January 7, 1945, found most of the 3rd ACG’s ground personnel and members of the liaison squadrons lining the runway at Tanauan. The Mustangs of the group’s 3rd Fighter Squadron were scheduled to arrive that day, and all were eagerly anticipating the moment. Their expectations were met in “spectacular” fashion, as the V Fighter Command history stated later.1 When the sixteen P-51Ds arrived over Tanauan following the long flight from Biak Island in New Guinea, they were grouped in a tight “show” formation. They then broke into flights of four and buzzed the airstrip before making sharp breaks into the landing pattern. The tower officer had obviously never seen such airmanship, for he began yelling over the radio, “Zebras! Zebras! You are landing too close! Pull up and go around!”2
Mahurin, who was leading his men, calmly radioed the panicky tower officer, “Leave the Zebras alone, Tower. These pilots have been flying like this for a long time. They know what they are doing!”3 The fighters landed two at a time, one on each side of the runway, and all sixteen fighters were on the ground in less than three minutes. To the Air Commandos this technique was old hat; they had been practicing it for months. To the Fifth Air Force, however, it was something new, but it did not take long for the other fighter groups to adopt the technique. They also began taking off in pairs, a procedure that shortened the time needed for rendezvous and added to time use over the target.
The arrival of his fighters was bittersweet to Olson. He was delighted that his group could now take an active part in the war, but his happiness was tinged with sorrow because just four days earlier he had lost a friend from his days with the 1st ACG. Grant Mahony had returned to the United States from Burma in late May 1944 as a lieutenant colonel. Like Mahurin, Mahony was a fighter. Driven by a deep hatred for the Japanese, he could not stand being out of combat. After numerous entreaties to return to combat, he was finally assigned to the 8th Fighter Group as a staff officer in group headquarters. He joined the group at Noemfoor Island in Indonesia in November and soon after began flying missions in P-38s as often as he could. In late December the group moved to Mindoro in the Philippines, where it quickly saw heavy action.
On January 3, 1945, Mahony joined 1st Lt. George Lynch on a strafing mission to Puerta Princesa on the island of Palawan. The pair spotted a floatplane in the bay near the airfield. Lynch warned Mahony that it could be a flak trap, but Mahony decided to attack anyway. It was a trap. Lynch saw flashes on the ground and red balls of tracer fire arcing into the air. Although he silenced some of this fire with strafing, it was too late. Mahony’s P-38 was hit, went straight in, and exploded. At the time of his death Mahony was only 26 years old.4
Meanwhile, the 3rd Fighter Squadron’s Mustangs had hardly been parked when orders were received for their first missions the following day. Eight fighters were sent to bomb and strafe the enemy airfields at Surigao and Del Monte on Mindanao, while the remainder of the squadron flew patrol missions. The mission on the morning of the January 8 was uneventful, but a return visit in the afternoon by eight Mustangs proved disastrous. Although the Japanese airfields were put out of action temporarily and two enemy planes were destroyed on the ground, when 1st Lt. Earl J. Thibodeau and 2nd Lt. William T. Tudor pulled up from their strafing runs, they collided and crashed. It happened so quickly that neither man could escape from their tumbling aircraft. It had been Thibodeau’s first combat mission, but Tudor had already chalked up fifty missions in the Mediterranean. The flight back to Tanauan was considerably more subdued than the flight out had been.5
For the next couple of weeks the 3rd Fighter Squadron, joined by the 4th Fighter Squadron on January 16, kept busy with missions all over the Philippines. Poor weather hampered operations at times, but the two squadrons remained active. Also quite busy were the 318th TCS’s C-47s, as they flew sorely needed supplies in from Nadzab to Tanauan. Much of the 3rd ACG’s supplies had disappeared somewhere in transit, and it was mainly the efforts of the 318th that kept the Air Commandos operating.
By January 10 the transport unit completed its own movement to Leyte. Its stay there was short, though, because orders were received five days later for the 318th to move to Mindoro, which had been assaulted on December 15. Kamikaze attacks on the invasion convoys and regular aerial attacks on the beachhead, though inflicting damage, were unavailing, and Mindoro rapidly became an important air garrison in support of MacArthur’s upcoming invasion of Luzon. The 318th flew supply missions from Mindoro not only for the 3rd ACG, but for many other Fifth Air Force units.
The stay at Mindoro also saw the 318th lose its first plane. A C-47 crashed on takeoff on January 21, killing two men on the ground when it cartwheeled into the tent in which they were sleeping. All aboard the transport—a crew of four and fifteen enlisted men from the 343rd ADS—survived despite being singed and bruised. It was believed the copilot, who was inexperienced, lost control of his heavily laden aircraft.6
The pace of operations from Mindoro was heavy, placing an even greater strain on the pilots, who had each been flying well over one hundred hours per month. This stress was reduced considerably when the squadron’s glider pilots began to fly as copilots. The tale of the 318th’s glider pilots was a sad one. Although the squadron had a glider section, it never received its own gliders, thus the glidermen were unemployed. Only during a short period in January and February, when they were used as copilots, did they feel like they were useful, but when more C-47 crews arrived, they went back to being jobless. It was pretty much the same situation for the glider mechanics. Too often they were used for menial tasks far below their training. The 318th’s historian stated their situation bluntly:
From the very first day in the Glider Program they have been showered with promises and better things to come, but with each new promise they were shifted to another pool or school for someone else to keep. They have been through the worst camps in the United States, lived in tents kept warm by their own efforts, while others lived in barracks, they have had their pride dented a hundred times but nowhere in the Army where men are segregated into units, can there be found a group with the sense of humor and willingness to put forth superior effort as these men.
