The town of Laoag, located about 150 miles north of Mangaldan, was one of the largest in northern Luzon. It had been one of the first Filipino towns to fall to the Japanese in December 1941, being captured on December 11. The Japanese maintained an airfield near Laoag throughout the war.
When the Americans returned to the Philippines, some eight thousand troops defended northwest Luzon, most in the vicinity of Laoag and Vigan, which lay about forty-five miles south of Laoag. Most of these men, however, were not combat troops; rather, they were mainly garrison soldiers manning service units. The long occupation had softened them, and they were ripe for picking. In their midst and ready to exploit this softness was a U.S. Army Forces in the Philippines (Northern Luzon), or USAFIP(NL), guerilla regiment. This regiment was led by Army officers who had not surrendered when the Philippines had fallen to the Japanese. While not armed as well as their adversaries, the guerillas were better led and had a deeper desire to fight.
Just days after the Lingayen landings, the guerillas struck in force. By mid-February the Japanese had been pushed back in several areas, and the guerillas had entered Laoag. The Japanese retreated south to Vigan and inland into the mountains. Seeking to exploit the situation the Fifth Air Force directed the 318th TCS’s C-47s to fly supplies in to the guerillas. The airfield the Air Commandos were to use, known either as Gabu or the Laoag Airdrome, was located between the mouths of the Laoag River and Gabu River. It was in pretty shabby shape. The Japanese had not maintained it properly for some time, and filled-in shell holes pockmarked the runway. These holes had not been tamped down well and remained soft. This caused the loss of one of the C-47s when its tail wheel dug into a soft spot, and the plane ground looped. Beyond repair, the aircraft was salvaged by the 318th, and its parts were used as replacements for items not in stock.1
Enemy ordnance also littered the area. One of the 318th’s pilots found out that much of this ordnance was still live. As he took off for return to Mangaldan, he discovered enemy land mines exploding just behind his transport. This served to make his takeoff much faster, but the guerillas had to comb the airstrip much more carefully for land mines.2
Utilizing Gabu enabled the Fifth Air Force to extend its reach toward Formosa and the Chinese mainland. One of the first units sent to Gabu was a communications detachment from the 334th ADS. The eight enlisted men and one officer who were dispatched flew in to the field on March 5. There they set up VHF and HF radio facilities, as well as a direction finder station. In late March officers representing each of the 3rd ACG sections flew to Gabu to stake out bivouac and operations areas for their men.
Because the airstrip was still not in good shape, the group’s C-47s flew in an aviation engineer unit to rehabilitate the runway. The ground at Gabu was more suitable for construction than what existed at Mangaldan, but dust was always a problem, and a 5,100-foot asphalt and gravel runway, a parallel taxiway, and extensive hardstands were built. Meanwhile, the problem of keeping Mangaldan operational during rainy periods was driven home on April 4. A heavy rain fell, which shut down the field for several days because the water would not drain. Thus, there was some urgency about completing the construction at Gabu; Mangaldan would be of little use when the rainy season began in earnest.3
Runway construction moved ahead rapidly, and the 3rd ACG began packing for its move in early April. It took about twelve days to move all of the units, less the liaison squadrons, with most of their equipment and personnel to Gabu. As had become typical with so many Air Commando operations, the liaison squadrons operated separately from the rest of the group. Most of the light planes, which had been flying from Calasiao, moved to Mabalacat Field near Clark Field on the last day of April. Small liaison detachments also operated from other fields on Luzon, as well as from Mindoro, Negros, and Panay.
The 318th TCS’s C-47s did most of the lifting for the move, although aircraft of the 39th TCS provided additional help. Except for one serious incident, the move went off without a hitch. The incident, however, came close to being a disaster. A C-47 of the 39th TCS was taking off from Mangaldan when its right engine cut out. The sudden loss of power caused the airplane to swerve, and its wing caught the ground. The transport crashed and burst into flames, but fast action by men on the ground saved all aboard, mainly pilots from the 4th Fighter Section.4
Group headquarters was established in San Nicolas, a small town about six miles from the Gabu field. The headquarters offices were on the ground floor of a school, and while plans for combat were made on that floor, children still attended classes on the building’s second floor. Most of the section housing areas, consisting mainly of bamboo shacks with tent coverings, were located about three miles from Gabu. Olson, promoted to a full bird colonel on April 8, was the field commander for Gabu, which soon became the home of numerous other units in addition to the Air Commandos.
