Those pilots that flew fighters and earned victory credits stand out in the minds of both the public and their peers. Among those pilots, the aces and, understandably, the higher scorers among them attract the most attention. The French initiated the concept of the “ace” during World War I, awarding that accolade to any pilot who achieved five aerial victories. The leading scorer of that war was Germany’s Manfred von Richtoven, with 80 credits, while the top American ace was Eddie Rickenbacker, with 26. The top ace of World War II was another German, Erich Hartman, with a score of 352. The leading American ace of World War II was Richard Bong, with a total of 40.
A relatively small number of fighter pilots accounted for a disproportional share of the victory credits. During World War II, the Army Air Forces (AAF) credited 7,306 fighter pilots with 15,799 aerial victories. Just over 9 percent of those were aces, who claimed 34 percent of the total victories.1 The same was true in Korea. Of the one thousand or so pilots flying the F-86 during the Korean conflict, the USAF credited 355 pilots with 756.5 victories.2 Thirty-nine achieved ace status by downing 305.5 enemy aircraft or, in percentage terms, 11 percent of those who got credits. Four percent of the pilots that flew Sabres in the Korean War accounted for 40 percent of the victories. The five highest scoring pilots claimed 13 or more victories and downed 72.5 enemy aircraft, or 10 percent of F-86 pilot claims.
One of the largely ignored aspects of the ace story is that along with their accomplishments and resulting fame came a higher risk of death. This relationship probably results from the fact that those pilots who excel in shooting down enemy aircraft are more aggressive, confidant, and daring than the average pilot. All of these traits lead to more risk taking. Of the top seventeen AAF World War II aces, eight died in combat or accidents: four in action, three in aircraft accidents, and one in an auto accident.3 This was even truer of the top aces of the Korean War, where four of the top five American Korean War aces came to an untimely end. One was lost in action, two died in aircraft accidents, and the fourth was killed in a car accident. “Boots” Blesse, a double ace, put it this way, “Nobody’s telling you [fighter combat is] just as safe and easy as sitting in a rocking chair back home. You pay your money and take your chances. If you know what you’re doing, and don’t play the odds too close, the chance are pretty good you’ll come out with something worthwhile.”4
One counter-intuitive element of the air war over MiG Alley was the age of the American pilots. War is fought by the young, but because the Korean War followed close behind World War II, a good number of pilots served in both. As the official Air Force historian wrote, “Many Sabre pilots were ‘old men’ by usual standards for fighter pilots, but jet combat in Korea demonstrated that a pilot’s physical age was much less important than his experience and sound judgment.”5 In early 1952, the average age of the pilots in the 4th Group was 29, while that of the aces was 30.5 years. Two-thirds of those who downed MiGs by March 1953 were over 28 years old, but about the same proportion without credits were less than twenty-five years old. The average age of the top five U.S. aces when they scored their first Korean War victory was 30.1 years of age.6 Why? One reason was that the older pilots had seniority and thus were more likely to be flying as leaders, where most of the shooting was done.
Another factor was experience. Of the 355 pilots who scored victories in the Korean War, 56 had also posted credits in World War II. Seven earned ace status in both World War II and Korea; 14 other World War II aces added less than five credits in the Korean War, and 5 Korean War aces had fewer than five credits in World War II.7 All 5 of the top Korean War aces had served in the big war, and the 3 who saw combat as fighter pilots had earned victory credits in that war. Undoubtedly there were others who had flown and downed enemy aircraft in World War II who also flew in the Korean War without adding to their victory totals.
There are two other aspects that should not be overlooked: luck and opportunity. Certainly those who scored had more than their fair share of flying and shooting skill, daring, and confidence. Yet there were other important elements, such as the position they flew (wingman or leader) and just plain luck. If the Red fighters did not come up, there would be no dogfights, and no chance for victories, for it takes a willing, or unwary, adversary to engage in an aerial battle.