Then overseas, the realization of all their work, but still they were on the outside as usual sitting, waiting to do their job with no encouragement from any quarters. The Army has failed them, efficient, capable Officers and Enlisted Men doing nothing.7
Unfortunately, several more months elapsed before the glider pilots and mechanics finally received duties that utilized their abilities.
Leyte and Mindoro were just preludes to the main attack on Luzon. That island had been MacArthur’s primary focus for some time. It was the enemy’s main bastion in the Philippines, and even though many Japanese troops had been shunted off to Leyte, where most died, approximately 275,000 troops of General Yamashita Tomoyuki’s Fourteenth Area Army were still on Luzon. Three major Japanese forces were emplaced from Manila northward: The 80,000-man Shimbu Group covered the Manila area; 30,000 men of the Kembu Group, of which about half were sailors, defended the Bataan Peninsula and the Clark Field complex northwest of Manila; and approximately 152,000 soldiers of the Shobu Group were under Yamashita’s direct command. This latter group was nearest to MacArthur’s planned landing beaches, and it controlled operations north of Manila and up through the fertile Cagayan Valley.
On January 9 two U.S. corps landed on the shores of Lingayen Gulf, just a few miles south of where the Japanese had landed on December 22, 1941. From Lingayen, the two U.S. corps were to drive south to Manila while maintaining a strong defensive line to the north. Within a week of the landings, a firm beachhead almost thirty miles deep and thirty miles wide was established. Two major airfields plus smaller liaison strips sprang up inside the beachhead. An old Japanese strip on the shore of the gulf became the site of Lingayen Airdrome. Drainage was poor at this place, and rains could render its surface unusable. To check erosion, the strip was covered with palm fronds and bamboo mats overlaid with pierced steel planking. Lingayen became the home for several fighter and reconnaissance squadrons.
A second strip was begun near Dagupan, but the ground there proved unsuitable for airfield construction, so another site near Mangaldan was chosen. The area picked for the airfield was in the middle of rice paddies, and the water table was very high. Aviation engineers bulldozed the tops off the paddies and filled in low spots until a reasonably level surface of compacted earth formed a single 7,500-foot runway. The sun baked the earth until it was almost as hard as concrete, but the high water table and heavy rains often combined to shut down operations at the field. Until better airfields were seized near Manila, Mangaldan remained a primary airfield, with several groups and squadrons, including the Air Commandos, based there.8
In the meantime about the only units of the 3rd ACG that remained concerned about their role in the fighting were the liaison squadrons. They had yet to receive their planes, but this did not mean they were idle. The pilots continued to help the 25th LS with missions and the 343rd ADS kept Mitchell Field in tiptop shape in expectation of the arrival of their planes. Their planes would finally arrive just in time to move to Luzon.9
Spectacular results were obtained by the 3rd Fighter Squadron on January 13 during a reconnaissance of southeast Luzon. The pilots discovered a concentration of enemy troops and vehicles attempting to cross a river using a cable-drawn ferry. Repeated strafing runs destroyed the ferry and caused several trucks to blow up with tremendous force, leveling a village at the ferry site. The Mustangs then continued moving up and down the road while firing at any truck that could be seen. When the strafing runs were over, an estimated twelve to fifteen trucks had been destroyed, and an undetermined number had been damaged. To cap off this successful mission, a Zeke was found in a revetment at Bulan and destroyed.10
Further sweeps followed the next morning. Ten Mustangs led by Mahurin escorted B-25s in a strike on the town of Aparri. After the town was plastered by the B-25s, the P-51s came down to strafe the neighboring airfield. A Tony, a Betty, a Ki-45 Nick, and one other unidentified aircraft were destroyed by the strafing, and a pair of camouflaged luggers hidden in a nearby cove also received a .50-caliber treatment. As the P-51s returned south down the verdant Cagayan Valley, a pair of twin-engine enemy planes were spotted heading north. They were flying about five thousand feet below the Americans and evidently had not seen the Mustangs. Capt. Charles B. Adams, the operations officer for the 3rd Fighter Squadron, and his wingman dove on the nearest plane, a Sally. The enemy pilot took no evasive action other than increasing his speed as Adams closed to almost pointblank range. Adams’ six .50-calibers made quick work of the bomber, which crashed into the hills. Meanwhile, Mahurin went after the second plane, a Dinah.
The Dinah was one of the JAAF’s premier reconnaissance aircraft. Sleek and elegant looking, it was very fast but not fast enough that day. When the enemy pilot saw the fate of his friend, he immediately reversed course and poured the coal to his aircraft. Mahurin dropped his wing tanks so he could go faster, but it took ten minutes for him to get close enough to begin firing. A few short bursts were all that were needed. Its pilot probably dead, the Dinah rolled slowly onto its back and crashed.11
For the next couple of weeks both of the 3rd ACG’s fighter squadrons kept busy strafing and bombing locomotives and rolling stock, trucks, and other vehicles. They generally made themselves extremely dangerous nuisances to the Japanese. Four 3rd Fighter Squadron fighters found lucrative targets on January 16 when they attacked the Clark Field complex. Clark had been the USAAF’s major installation in the Philippines prior to the war, and it had remained the primary air base for the Japanese. That afternoon the four Air Commando fliers discovered a fighter pilot’s dream, a group of unsuspecting enemy aircraft caught on the ground. At Angeles South, located a few miles southeast of the main Clark complex, a quartet of Ki-44 Tojos were lined up at the end of the runway with their propellers ticking over slowly. Their pilots were apparently concentrating on checking their engine magnetos prior to takeoff.