Not long after the 3rd ACG finished flying its aircraft, personnel, and light equipment in to Gabu, an overland route was established between Lingayen and Laoag. The first road convoy between the two points in three years left Lingayen on April 27. Protection for the convoy, which was hauling heavy equipment, was provided by the guerillas. No Japanese put in an appearance, for they were more interested in heading east toward the main Japanese positions. Still, because of many destroyed bridges, the 175-mile journey lasted almost two days. This trip, however, showed there was now little danger from the enemy and, indeed, the entire west coast of Luzon was now in friendly hands. For that matter, the trip resembled something more like a victory parade. As the convoy passed through various towns, provincial governors turned out in their finery to meet their “liberators.” Laughing children chased the trucks, and young women waved shyly at the Americans. Other Filipinos wept openly, realizing that they were finally free of their oppressors. The group’s time “behind enemy lines” had lasted less than a month.5
The move to Gabu did not mean that the Air Commandos’ aerial activities had halted. Missions continued to be flown from Mangaldan, and the switch to operations from Gabu proceeded flawlessly. In fact, when the 3rd Fighter Section moved, sixteen of its Mustangs were loaded with bombs and ammunition at Mangaldan, flew a strike on Baguio, then landed at their new field. The following day the section escorted B-24s to Formosa. The switch in fields had not cost a day of operations.
Fighter sweeps continued to be flown to Formosa, as well, with missions on April 1, April 22, and April 26 being particularly productive. On these three days the Mustangs destroyed twenty-three trucks, eight locomotives, and many enemy facilities.6 For the fighter pilots, however, aerial combat was their raison d’être, and on April 2 they showed they had not lost their touch despite not having encountered an enemy plane in the air for three months.
Twelve 3rd Fighter Section Mustangs escorted B-24s on a shipping strike to Hong Kong that day. Shortly after rendezvousing with the bombers near the target, two Zekes were spotted. These began a head-on pass on the P-51s, which were lined up in three flights in trail. Seeing the Zekes trying to bounce them, the first Air Commando flight dove away, leaving the second flight to handle the enemy. Unable to continue their pass on the first Mustangs, the Japanese pilots shifted their attention to the second flight. Led by Lairmore, the Americans traded shots with the enemy before one of the Zekes broke off its attack. The other enemy pilot, however, whipped his agile fighter around and got on 2nd Lt. Joseph Singletary’s tail. Unable to drop his external fuel tanks, Singletary was in a vulnerable position and screamed for help.
When the enemy planes zoomed past, 2nd Lt. Barrett D. Wagner broke left, then whipped his Mustang back behind Singletary’s pursuer. Now the prey, not the hunter, the Zeke pilot tried to dive away. Wagner closed swiftly and began firing as the two aircraft passed through three thousand feet. He noticed his tracers sparkling on the enemy fighter’s fuselage and wing root. Expecting his adversary to pull out, Wagner stayed high. He watched as the Zeke pilot belatedly realized how close he was to the water. The Zeke banked slightly, then made a sharp turn. Its wing caught the water, and suddenly there was a welter of spray, foam, and debris as the Zeke disintegrated.
Meanwhile, Lairmore, who had reformed the rest of his flight at 12,000 feet, saw two more Zekes heading away from him. Just as he began to chase them, they turned back in a head-on pass. Lairmore began firing at about six hundred yards and saw pieces of one of the Zeke’s cowling break off. The Zeke rolled over and spiraled downward. Lairmore lost sight of his victim when he noticed his wingman was no longer with him.
As he searched the sky for his missing mate, Lairmore sighted the other Zeke below him making a run on a flight of Mustangs. He dove on this plane, opening fire at eight hundred yards and continuing until he was just twenty-five yards distant. The Zeke rolled over on its back, then began spinning earthward. The spin continued from eight thousand feet until Lairmore lost sight of the second Zeke in the haze and smoke at one thousand feet. With no more enemy fighters present and the B-24s finished with their job, the Air Commandos reformed and headed back to Mangaldan.