Joe McConnell was born in New Hampshire in January 1922. He enlisted in the Army at eighteen and went into the Medical Corps. It took him two years to get into the AAF, where he volunteered for pilot school and, according to one account, flunked out and then trained as a navigator. McConnell earned his wings in October 1944, and flew combat missions in B-24s over Europe. He decided to stay in the service, reapplied for pilot training, and was accepted in the program in 1947. In February of the next year pinned on pilot’s wings.8
McConnell was stationed in Alaska when the Korean War broke out. He volunteered to serve in the war and was told he was too old. Following his Alaskan tour, the Air Force transferred the eager fighter pilot to George AFB in California where he flew F-86s.9 In mid-1952 the USAF sent him to Korea and in September assigned him to the 16th Fighter Squadron in the 51st Fighter Group. He achieved no aerial victories with that unit. In January, he was reassigned as a flight commander in the 39th Fighter Squadron where things quickly changed for the better. McConnell got his first credit on 14 January 1953 and his fifth a month later (16 February) to become the twenty-seventh U.S. ace of the war. He later survived a shoot down and rescue on 12 April.
Less than two weeks later, McConnell joined a very elite group when he shot down his tenth MiG. Only eleven of the thirty-nine F-86 aces in the Korean War would be credited with ten or more aerial victories.10 At this point (24 April 1953) the top scoring American pilots were George Davis with fourteen victories, followed by Royal Baker with thirteen, and Pete Fernandez with eleven; all three flew with the 4th. During the next three weeks, McConnell hit a dry spell while Fernandez added 2.5 credits. But in less than a week, McConnell downed six MiGs while Fernandez got only one more. Gen. Glenn Barcus, commander of Far East Air Forces, reportedly said, “I want that man [McConnell] on his way back home to the USA before you hear the period at the end of this sentence.”11 The USAF pulled both pilots out of action, leaving McConnell as the leading American scorer of the war, with 16 MiGs, and Fernandez with 14.5. McConnell had flown 106 missions.12
McConnell finished his combat career in a blaze of glory, for his last day (18 May 1953) was his best day in combat. The ace was leading a six-ship formation that the 51st was using at the time (which lasted only briefly as it proved unwieldy). Maintenance problems quickly unraveled the formation, as one fighter aborted on the takeoff roll; his wingman stayed behind as well. Later, the number three man could not release his drop tanks, so both he and his wingman headed for home, leaving McConnell and his wingman, Dean Abbott, in the combat area. Cho-do radar alerted the pair that the MiGs were up; shortly after reaching the Yalu, the Americans spotted them and followed two across the river.13 The F-86s trailed the pair of MiGs by a half-mile but could not close the gap. McConnell than pulled up his nose and fired a short burst. This surprised Adams because both actions would slow the Sabre, and the possibility of scoring hits at this distance were small. But if the MiG was hit or the pilot saw tracers, he might turn and give the pursuers an opportunity to close the gap. In this case, McConnell’s shots lit up the MiG’s tail; however, this became moot as three MiG flights engaged the Sabre element from both sides. McConnell counted twenty-eight MiGs, and noted that there probably were a lot more. The ace broke hard into one flight, during which Adams ended up in front of McConnell and one of the MiGs. The ace quickly rolled in behind the Red fighter to protect his wingman, fired, and “really clobbered him.” The MiG pilot ejected. The dogfight continued, with Adams again finding himself in front of both a MiG and McConnell. McConnell half rolled, got into position behind the MiG, and shot him off his wingman’s tail.14
McConnell’s wartime report, of course, differs in places from his wingman’s postwar recollection and leaves out some of these details, notably crossing the Yalu. The ace’s rendition does not include shooting either MiG off the tail of his wingman and instead notes that the second MiG had gotten behind McConnell, at least momentarily. At one point, after flying through the MiG’s smoke, McConnell feared an impending collision as “the [MiG] pilot looked up at me and pulled up into me as though to ram me. I pushed forward violently to avoid hitting him.”15 The MiG then snapped over and spun into the ground. This was the only time McConnell got two MiGs on one mission.16 He was now a triple ace.