First Lt. Glenn E. Larimore toggled off a 500-pound bomb that struck one of the Tojos squarely. The blast set off an explosion in an adjacent fighter, which, in turn, set the remaining two planes aflame. Five more enemy fighters were destroyed, and three more were damaged before the Air Commandos were through. None of the American planes received a scratch.12
The same day, other 3rd Fighter Squadron fighters conducted a barge sweep of Iloilo Bay on Negros Island. No barges were found, but several aircraft were discovered camouflaged on an airstrip. Adams burned one of these, but enemy 20-mm antiaircraft fire holed his plane and he had to bail out over the sea. Under the watchful eyes of his comrades, friendly natives rescued Adams and took him to a nearby island. An OA-10A, the USAAF’s version of the Navy’s PBY-3 Catalina seaplane, picked up Adams the following day and returned him to Leyte.13
With their numbers dwindling, the Japanese resorted to hiding their remaining aircraft, and few enemy planes were caught in the open. One unlucky victim, however, was found by 3rd ACG Capt. Ray Lahmeyer on the 18th as he made a late afternoon sweep of Del Monte airfield on Mindanao. The Japanese had been making things uncomfortable for the men on Leyte with nocturnal nuisance raids, and the 4th Fighter Squadron was directed to end “Washing Machine Charlie’s” harassment. The sun was on the horizon, and dusk was beginning to creep across the land when Lahmeyer and his wingman reached Del Monte. A flickering caught Lahmeyer’s eye as he neared the field. An airplane, he thought, but then he noticed puddles of water on the ground and decided he had just seen reflections from the puddles.
The flickering continued, however, and then Lahmeyer spotted a Betty with its engines running. Light from the dying sun was hitting the bomber’s propellers and causing the pulsation that had caught Lahmeyer’s attention. Racking his fighter around in a tight turn, Lahmeyer made a run on the Betty. He could see several Japanese running away from the plane as his .50-caliber shells walked up to and through it. There was a flash, and the bomber exploded. Washing Machine Charlie made no further flights over Leyte.14
The 3rd ACG’s stay on Leyte turned out to be rather short. On the same day as Lahmeyer’s victory, the Air Commandos found themselves on the move again. This time, their destination was Luzon. Most of the ground personnel and a few pilots of the three liaison squadrons and all of the members of the 341st ADS, plus those men’s and units’ vehicles, baggage, and supplies, loaded onto LST 919 for the trip to Lingayen Gulf. LSTs were not nicknamed “large, slow targets” for no reason. It was a long way from Leyte to Luzon, and the trip seemed to take forever.
Not until around midnight of January 30 did LST 919 beach near San Fabian on the northern edge of the landing beaches. The Air Commandos unloaded the following morning and proceeded by convoy to Calasiao, where a light plane field was in use by the artillery spotters of the 168th Field Artillery Group. It was nicknamed “Stinson Field,” after the L-5’s original manufacturer. Two strips, a northern one and a southern one, running generally north–south, made up Stinson Field. The 3rd ACG’s liaison squadrons were split between the two strips. After enduring the rain and relatively primitive living conditions on Leyte, the men were overjoyed to see paved roads, railroad tracks, and what seemed to be a higher standard of living enjoyed by the Luzon residents.15
As LST 919 meandered toward Lingayen Gulf, the remaining 3rd ACG liaison pilots and some ground personnel were assembling new L-5Bs that were just arriving at Leyte. Also remaining behind temporarily were the fighter squadrons, which continued flying missions until they, too, pulled up roots to move to Luzon. Sadly, these final missions out of Leyte were not without cost. During a fighter sweep of Mindanao on January 20, 2nd Lt. William N. Isgrigg pressed his attack on a truck too low and snagged a tree. His plane cartwheeled and exploded, killing Isgrigg instantly.16
The 3rd Fighter Squadron’s final mission from Tanauan was impressive. Baguio, in the hills northeast of Lingayen Gulf, had been the prewar summer capital of the Filipino government. It was noted for its cooling breezes and relative lack of humidity, and it was considered a delightful spot to escape to when the summer heat became too oppressive in Manila. The Americans also esteemed Baguio and had established Camp John Hay there early in the century. Now another army occupied the area, and it had become General Yamashita’s Fourteenth Area Army headquarters.
Sixteen ACG Mustangs, each carrying two 1,000-lb. bombs, followed B-24s of the 22nd Bombardment Group in attacking Yamashita’s headquarters on January 23. Shortly after the Liberators pulled off the target, the P-51s darted in to dive-bomb Camp John Hay. Their bombs were right on target, with direct hits being scored on the administration building, the message center, the quartermaster stores, a barracks, and the “luxurious” staff officers quarters.17
Following this mission, the 3rd Fighter Squadron’s aircraft returned to Tanauan, refueled, then flew to their new base at Mangaldan, which had received the code name “Honey Strip.” Three days later, the 4th Fighter Squadron also moved to the new field. The 318th TCS, which the Fifth Air Force had also directed to move to Luzon, was not far behind. By February 18 the entire transport squadron and its accompanying ADS had settled in at Mangaldan. The liaison squadrons soon followed.