Wagner, who had only nineteen hours of combat time, received credit for one Zeke destroyed, while Lairmore got two probables. The only damage suffered by the Air Commandos in this fight was a single bullet hole through the spinner of one Mustang.7
Except for an uneventful trip to Hong Kong on April 13 and a few equally boring missions to Formosa, the Air Commando fighters spent the remainder of their stay at Gabu flying close support missions for the 32nd Infantry Division and working its way painfully over very difficult terrain along the Villa Verde Trail. Often, the infantrymen were just yards from enemy positions, which was too close to be supported according to conventional wisdom for air attacks. Knowing that his men already had a good working relationship with the GIs, however, Olson was confident his fliers could make such strikes. To test this trust Olson sent his flight leaders to the front lines to work with the ground commanders of the 32nd. After examining the terrain and consulting with the infantrymen, the pilots convinced the soldiers that the Air Commandos could do the job. They then returned to the airfield, carefully briefed the other pilots, and proceeded to fly a highly successful mission. To the delight of the men of the 32nd Division, such cooperation soon became standard operating procedure.8
The work of the 3rd ACG was greatly appreciated by the 32nd’s commander, Maj. Gen. William H. Gill, who wrote a letter of commendation to Olson. In it he stated:
The close support strikes accomplished by the men of your command have been most gratifying to me. These attacks have materially aided the advance of the 32nd Infantry Division troops along the Villa Verde Trail and other fields of battle in northern Luzon. . . . The bombings have been precise and accurate; their strafing runs have been to my mind perfection itself. . . . It is my belief that this is the first time that pilots of the supporting air arm have visited the forward ground units in the combat zone to view the terrain and study the tactical situation in the area they are to be employed. To my knowledge it is the first time that such action has been undertaken by the pilots own volition.
The daring and aggressiveness displayed by the Third Air Commando Group is indeed gratifying to myself and the men of my command. I am proud to say I have had them as a supporting arm to my offensive in the northern Luzon campaign.9
The Japanese were not the only enemy the Air Commandos faced on Luzon. On April 21, Captain George Nallou, the 335th ADS’s commander, contracted polio. Initially confined to his quarters and then moved to the hospital at Lingayen, he died just five days later. Nallou was just the first of several Air Commando and Fifth Air Force personnel to come down with polio during a mini-epidemic of the disease. The 318th TCS and its ADS, the 343rd, was hardest hit by the epidemic. Four cases were diagnosed in the two units in early May, with one Air Commando, Cpl. Robert Davis, dying. Fortunately, just as quickly as the polio had appeared, it disappeared.10
Meanwhile, as the fighter sections and the 318th TCS continued working from Gabu, the liaison sections were operating in somewhat of an organizational limbo, virtually isolated from the rest of the group. Throughout the spring the L-5s evacuated the wounded and the sick (for the 157th LS this totaled 2,104 individuals for April alone), dropped food and medical supplies to the infantry, directed artillery fire and air strikes, ferried officers from place to place, and performed all manner of other tasks. Not typical, but indicative of what the light planes were called upon to do, were missions flown by 157th aircraft to lay a telephone line between two mountaintops and to broadcast propaganda to Japanese troops.
In the first instance, an officer sat in the backseat of the L-5 reeling out the line through an inspection hole in the belly of the aircraft while the pilot successfully flew through turbulent air at just above stalling speed. In the second, loudspeakers were mounted on the wings of an L-5 and a record player was carried by a passenger in its back seat. Then, while the pilot slowly circled over Japanese strongpoints, well within gunfire range, the passenger played surrender propaganda to the Japanese on the ground. These missions were successful; not all ended as happily.11
On April 11 MSgt. Oliver M. Edwards, a pilot with the 159th LS, was carrying an infantry officer on a mission to drop supplies to an isolated patrol on Negros when their plane was shot down. Although their L-5 was spotted from the air and cries for help were heard by the patrol, neither man was seen again. In the 160th LS SSgt. Earl Y. Edmonds disappeared in bad weather on April 4 while on a supply mission from Legaspi, Luzon, to San Jose, Mindoro. Several other liaison pilots were also killed or disappeared while on missions.12
With the intense workload they were under, the liaison sections were very grateful for additional help. It came in the guise of the little-used and frustrated glider pilots and mechanics of the 318th TCS. Apart from their temporary use earlier as C-47 copilots, these fliers had seen little employment. Attempts by the Fifth Air Force to find positions generally failed, so Olson sought other avenues in which to use these men.
