THE AMERICAN PILOT

World War II -European Theater - Winter of 1945 and an American pilot from the 367th Fighter Group trims his P-38 for maximum rate of climb to get to altitude as quickly as possible so that he might catch up with his squadron that had departed fifteen minutes before.
An experienced combat pilot and a rancher from Texas, he’s frustrated at having taken off late due to his left main gear getting stuck in the English mud. Damn English mud is worst than the mud around Lubbock, he thinks. He reaches cruise altitude over France and settles down for a lengthy flight. Out of habit he starts rubbernecking to search for enemy aircraft knowing it’s probably too soon to encounter anything but he knows by experience it can happen when you least expect it. A quick check of the instruments and his thoughts drift back to the heated argument that occurred earlier at breakfast amongst the squadron pilots concerning the dog fighting merits of the P-38 versus Germany’s first jet fighter, the ME 262. Most of the brave talk about how the P-38 would kick hell out of the 262 was mostly that, brave talk. The American pilot knew there was a very real reason to be concerned about surviving an encounter with Hitler’s newest weapon. Even the “jet,” as it was called was a virtual unknown in aerial combat, any experienced combat pilot knew its superior two hundred knot speed would place any propeller fighter at a distinct disadvantage. He knew the P-38 had its strong points and he had exploited them in combat having done well with six German kills painted on the side of his aircraft. In spite of the fact that the P-38 didn’t have as many superior combat traits as the P-51, he knew he was a good pilot.

The only knowledge he had concerning the 262's ability was a buddy who related an encounter he’d had with a 262 earlier in the week. While visiting his friend at his adjacent P-51 base, the two pilots drank beers at the club and he listened closely while his friend talked about the dogfight. His Mustang buddy related how a few days ago he had been jumped by the new jet fighter while he was escorting B-17's back from a mission to Berlin. He said “one minute the sky was clear and the next this big weird ass thing with no propeller is behind me firing at me. I rolled inverted and headed for the deck, looked back and he hadn’t moved so I did all my other legendary moves and that damn jet just hung back there like he was a part of my airplane. I started getting kinda concerned because I know I’m good but nothing I was doing seemed to do any good. By this time I’m taking hits all over, the wings are torn up and the plane is shuddering but still controllable, so I looked back and he looks like he’s lining up for the kill shot,” The American pilot remembered how at this point of his friends story he was aware he was he was holding his breath. “What happened next”, he asked his friend who appeared badly shaken as he had trouble lighting his cigarette.

page 1