After slow-timing the newly arrived L-5Bs and installing bomb shackles for the carrying and dropping of supplies, the small planes were ready for the move to Luzon. One further addition had to be made before the flight. Auxiliary gas tanks were installed in the rear of the cockpit to give the L-5s greater range and to provide some fuel reserve in case of bad weather. On February 6, Kalberer led twenty-eight aircraft of the 159th LS from Tanauan for Calasiao via Mindoro. A pair of Marine F4U Corsairs and a Navy Catalina provided the navigation and fighter escort for the trip, which was uneventful. The 159th was joined presently by the other two 3rd ACG liaison squadrons, which followed the same route.
The pilots and ground crews of the liaison squadrons and their ADS had little time for rest following their arrival. They flew courier missions the day after landing at Calasiao, and they began evacuating wounded from forward strips a few days later. The pace was intense; in just a day’s work, one pilot could log almost eight hours of flying time and thirty-seven landings while evacuating 17 patients and delivering 840 pounds of supplies. In its first three weeks of operations from Luzon, the 159th LS, for example, evacuated 1,553 patients, flew seventy supply missions, and delivered 14,650 pounds of supplies. The other two liaison squadrons recorded similar figures.
The importance of the liaison squadrons was also underscored by the fact that one of the 159th’s pilots, 2nd Lt. Volie A. Williams, along with Cpl. Paul E. Richards as crew chief, was attached to the Sixth Army to serve as personal pilot to the army’s commander, Lt. Gen. Walter Krueger.18
The 3rd ACG had hardly settled in before its services were being coveted by units elsewhere. In early February Maj. Gen. Ennis Whitehead, the Fifth Air Force commander, wrote General Kenney about Kenney’s staff requesting that the Air Commandos and another fighter squadron be sent south for use in the Mindanao campaign, which started on March 10. Whitehead opposed this idea strongly. He mentioned in his letter that the P-51 was the longest-ranged fighter in the Fifth Air Force and that it was needed for use against Formosa. The “very highly trained” Air Commandos would be invaluable against Formosa, he noted.
Whitehead also pointed out that although Kenney’s staff seemingly believed that the 3rd ACG, because of its organic transport squadron, could be moved more easily by air than a standard fighter group, this was not the case. He stated that it would require nearly three hundred plane loads just to move the Air Commando fighter squadrons. Instead of using the Air Commandos, Whitehead thought that the short-legged SBDs of the Marines, which were also at Mangaldan, and Marine Corsairs would be a better choice for the Mindanao campaign. The Fifth Air Force leader’s letter apparently had an effect, for the Air Commandos did not move, and the Marines were sent south.19
While the Air Commandos settled in at Mangaldan and Calasaio, the Sixth Army drove toward Manila. Despite heavy resistance in the Bamban area, about midway between Lingayen and Manila, Sixth Army soldiers captured Clark Field on January 26. As Krueger’s forced pushed south toward Manila, troops from Lt. Gen. Robert L. Eichhelberger’s Eighth Army made a combined amphibious–airborne assault south of Manila. Men of two of the 11th Airborne glider infantry regiments, the 188th and the 187th, landed without opposition at Nasugbu, southwest of Manila, on January 31.
On February 3 troopers of the division’s 511th Parachute Infantry Regiment dropped on Tagaytay Ridge, again with little opposition, and quickly joined up with the glidermen. From there, the 11th Airborne Division pressed northward toward Manila. The Japanese in Manila were caught between the pincers of the Sixth Army and the Eighth Army, but like so many of their countrymen in other battles, the men of the Shimbu Group fought tenaciously. Some escaped to the east, where they remained serious threats to the security of Manila. Those who stayed made the capture of Manila a hard, slogging, bloody struggle. MacArthur announced on February 5 that the assault phase of the Luzon campaign was completed, but it took another month of terrible house-to-house fighting before Manila was considered clear of the enemy. In the process, the “Pearl of the Orient” was virtually destroyed, and some 100,000 Filipino civilians were killed. Actually, the Luzon campaign itself was not termed officially over until midnight of June 30/July 1, and even then fighting continued for some weeks afterward.