Following Nallou’s death one of the 318th’s glider pilots, 1st Lt. Earle Hyatt, was made commander of the 335th ADS, and he served with distinction. Others were placed in various ground jobs at group headquarters and with the other squadrons.
However, it was at the insistence of Kalberer, commander of the Light Plane Section, that many of the glider pilots and mechanics really got the opportunity to show what they could do. In mid-April the liaison sections received a few glider pilots and mechanics on detached service from the 318th. They did so well that Kalberer requested more. Although their primary duties would be on the ground, the pilots would also be checked out on the L-5s, thus enabling the light plane pilots to get some much needed rest from their grueling schedules. The mechanics, meanwhile, would help the overworked liaison mechanics maintain their aircraft, which by May now included UC-64s. It had taken longer than expected for these bigger aircraft to arrive, but the two UC-64s each squadron received were swiftly put to good use.13
The hectic pace at which the liaison sections were operating, along with their isolation from the rest of the 3rd ACG, created administrative headaches that were only overcome when the Fifth Air Force assumed control of the liaison section and the 341st ADS on May 3. On that date the 5th Air Liaison Group Commando (Provisional) was formed and assigned to V Fighter Command. The group was placed under the operational control of the 308th Bombardment Wing, but it was returned to the administrative control of the 3rd ACG on June 29. Kalberer remained in command of the new group, which was really just an extension of the old Light Plane Section. The result of these moves was that the new group had the authority to perform all administrative and operational functions of a group, which produced noticeable savings of time and paperwork.14
The 3rd ACG also underwent a change in administrative control when it was removed from under the 86th Fighter Wing and assigned directly to V Fighter Command on May 16. Nearly two weeks later it ended its longtime association with the 308th Bombardment Wing and was placed under the operational control of the 309th Bombardment Wing. These changes made little difference in the group’s daily operations, which continued at a breakneck pace. Close support for the infantry remained a high priority, but missions to Formosa continued to be flown.15
May proved especially deadly to the 3rd ACG fighter pilots. During a fighter sweep by the 4th Fighter Section along Formosa’s east coast on the first day of the month, 2nd Lt. Robert M. McNeill apparently carried his attack on a bus too low, and his plane crashed into the bus, careened into a telegraph pole, then plowed into the ground in a ball of fire. No pilots were lost on the next few missions, but 1st Lt. Kenneth Ogden was seriously injured during an attack on an airfield near Okayama, Japan on May 11. As he and Curdes flashed past a truck convoy they had been strafing, an enemy shell slammed into Ogden’s cockpit and ripped into his leg. Despite the intense pain of his wound, Ogden nursed his plane back to Gabu and a safe landing.16
On May 19 thirty Air Commando Mustangs attacked the Heito Airdrome on Formosa. Although none of the planes appeared to have been hit, 1st Lt. Durward J. Fortier had to bail out of his fighter because of a coolant leak. He landed in the water a few miles southwest of the small island of Ryukyu Sho and was picked up by a rescue sub within thirty minutes. Because the sub remained on station, it took two weeks before Fortier was put ashore. During his enforced stay on the sub, however, its captain let him speak to the Air Commandos as they flew back and forth between Formosa and Luzon.17
Several other pilots were not as lucky. On a fighter sweep along Formosa’s west coast on May 30, 2nd Lt. Joseph T. Bulack and his element leader had great success busting locomotives near Hokuwan. After making a second pass on a bus, the pair turned back out to sea. During the turn the element leader lost sight of Bulack, who was never seen again despite a long search.18
The next day was even more costly, when the 4th Fighter Section sent sixteen Mustangs on another fighter sweep of Formosa. The Air Commandos enjoyed good hunting, destroying nine trucks and five locomotives and damaging several more vehicles. Enemy ground fire was not heavy, but it was very accurate. Four P-51s of A Flight had flown up the island’s eastern shore at low level with little trouble, but almost as soon as they turned inland to head back south, enemy small arms fire erupted and 1st Lt. Fergus Mead Jr.’s plane was hit. The plane began to spiral earthward. Being only a couple of hundred feet above the ground, Mead had no chance to bail out before he crashed. A Flight’s ordeal was not over yet, however.
