences as an Ace fighter pilot during World War II. His service in the Army Air Corps took him from Morocco and Algeria to combat missions over Europe. Here are some excerpts from his book:
Training for WarI had no idea of what was ahead. I made no analysis of the wisdom of the war or what was in store for me. Just like most all-young men, I just wanted to join the fighting forces. In particular, I wanted to join the Air Force and be a fighter pilot. ... I thought to tackle the challenge of flying was the correct choice for me for many reasons. First, I was cocky enough to think I could take care of myself rather than someone else doing the caring. In a one-place fighter plane (not to be confused with a bomber), it was the responsibility of the pilot to be an effective combatant who depended upon his own skill, talent, and luck to survive. In the single seater fighter plane you were pilot, navigator, gunnery officer, and strategist. In combat, if you had an enemy aircraft on your tail ready to shoot you down, it was you or him. No one else was there to hold your hand. It was up to you all by your own little lonesome. ...
Also I chose the Air Corps simply because of the glamour and thrill of flying. ... Having your own personal airplane, the thrill of soaring through clouds and blue skies, the thrill of power in that bird, and the challenge of individual combat against a personal enemy – all were unique in the job as a fighter pilot.
Of course a consideration was that the living facilities and food were without questions more desirable and comfortable than being a "grunt" in the Infantry or Field Artillery. We almost always had shelter, whether a bombed out building or tent, rather than living in a muddy or wet foxhole. Lastly, my interest in flying was born as a result of some early exposures to airplanes. ...
Primary Training: Arcadia, FloridaLast Saturday I'd been up nine hours and was shooting landings when all of a sudden we taxied over to the center of the field and out steps Mr. Glenn, the instructor, who says, "It's all yours." Then, "Take her around once, go around a couple more times if I signal to you." Well, off you taxi to the end of the field, feeling very much as if you are all on your own for the first time. For the past few times up you've wanted to solo a hell of a lot but you know right well that it is nice to have someone around to coach you. Well, cautiously you start that throttle, being sure that you keep that plane straight as you start roling, then give her full throttle and then in a second off you zoom and all of a sudden you realize that you're all by your self and that you're actually flying the contraption. You start off on the field feeling a little uncertain but the second you get ten feet off the ground you've already got that confidence. What a feeling it is!
Spitfires over ItalyDuring the occupation of the Anzio beachhead, we had considerable action. Many of the pilots of the 309th got their first confirmed kills, whereas, even though I got some "Damages," I did not get a "Confirmed." I had various skirmishes but I did not finish the job. However, I did have some experiences that were exciting.
April 7, 1944This morning's initial flying en masse found situation completely mixed up in the formation [of P-51s], and the morning almost realized disaster for me. Something went wrong with my oxygen system, and out I went a couple of times + was lucky that I got down safely. When we got to 25,000 feet, I noticed I was getting hazy, fooled with the O2, but couldn't fix it adequately. We made one turn, I went out, but came back quite soon. After we fired our guns in, we made a turn, + as we flew out I went again. I can faintly remember trying to find the formation with my wingman asking what in hell I was doing. It is the most pitiful feeling, for I'd try to do something, but just couldn't get myself to figure out how to do it. I came down, tried to land at 10,000 (instead of 1,000 ft), finally landed almost without realizing a thing. After I'd stopped + parked, I was still punchy, fatigued, + in a helpless quandary. Well, I figured I was lucky for it takes only twenty some seconds without oxygen at 30,00 to kill you, & fortunately enough oxygen was getting to me from time to time to revive me. Mustangs over EuropeThe first 7 days after we began flying the Mustang (April 16, 1944) in combat, out of 25 pilots, we lost 12 to enemy action, almost 50% of the pilots of our Squadron. The somber looks of us pilots became more somber as the week progressed. It was incumbent that as flight, squadron, or group leaders we had to keep a "stiff upper lip" to keep the spirit and confidence at as high a level as possible. The impending danger was being felt by all of us. I don't think anyone shirked his duty, but things were pretty serious now. Every evening on the return from a mission, those of us who had not flown that day took a count of those missing. ...
A tragic day was when our great good friend Howard Baetjer was shot down. He was flying in my squadron and flight when he broke off and left the formation. After a short while, I spotted him coming out of a cloud above and to my right. I told him to form on the right of my flight (4 planes) when immediately not far in front, he spotted a ME-109 and went after him, even though I had said stay in formation. Unfortunatley the decoy had some buddies above who immediately bounced on him and apparently disabled his plane. I thought for sure he was killed since I saw no chute, but of course we were ourselves fighting other Germans so I could see little. Apparently he did parachute and as he hit the ground, a group of farmers started to pounce on him to destroy him. The Austrians were very unhappy about the Americans bombing their cities and wanted retribution. Quickly a command car filled with the Weimar soldiers jumped from their command car and riddled the farmers with their guns, captured Howard, and sent him to Stalag Luffte prison camp, where he spent the rest of the war. Quite an experience! Howard was a great fellow and we all loved him. Lots of fun, musical, great sense of humor, enthusiastic, opimistic, dreamer. Unfortunately, his biggest dream was shooting own some enemy planes. He struck out there. Our group of four (Fax, Murray, Beat, and myself) was not the same after Beat departed. ...
There were times that fatigue about made me want to throw in the towel. Death of close comrades became usual, so I would steel myself to face that reality with unemotional feelings. You just couldn't mope because you had to go out the next day yourself. I know deep down you were always aware that that particular flight might be your last one, but you denied admitting that feeling. I had become a matured boy of 25 years by the year 1944 when my second tour of duty ended.
Finally, Murray and I decided we would quit. We had seen the tide turn from an aggressive enemy well equipped with airplanes and good pilots until the end of 1944 when air opposition had declined. ... I had an unforgettable experience flying combat missions and having friends like Fax, Murray, Baetj, George Loving, Dalton Smith, Ed Lyman and others. We sailed from Naples September 1, 1944. Entering New York after 5 days brought tears of relief and joy to me and many others.