Throughout this period the Air Commandos’ light planes were active in support of the Sixth Army. Because the 3rd ACG’s liaison squadrons were based several miles from the rest of the group at Mangaldan, Olson decided to restructure his group temporarily. A Light Plane Section composed of the three liaison squadrons and their ADS was established under the command of Kalberer, the group’s former executive officer. With “everyone on Luzon (wanting) our L-5s,” according Olson, this arrangement proved the most efficient way to meet all the requests for their services. About the same time, the other flying squadrons and their ADSs were also restructured into fighter and transport sections. Although Calasaio remained the liaison squadrons primary field, detachments numbering from two to seven aircraft were soon scattered all over Luzon, Mindoro, Panay, and Negros. These detachments usually had one or two pilots and a mechanic assigned per aircraft. Much of the work performed by these detachments involved the evacuation of wounded soldiers, courier flights, and supply missions.20
With such a heavy schedule of flights, it was not long before the liaison squadrons suffered losses. The first light plane lost in combat came from the 159th LS. SSgt. Donald P. McDonell was flying a courier mission on February 10 with an engineer officer in the back seat. As he flew over Nichols Field, southeast of Manila, enemy ground fire riddled his aircraft. Both of his plane’s wingtips were blown off, and McDonell suffered wounds to a knee and wrist. In spite of his painful injuries, McDonell coaxed his plane back to the recently captured Grace Park Field in Manila’s northern suburbs. McDonell recovered from his wounds, but his L-5 was declared a total loss.21
A much more serious loss was suffered by the 318th TCS four days later. Since their arrival on Luzon, the squadron’s C-47s had been flying constantly, carrying cargo and passengers, evacuating wounded, and making supply drops to ground forces. These latter drops became known as the “Biscuit Bomber” missions. Weather, turbulence, mountains that often surrounded the drop zones, and enemy ground fire made these flights very dangerous. First Lt. Thomas P. Snecker and his crew of five were dropping supplies to guerillas supporting the advance of the 1st Cavalry Division. The drop zone was near Antipolo, in the hills east of Manila.
There was some concern when the C-47 did not return to Mangaldan at its scheduled time, but aircraft could be delayed for all sorts of reasons. As the afternoon lengthened, however, it was apparent that something was wrong. Fighters were dispatched to search for the missing C-47, but weather precluded a systematic search. The next day, when the weather lifted, another search took off, and a sad discovery was made. The burned-out hulk of a C-47 was spotted lying on the side of a mountain. Guerillas in the area radioed that no one on the plane had survived. About all that could be found in the charred wreckage were ID bracelets and dog tags.
Yes, biscuit bombing was a dangerous undertaking, but the pilots and crews knew that. They also knew that it was absolutely necessary if the Allied infantrymen were going to prevail over the stubborn enemy.22
For the fighter pilots, the move to Mangaldan meant new tasks and new hunting grounds. Much of their time would be spent flying close support missions for infantrymen. Manila had been the prize since the invasion of Luzon began, and, thus, the drive toward the capital had been on a rather narrow front. Both of the Sixth Army’s flanks were often hanging out in the open as the GIs fought south. The time would come soon enough when the Sixth Army turned back north to assault Yamashita’s stronghold, and the Air Commandos would help in that endeavor. But for the time being they were needed to protect the Sixth’s open flanks.
The 4th Fighter Squadron started this part of the Air Commando’s tasks on January 28, when they attacked possible enemy positions northeast of Manila. From then until even after the campaign was declared over, the 3rd ACG kept busy providing much-appreciated close air support to the infantry.23
Two more ground support missions were flown the following day. The late-morning mission by sixteen aircraft of the 4th Fighter Squadron produced excellent results. The Mustangs attacked several villages east of Plaridel that were thought to be harboring the enemy. Except for a couple of near misses, all of the 500-pounders dropped by the Air Commandos landed on target. One bomb hit on a school building produced a spectacular cloud of yellow-brown smoke that shot up over seven hundred feet. Group intelligence officers thought the color of the smoke indicated that chemicals of some sort had been stored in the school.24
The month of February opened with an unusual mission for the Air Commandos. A pair of enemy ships, identified as a Terutsuki-class destroyer and a destroyer escort, had been sighted heading south in the Luzon Strait between Formosa and Luzon. The 3rd ACG was directed to get them.
Twenty-two Mustangs gathered from both fighter squadrons were loaded with 500-pound bombs and took off in the afternoon. The planes found the ships just before 6:00 PM. In a wild melee the fighters scored two direct hits and five near misses on the larger vessel and two hits on the smaller one. Strafing runs added to the enemy sailors’ misery. Fires broke out on both ships, but the enemy’s damage control was good, and the fires were quickly extinguished.
When the P-51s left, the destroyer was proceeding slowly toward Luzon, while her escort raced ahead. It had not been a one-sided battle. The Japanese gunners were good, and they holed several of the attackers. Two fighters went down following the action, but both pilots were recovered. After the war, when checking enemy records, American intelligence officers discovered that the “destroyer” and “destroyer escort” were actually the landing ship T.115, which eventually sank, and the submarine chaser Ch 28, which escaped, though damaged.25
Meanwhile, the new hunting grounds for the group lay about 230 miles north of Luzon, on the island of Formosa. This enemy bastion was dotted with numerous airfields, and several harbors provided excellent anchorages for Japanese naval units and merchant vessels. There would be no close air support missions over Formosa. Instead, the 3rd ACG’s fighters flew fighter sweeps and antishipping strikes and escorted the bombers pounding away at the island. Formosa was no picnic. “The A/A over Formosa is the real McCoy,” the group historian stated. “The Japs on Formosa are no amateurs at using this as our planes encountered it every time they went there.”26 Four Air Commandos would be lost to the flak, and four more would be shot down but recovered. Yes, Formosa was a dangerous place.