The remaining fliers continued south and were about to turn out to sea when Flight Officer Bernard H. Moncrief felt a burning sensation in his right leg as his cockpit filled with acrid smoke. He had been hit by an antiaircraft gun firing from almost directly underneath his plane. Moncrief immediately released his canopy and yanked his stick back in a desperate attempt to gain altitude. As he tried to climb out of his cockpit, his parachute (a replacement for his usual one, which was being repacked) snagged on something. Moncrief suddenly found himself flying through the air. His plane had apparently stalled and flipped Moncrief away. Moncrief blacked out and did not remember pulling his ripcord, but his chute blossomed, and he swung three times before hitting the ground with a jolt. He was dragged some distance before he was finally able to slip his chute.
Moncrief suffered a dislocated shoulder, a wrenched left leg, and huge blisters on his right leg that were probably caused by the hot coolant. Any thought he might have had of escape was quickly dispelled by the appearance of a large party of Japanese soldiers and civilians. His wounds were treated only superficially in prison camp, and his shoulder remained dislocated while his burns festered. When Moncrief was shot down, he weighed 135 pounds; when he was liberated at the end of the war (just two and a half months later), the lack of food and medical treatment in camp had driven his weight down to just 89 pounds. Yet he survived to return home.19
But it was not all moments of terror and hours of hard work for the Air Commandos. Softball games were held between the sections and other forms of physical activity were encouraged. An occasional movie was shown, but the highlight for many was the visit of comedian Joe E. Brown. He put on a great show, according to those who saw it, and a capacity crowd responded with a tremendous ovation. Brown had shoehorned in his appearance at Gabu at the urging of Rush Russhon and could spend little time with the Air Commandos, but he made every moment count.
Following his show Olson and Mahurin flew Brown back to Fifth Air Force Headquarters in a C-47 borrowed from the 318th. Olson had not flown a C-47 since before the 3rd ACG left the United States, and Mahurin had only a couple of hours of copilot time in one. After they were seated in the cockpit they discovered they did not know how to start the plane. As they pondered which switches to turn on, Brown appeared at the cockpit door to ask if they knew how to start a C-47. Before they could answer “no,” he leaned over, turned on the battery and ignition switches, and soon had both engines purring. He then looked Olson and Mahurin up and down, shook his head, and returned to his seat.
Chagrined and embarrassed, the two officers plotted a practical joke to play on Brown. About an hour into the flight they sent the crew chief back through the cabin. After setting the plane on autopilot they went back themselves. While Olson leaned by the open cargo door and watched the ground slide by, Mahurin sat down by Brown, who was playing gin rummy, and asked to be dealt in. It took a couple of minutes for Brown to react, but when he did, he jumped up and began yelling about who was flying the plane. He then rushed to the cockpit, where a fantastic sight greeted him. The two airmen had tied a glove on top of one of the control wheels and had inserted into it a flexible hose attached to an outside air vent. When they opened the vent, the air inflated the glove making it seem as though a disembodied hand was controlling the plane. Olson and Mahurin finally calmed Brown down and confessed to their joke, but he remained in the cockpit for the rest of the flight, keeping an eagle eye on the two the entire time.20
As much as the men of the 3rd ACG enjoyed Brown’s show, they had a much more interesting topic to hold their attention. Almost as soon as Germany had surrendered on May 7, the Army began to demobilize. A points system, the Adjusted Service Rating System, was instituted in which length of service, overseas service, decorations and battle stars, and number of dependent children were computed to establish a priority for discharging individuals. The higher the number, the sooner the discharge. The critical number was 85, and it soon seemed as though everyone in the group was counting and recounting the number of points to their credit. Each man also wanted to know how many points his buddy had. In at least one section those who tired of being asked the same question over and over pinned signs on their caps showing their totals.