February 7 was the day the Air Commandos first became acquainted with Formosa. That day the 3rd ACG’s two fighter squadrons escorted B-25s making a shipping strike off the island’s southwest coast. When no enemy planes put in an appearance, the Mustangs went after targets of opportunity. The bombers and fighters joined to destroy a small submarine in Takao Harbor and then damaged several merchant vessels.27 The Takao airfield was also visited by the Air Commandos. Of interest on the airfield were fifteen new Japanese fighters, possibly Ki-84 Franks, adorned with bright white noses. Several enemy aircraft were claimed damaged, and a number of vehicles were destroyed. Unfortunately, the mission also revealed that the enemy could hit back.28
As 2nd Lt. Clifford Huntington and 2nd Lt. Marvin Menter made their runs on the airfield, antiaircraft fire holed their planes. At first it appeared that Huntington’s Mustang had received the worst of it. A shell had burst directly under his seat, leaving a gaping hole underneath and disabling his landing gear. Menter, on the other hand, seemed to have suffered nothing more than minor damage to one wing. On the way back to the rendezvous point, however, Menter radioed Huntington that his oil pressure was dropping and that he was going to bail out. About seventeen miles offshore, Menter jumped and was seen climbing into his life raft. The water was very choppy, and by the time a Catalina could reach him, it was dark. A search the next morning did not turn up any trace of the young flier.29
Some retribution for Menter’s loss was attained by Lieutenant Curdes, of the 4th Squadron. Thirty miles from Formosa Curdes spotted a twin-engine Dinah at about his own altitude. The enemy pilot evidently saw the Americans at the same time, for he suddenly dove for the deck and went to full throttle. A tail chase ensued and lasted for several minutes before Curdes could open fire. A few bursts was all it took; the Dinah became a smear of flame coating the water.30
Planes from both of the 3rd ACG’s fighter squadrons were out the following day, again escorting B-25s to a shipping strike at Formosa. Poor weather, however, forced the cancellation of the mission, and all aircraft returned to Luzon to attack secondary targets. The twelve P-51s of the 4th Fighter Squadron strafed enemy installations on the Philippine island of Fuga on their way home, noting that the Japanese trenches looked like “spider webs” extending over the ground.
Meanwhile, some Mustangs of the 3rd Fighter Squadron ran across a Sally also heading for Luzon. A flight led by Lieutenant Lairmore had been late in getting off the ground and never joined the rest of the squadron. When the recall was broadcast Lairmore led his flight back toward home. Soon, the enemy bomber was sighted some distance ahead making a slow climb toward an overcast layer at about nine hundred feet. Dropping their wing tanks, Lairmore and his wingman slowly overtook the Sally. The pair boxed in the bomber, one on each side, and Lairmore made a 20-degree deflection shot from two hundred yards. His shells went completely through the Sally, shattering its cockpit and setting the opposite engine on fire. The bomber burst into flames, nosed over, and went into the sea. Lairmore had fired just one hundred rounds for his victory.31
On the morning of the February 10 Curdes led three other pilots on a search mission for some missing pilots. A run along the west coast of Formosa turned up nothing except a lone Dinah. Like so many of his comrades, the enemy pilot made little effort to evade his attackers. Second Lt. Robert Scalley made quick work of the Dinah. A 20-degree deflection shot set the plane’s right engine on fire; a second pass set the other engine aflame, and the Dinah crashed into the water.
With no luck so far finding the missing fliers, Curdes split his flight so as to cover a wider area. While Curdes and his wingman went one way, Scalley and 2nd Lt. Robert LaCroix checked out Bataan Island, one of a string of smaller islands between Luzon and Formosa. As the pair neared Bataan they ran across yet another Dinah. It was LaCroix’s turn this time. A couple of bursts, and the enemy plane joined its sister aircraft at the bottom of the sea. The two fliers were not finished. Several aircraft, including some apparently new Tonys, were seen parked on Bataan’s airstrip, and Scalley and LaCroix went down to strafe them. Three of the Tonys were claimed destroyed, but the Japanese had their revenge. Accurate flak pummeled LaCroix’s fighter. Hot coolant and smoke filled his cockpit, and the Air Commando decided it was time to leave.
It proved more difficult getting out of his plane than he had anticipated, though. LaCroix had forgotten to roll in enough trim, so when he rolled over to drop from his fighter, it stayed with him, and he became wedged between the seat back’s armor plate and the rear of his cockpit. The ocean was coming up fast, and a desperate kick on his control stick popped him out and away from the plane. When he pulled the ripcord of his parachute, it seemed to him that it took forever for the chute to open. But open it did, and he plopped into the water, where he was able to scramble out of his chute and inflate his life raft. LaCroix then discovered that, one, he had a bullet hole in his ankle, and, two, the Japanese on Bataan were firing at him. Scalley, in the meantime, had called for help.
Curdes and his wingman were quickly on the scene and proceeded to beat up the Japanese guns while Scalley kept an eye on LaCroix. What happened next was one of the more bizarre and, in hindsight, amusing, incidents of the war. As the Americans were finishing their strafing runs, a wandering C-47 suddenly appeared. The transport was from the 39th TCS and had been en route to Clark Field from Leyte. Up until reaching the south end of Manila Bay, the weather had been clear and the flight uneventful. Clouds then began building, and the transport pilots were soon flying on instruments. They realized they were lost shortly before noon; all they could see in the breaks in the clouds was water. Turning east, they let down slowly until some small islands were sighted. They could see an airstrip on one of the islands. Not realizing that the Japanese held the island and, if they did see the P-51s, perhaps thinking they were just “beating up” the strip, the transport pilots decided to land before running out of gas. Lowering the landing gear, they prepared to land.