Although the 3rd ACG had a number of old-timers in its midst, most were in for the long haul. Nevertheless, the counting of points continued unabated, and a few men soon began their journey home. They were not many—not yet—but their departures served to keep alive the hopes of many others who longed to make that trip back to Uncle Sugar as early as possible.21
Flying was not the only activity the group was involved in heavily. The group communications section established four radio stations to coordinate efforts with guerilla and U.S. infantry units. The stations were normally operated by one or two ACG men who lived with the troops. It was tough duty, and the living conditions were primitive. On several occasions the stations came under enemy fire and had to be pulled back temporarily. Nonetheless, the radio operators work was highly praised by the ground troops.22
Gabu became even busier in June than it had been. Its location as the northernmost field on Luzon meant it became a popular stopping point for shot-up planes returning from Formosa. During the month thirty-seven aircraft carrying 209 people made emergency landings at Gabu. The 3rd ACG’s 327th Medical Dispensary was kept busy treating the injured and could proudly state that no lives were lost in these emergencies during June. But it was as a staging field for aircraft moving to Okinawa in preparation of the invasion of Japan proper that Gabu saw its greatest activity. Large quantities of gas, oil, spare parts, and all other types of supplies were flown in to meet the demand, and a transient camp was swiftly built to handle all the personnel also on the move.
Olson oversaw this frantic activity in his capacity as field commander. Some 253 aircraft staged through Gabu in June, and even more followed in July. Seeing the other fighter squadrons heading for Okinawa, where they would more likely be involved in aerial combat, was hard to take for the Air Commandos. Not having seen a Japanese plane in the air since the Hong Kong mission of April 3, the 3rd ACG fighter pilots were eager to show that they, too, could hold their own against the enemy. Instead, it seemed, they were being relegated to the backwaters.23
Actually, they now were operating in a rear area, for MacArthur declared the Luzon campaign over at midnight of June 30/July 1. This pronouncement was somewhat misleading because the Japanese remained active in the Cagayan Valley, where Yamashita had gathered the remnants of his forces on Luzon. During July the Air Commando fighter sections flew numerous missions in support of the infantrymen closing in on Yamashita. Their final mission was flown on July 25, almost one month after MacArthur declared the Luzon campaign over.
Before then, however, the Air Commandos suffered the loss of five pilots in June. Captain Adams was one of the most popular pilots in the group, and his promotion to commander of the 3rd Fighter Squadron when Mahurin moved up to group operations officer had been well received by all. Leading a ground support mission near Mankayan on June 5, he decided to press on when clouds began to gather in the target area. Adams reported to his flight that to be safe, he would make a glide-bombing attack rather than dive-bombing.
As his flight watched, Adams made his pass. He apparently realized the clouds were lower than he thought, for he suddenly dropped his bombs and began a sharp pull-up. His Mustang stalled and whipped into a vicious spin from which he could not recover. The fighter smashed into a mountainside, killing Adams instantly. Tragically, orders promoting Adams to major had been received at Gabu while he was out on this mission. An eager crowd had been awaiting his return to pin on his oak leaves as soon as he climbed from his cockpit. The excitement quickly turned to gloom when the dispirited pilots landed to report what had happened. Taking Adams’ place as commanding officer was his good friend Capt. Thomas J. Williams.24
With the Japanese beginning to retreat toward the interior and into the Cagayan Valley, targets for the Air Commandos became more scarce and planes often returned to base with their bombs. When they did find targets, their bombs were usually dropped accurately, to the pleasure of the GIs, who then moved in to mop up. Missions to Formosa continued to be flown regularly, although many of these were just to cover rescue submarines and Catalinas or to escort B-24s bombing the island. Nevertheless, ACG fighter sweeps continued to have a devastating effect on the enemy. In June alone Air Commando fighters destroyed (among other things) five locomotives and fifty-two box cars, twenty-five trucks, ten bridges, and numerous buildings and other structures.25
The Japanese defending Formosa continued to exact a toll on the attackers, however. On June 26, as eight 4th Fighter Section aircraft made a fighter sweep of the island, clouds began to build over the mountains. The fliers turned to head for home. Capt. John C. Bleecker Jr., 1st Lt. John B. Tillou, and 2nd Lt. Raymond E. Wingo were last seen entering the clouds. One pilot later reported seeing a flash, followed by fire, in the clouds. The three men had evidently flown into a mountain as they attempted to maintain formation. The 4th’s hard luck A Flight had lost three more men.26
June drew to a close with more tragedy for the fighter pilots. On the 29th newly commissioned 2nd Lt. Paul G. Krikoroff was killed while ferrying a P-51 from Tacloban on Leyte to Gabu. It was never definitely determined what happened to the former flight officer, but his plane crashed into San Pablo Bay just after taking off from Tacloban. Probably stunned from the impact, Krikoroff went down with his Mustang.27
Meanwhile, the 157th LS, now commanded by 1st Lt. Walter M. Coble, was preparing to make a historic move. The squadron was ordered to move to Okinawa, and the ground echelon left Mabalacat on June 15 for Subic Bay on Bataan’s west coast. There, they boarded an LST for a ten-day trip to Okinawa. For the time being the pilots left behind were attached to the 160th LS. The ground echelon set up initially at Yontan, Okinawa, where the main airfield was located. After a few days they moved to an area just north of the village of Bise on the Motobu Peninsula. This was to be the site of the airstrip for the 3rd ACG’s light planes, but the engineers discovered that it had too steep a grade so another site in Bise itself was found.
Back at Mabalacat the 157th’s pilots, under the supervision of Alison, were busy installing seventy-five–gallon belly tanks in the rear seats of their planes and checking their navigation charts. The squadron’s twenty-four L-5s and two UC-64s were going to make a 748-mile flight from Gabu to Okinawa, all of it over water. The little planes gathered at Gabu, where they were topped off with fuel and given a thorough inspection by their pilots. Many of them were skeptical that the L-5s were up to the trip, but that did not stop them from making the attempt.
Early on July 5 the first of the planes lifted heavily off Gabu’s strip. Soon, all of the aircraft, shepherded by a pair of Air–Sea Rescue OA-10s, were in loose formation and heading north. The hazardous journey, flown generally at about 1,500 feet, took nearly seven hours, and gas was very low in most of the planes when they touched down at Yontan. It had been a remarkable journey. While on Okinawa the 157th LS again came under the operational control of the 5th Air Liaison Group. For all intents and purposes, both organizations were the same because most of the group’s personnel were 157th people on temporary duty with the provisional organization.28
Meanwhile, though despairing that they would ever see aerial combat again, the 3rd ACG’s fighter pilots continued flying to Formosa. Most of these missions, however, were just to cover Air–Sea Rescue Catalinas and lifeguard submarines. Their perseverance was at last rewarded on July 11 while they were on such a mission. That morning four 3rd Fighter Section Mustangs were assigned to cover a Catalina and submarine operating off Formosa’s northwestern coast near Shinchiku. For the first hour it was another boring flight, making circle after lazy circle over their wards. Then 1st Lt. Herbert R. French spotted a bogey at his 10 o’clock position and out to sea. French and his wingman, 2nd Lt. George W. Mooney, were flying high cover, while the flight leader and his wingman were the low cover.
Upon hearing French report his sighting, the flight leader told French and Mooney to go after it while the other Mustangs kept watch on the rescue team. The pair immediately set off toward the unknown aircraft. As they neared the plane, which had been heading toward Formosa at about eight thousand feet, it suddenly reversed course and dove for the water. The Americans dropped their belly tanks, fire walled their throttles, and began to chase the plane, which they identified as a B5N Kate. The enemy plane was fast, perhaps indicating that it was a newer, faster aircraft like a B6N Jill, and it took the pair some fifteen minutes to catch it. French and Mooney came up on both sides of the enemy plane, preventing it from breaking one way or the other.