About this time Curdes noticed the strange C-47 approaching the airfield. He tried to contact it but received no reply. Unsure that the C-47 was American but unwilling to chance a mistake, Curdes fired a warning burst across the transport’s nose. This caught the attention of the crew, who made a sharp left turn but then headed back toward the island. Curdes next made a head-on firing pass, striking the C-47’s right engine. A second pass from the rear knocked out the plane’s other engine. The C-47 crew made a remarkably smooth ditching about three hundred yards offshore, and all twelve people on board, including two nurses, scrambled into three rafts.
As soon as they got into the rafts, the Americans were fired on by the Japanese. The enemy’s gunfire was wild, though, and the crew stayed well away from the island throughout the remainder of the day. Curdes circled the survivors for about an hour before he and the other Air Commandos headed back to Mangaldan. Air–Sea Rescue was notified of the C-47’s ditching, but because of approaching darkness, it would be the next day before they could be on the scene. In the meantime, the 39th TCS crew and passengers put up sails on the rafts and, by oar and wind power, were able to put about six miles between them and Bataan.
Rough seas kicked up in the morning, and the survivors decided the waters near the island would be calmer. A short time later they pulled LaCroix from the water, and he explained what had happened. Just a few minutes later a Catalina rescue plane touched down and recovered everyone. A short investigation followed, and Curdes was absolved of any blame. Actually, his quick thinking and accurate shooting prevented a disaster, and he was rewarded with a Distinguished Flying Cross. Too, his Mustang soon sported a new victory symbol to go with the German, Italian, and Japanese flags that recorded his victories—an American flag!32
While Formosa continued to be visited regularly by the Air Commandos, air support of the ground troops was flown just as steadily. The airmen became very familiar with places carrying names like Baguio, Antipolo, Balete Pass, Tuguerarao, and the Villa Verde Trail. Invariably, the bombing of enemy positions brought high praise from the infantrymen. Such activities, though, were not usually satisfying to the fliers. Seldom did they get clear looks at their targets. It was only after a forward air controller reported “bombs on target” or some like phrase that the Air Commandos felt like they were accomplishing something.
Results from missions to Formosa, conversely, were more clear-cut. Buildings could be seen destroyed, locomotives could be spotted exploding, and vehicles and aircraft could be seen blazing on the ground. For example, on February 18 six “Hell-raising Fighters” of the 3rd ACG, as the Fifth Air Force’s historian colorfully stated, swept over rail yards on Formosa’s east coast. When they were finished they left behind nine locomotives, a railway station, a water tower, a railway crane, and a streetcar destroyed. Another eleven locomotives, many boxcars, and several warehouses were damaged. Although the flak was plentiful, none came near the attackers.33
Usually, the flak encountered over Formosa was far more deadly than that met over Luzon. But it was not always so. On February 22 sixteen Mustangs of the 4th Fighter Squadron bombed and strafed the village of Angin. As one pilot made his strafing run, ground fire could be seen erupting from the trees, and the pilot was apparently hit, for he made no attempt to pull up. His aircraft plowed into the ground, and he was killed instantly.34 Three days later the antiaircraft guns on Formosa made a strong statement, reminding the Air Commandos that they were not to be taken for granted.
Sixteen P-51s of the 3rd Fighter Squadron made a fighter sweep of Formosa’s east coast on February 25. At Garan-Bi on the island’s southern tip, a radar station and several gun emplacements were strafed. The enemy defenders were very good, holing three aircraft and knocking down another pair. Flight Officer Sylvester Everhart made it only about one-half mile offshore before he bailed out. After he entered the water, it appeared that he was having trouble getting loose from his parachute shroud lines. It also looked as though his life raft fell apart when he attempted to inflate it. The circling planes lost sight of Everhart in the tossing seas, and when an Air–Sea Rescue Catalina landed to pick him up, all that was found was a glove and a piece of life raft.
Meanwhile, 1st Lt. Scott M. Alexander had nursed his fighter about thirty miles out before he, too, had to bail out. His exit from his doomed aircraft was nerve-wracking. First, his foot caught under his seat, and he had several frantic seconds before he was able to extricate himself. Then, as he fell free, his leg struck the horizontal stabilizer, which broke his leg. Despite the intense pain Alexander was able to inflate his Mae West. Like Sylvester’s, Alexander’s raft also failed to inflate. This time, though, the outcome was more successful. The Catalina soon picked Alexander up, beginning the first leg of a trip back to the United States.
Upon their return to Mangaldan, one of the damaged 3rd Fighter Squadron’s planes cracked up on landing, fortunately without injury to the pilot. With two planes shot down, one crashing on landing, and two more suffering minor damage, February 25 had not been a good day.35
March saw a number of personnel changes in the 3rd ACG, as Olson reorganized the group, and individuals were promoted or left for assignments elsewhere. In addition to forming a Light Planes Section, Olson merged the other ADSs with their respective flying squadrons. The 3rd Fighter Squadron and the 334th ADS became the 3rd Fighter Section. The 4th Fighter Squadron and the 335th ADS were combined into the 4th Fighter Section, and the 318th TCS and the 343rd ADS became the Troop Carrier Section. Among the more significant personnel moves were the transfer of group operations officer Richardson to the 308th Bombardment Wing, where he replaced Alison as wing operations officer when Alison moved up to the Fifth Air Force, and Mahurin becoming the new group operations officer and being replaced as 3rd Fighter Section commander by Captain Adams. Also, Kalberer was officially appointed commanding officer of the Light Planes Section, which was a position he had already been holding for several weeks.
The liaison squadrons also saw command changes. The 160th’s commander, Maj. John E. Satterstrom, was named group air inspector. His place was taken by Capt. Richard R. Lawton, formerly the 157th’s operations officer. The 157th also underwent a changeover as Capt. Michael Tomaro assumed command, and the former commander, Capt. Clarence L. Odum, moved to group headquarters as assistant operations officer. Additionally, Capt. George Nallou moved from the 4th Fighter Squadron to the 335th ADS to become its commander, while the 335th’s former commander, Capt. Samuel O. Sartor, switched over to lead the 343rd ADS.36
The month also saw nearly 95 percent of the 3rd ACG’s activities focused on close air support. That the front lines were still not that far from Mangaldan was underscored on March 1, when the Mustangs attacked enemy positions on the Villa Verde Trail. The trail ran from the vicinity of San Nicolas (about twenty-five miles from Mangaldan) to the village of Santa Fe on Route 5 north of Balete Pass. The trail crossed some of the roughest terrain on Luzon, and the GIs were always grateful for the air support they received from the Air Commandos. This day, sixteen P-51s planted 500-pound bombs squarely on target and started a large grass fire whose smoke could be seen back at Mangaldan.37
Although enemy planes had snooped over Mangaldan several times in the last two months, they usually caused little more than sleepless nights. This was not the case on March 2. Shortly before 1:00 AM a red alert was sounded, followed by an all clear a few minutes later. Most everyone at the field settled back down to sleep. Then, about two hours later, four Japanese bombers swept in over the field and dropped both fragmentation and demolition bombs throughout the camp areas and on the taxiway. An ammunition dump went up with a roar, one Marine SBD was destroyed, another SBD was damaged, four men were killed, and seventy-eight more men were wounded, none Air Commandos. Up to this time, because enemy air activity had become rare, the men had become somewhat lax in digging foxholes and slit trenches. The attack reawakened their burrowing instincts, however, and numerous deep holes quickly appeared over the next couple of days.38
The bombs did only minor damage to the taxiway, and Mangaldan’s runway was untouched, so the full schedules all units had for March 2 were followed as planned. For the Air Commandos this meant sending thirty-two mustangs, sixteen from each section, to escort B-24s to Formosa. There was no aerial interference, so the fighters went low to strafe rail lines and installations. Even this activity failed to arouse much interest from the Japanese, and all ACG planes returned unscathed.39
The 3rd ACG had pioneered two-ship takeoffs in the Philippines. Now they led the way again. Mangaldan was a crowded field. In addition to the Air Commandos, the Marine Aircraft Group 24, the Marine Aircraft Group 32, the 38th BG, and the 312th BG were shoehorned in. Normal one-ship takeoffs were excruciatingly long affairs. The field’s runway was one hundred feet wide, which the Air Commandos decided was more than wide enough for four-ship takeoffs. After some wrangling with the field commander, a Marine colonel, permission was given to make the four-ship takeoffs. It was evident that the ACG’s takeoffs were the most efficient way of conducting these operations, and the other groups on the field soon followed suit. Not long after, other units throughout the Philippines also adopted the procedure.40
A new vista, if it could be described as such, opened up to the Air Commandos in March. The fighter sections flew several missions to the China coast. Other than allowing the pilots to see new sights, these missions were uneventful. Close support missions, on the other hand, always provided some excitement, as the 4th Fighter Section’s Lahmeyer discovered on March 17.
Normally when bombing, the Mustang pilots liked to drop down from about 10,000 feet in a steep dive. This altitude gave them plenty of room to pull up. A cloud deck at six thousand feet this day, however, meant coming in lower and flatter. Not wanting to haul their bombs back home, the fliers decided to attack anyway. As Lahmeyer pulled up after dropping his bombs, he felt a bump and heard a popping noise. Something was not right, but other than the popping sound, his engine kept ticking over. Then he noticed a puff of smoke come over his wing in unison with the popping. Flames suddenly shot back past the wing. “That was bad,” he recalled.
Pushing back his canopy, he rolled his plane over and dropped out. When he saw the tail section flash by, he pulled his ripcord. As he did, his P-51 exploded. Lahmeyer landed backwards in an open field. He did a somersault, bounced onto his feet, and spilled the air out of his parachute. Not knowing where he was, Lahmeyer ran to the top of a hill to get his bearings. There, he found an Army personnel carrier with men from an artillery unit. They took him to their outfit, gave him a beer, and sent him on to division headquarters. Lahmeyer asked the division commander if he could spare an L-5 to take him back to Mangaldan. The general said sure, and within an hour, Lahmeyer was back home.41
The group lost another pair of fighters on March 29 during an attack on enemy troops along the Villa Verde Trail. As the two P-51s pulled out of their runs, they collided. Both pilots were able to get out of their fatally damaged planes, however, and were picked up later by friendly troops.42
As March came to a close Fifth Air Force headquarters was busy planning a major move for the Air Commandos and, for that matter, all of the units based at Mangaldan. The monsoon season was approaching, and the rains would make Mangaldan, with its high water table, unsuitable for operations. What the high brass planned for the 3rd ACG was a move more fitting with the group’s originally planned mission.