In desperation the enemy pilot tried a bank to the right, but Mooney was ready and sent a burst of .50-caliber shells into the Kate’s wing root. Pieces flew off the plane, and orange flame streaked back as it headed for the sea. Suddenly, a wing ripped off, and the Kate began to tumble wildly. Just feet above the water, its pilot tried to bail out. His parachute did not open, and he and his plane smashed into the water almost simultaneously. Mooney’s victory was the 3rd ACG’s last in the air or on the ground.29
July 12 also saw one of the 3 Fighter Section pilots go beyond the call of duty when a B-24 crew had to leave their bomber after it had been hit by flak over Formosa. In his excitement the bomber pilot forgot the Catalina’s call sign and had to ask what it was from the Air Commandos escorting him. The sea was very rough, however, and the OA-10 could not land. The fighter pilots located the lifeguard sub and guided it toward the stricken bomber. Instead of dropping his men close to the submarine, though, the B-24 pilot scattered them across fifteen miles of choppy water. None of the other bombers stayed around to keep an eye on their comrades, and it was left to the four fighter pilots that had escorted the B-24 to keep an eye on the men in the water.
As they circled low over the men they tossed out sea markers in order to keep track of the downed airmen. It appeared to 2nd Lt. Charles E. House that one man was floundering in the water with no life raft. House decided that the only way to save the man was to drop his own dinghy, which was attached to the seat part of his parachute. He trimmed his plane for a slight climbing turn so that it would continue to circle over the downed flier. Next, he unfastened all of his parachute straps and seat belt and pushed his feet against the rudder pedals, raising himself off his seat. In his plane’s cramped cockpit, it was a struggle to pull the dinghy from its pack, but House finally succeeded. Descending to just a few feet over the bomber crewman, he tossed the man the dinghy. House watched as the man inflated the dinghy, climbed in, and waved. The sub eventually picked up the waterlogged airman, saved thanks to the tremendous effort on House’s part.30
In mid-July, the group received orders to move to Ie Shima, a small island off Okinawa’s west coast. An advanced party of personnel from all of the ground echelons was directed to move by boat and set up camp on the island. While this group was preparing to leave Laoag, new orders instructed the air echelon to leave first. This party was composed primarily of mechanics, not pilots or planes, and so when they arrived on Ie Shima, they had nothing to work with. The 3rd ACG’s own 318th TCS handled the move, making one-day round trips between Laoag and Ie Shima. Thunderstorms and thick clouds were encountered often on these flights, which could last twelve hours or more. Yet the crews kept flying day and night, not only moving the group forward, but continuing also to drop supplies to guerilla units and American troops in the mountains of Luzon.31
August began with the Air Commandos scattered from the Philippines to Okinawa and Ie Shima. Most of the ground personnel had already moved north or were en route. The fighter pilots remained at Laoag, flying little (their last support mission was flown on July 25) but being fed well and getting in a lot of sack time. Then, on August 6, the Enola Gay dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima. Three days later, another atomic bomb devastated Nagasaki. Heated arguments erupted throughout the Japanese government as some advocated surrender, while others wanted to continue the fight. Emperor Hirohito broke the impasse on August 14 when he went to a secret location and recorded a cease-fire announcement to be broadcast the following day. It was well he took precautions, because a group of Japanese army officers attempted to capture the emperor, overthrow the government, and continue the war. Their mutiny failed, and the Japanese people accepted Hirohito’s edict.
The Air Commandos on Ie Shima witnessed a bit of history of the ending of the war on August 19 when a pair of Bettys, now painted an overall white and carrying large green crosses on their wings and fuselages, touched down on the island. The aircraft were carrying a surrender delegation to meet MacArthur for preliminary negotiations. The envoys transferred to a C-54 for the final leg to Manila while their crews stayed behind to tend their planes and be observed by curious onlookers on the island. On September 2, as U.S. Navy ships filled Tokyo Bay and formation after formation of U.S. Navy and USAAF aircraft flew overhead, MacArthur and the formal Japanese surrender party led by Foreign Minister Shigemitsu Mamoru and Japanese Imperial Army Chief of Staff General Umezu Yoshijiro signed the surrender document aboard the battleship USS Missouri. The war was over.