During the engagement, Adams called out, “My God, there must be thirty of them!” McConnell responded “Yeah, and we’ve got ’em all to ourselves.”17 The 51st was monitoring the radio and, according to Adams, this remark “gained Mac a lot of notoriety.” The two Americans were on the defensive and maneuvered to work their way southward. McConnell recalls, “I really kicked that Sabre around just dodging those balls of fire, faintly hearing the thumping cannon on the MiG behind me and not even wondering whether the next one would be the last one I would hear. . . . I was too busy to be scared.”18 Besides exploiting the nimble Sabre, the overwhelming number of MiGs may have aided the Americans because the Red fighters got in each other’s way. Nevertheless, the Communist pilots could have run the American pilots out of fuel, if not for their policy of not pursuing the F-86s over water. The MiG pilots were more disciplined in not breaking their policy of not flying over water than the Americans were in observing their policy of not flying north of the Yalu. Although low on fuel, the two 51st fighters “limped back and landed on fumes.”19
Although he had bagged two MiGs and now was the leading American ace of the war, McConnell flew that afternoon. The MiGs tried to decoy McConnell into a trap, but their timing was off, and the Americans turned the tables. McConnell engaged one, got hits, and the MiG began to smoke. The Communist pilot bailed out.20 This brought McConnell’s total for the day to three. It was McConnell’s last combat mission and raised his score to sixteen, the most any American pilot would register during the war. It was also a great day for the American pilots, who downed eleven MiGs, all by the 51st. There were no USAF losses.21
McConnell, somewhat unusual for a fighter pilot, was a modest individual. He explained his success by noting, “It’s just a case of getting up there when they’re around. Sometimes you can go for days without finding a MiG.”22 He didn’t consider himself a hero, stating that the troops on the ground were the heroes. For himself, he wrote, “I’m just a lucky jet jockey with a good plane and a lot of good training.”23 He went further to explain his record: “It’s the teamwork out here that counts; the lone wolf stuff is out. I may get credit for a MiG, but it’s the team that does it . . . not myself alone.”24 McConnell authored an article that began with the self-deprecating lines, “I’m just a guy doing a job. I’m just another guy in spite of this triple jet-ace title with which I’ve been tagged.”25
McConnell was an aggressive pilot who took risks. On one day McConnell and his wingman, Dean Abbott, were orbiting Cho-do as spares when McConnell’s hydraulic system failed. There was a back up system, but because stick forces would become extremely high if that system failed, the policy was to immediately return home. However, Cho-do radar radioed that numerous MiG formations were over Mukden, 120 miles northwest of the Yalu. McConnell did not hesitate to pursue the MiGs although it meant violating two policies: one concerning the hydraulic system, and the other respecting Chinese air space. As it turned out, the MiGs had landed by the time the pair of Sabres reached Mukden. McConnell then made not one but two complete circuits over the city before heading back to base.26
A number of his fellow pilots claim that McConnell took chances and even turned away from MiGs to lure them in, implying that this is what led to his shoot down in April.27 In his eagerness for combat and MiG kills, he violated policies and certainly put himself and his wingmen in peril. According to another ace, he also flew with his parachute straps disconnected to permit him more latitude to move around in the cockpit and look for enemy aircraft.28 Like most fighter pilots and all aces, McConnell had self confidence. One former Sabre pilot, Tuel Houston, recalls a conversation with McConnell before shipping over to Korea in which Houston mentioned that he would consider his tour a success if he downed one MiG. McConnell replied, “I wouldn’t even want to go if I didn’t know I was going to make ace. I know I’m going to make ace.” He of course did; Houston got three credits.29
McConnell returned to the United States a hero. He and Pete Fernandez met with President Eisenhower before the top American ace returned to California, where he was assigned to test pilot duties at Edwards AFB. On 25 August 1954, he took an F-86H, an upgraded Sabre, up for an aerobatic test flight. About twenty minutes into the flight, McConnell radioed that he was having problems with his elevators but was using trim to control the aircraft and would attempt to land the aircraft on the dry lakebed. In Korea, he had practiced landing without hydraulic controls, using only throttle and trim. There were a few more garbled transmissions, and then about a minute later ground observers noted a plume of smoke on the desert floor. McConnell got the fighter close to the ground but then at three hundred feet ejected from the aircraft. He cleared the seat but was too low for the parachute to deploy, landing and dying about three-quarters of mile from where the jet crashed. Although many believe that the F-86H suffered hydraulic failure, accident investigators found that two bolts had not been properly secured after the fighter’s control stick was repositioned. The aircraft had flown six flights before the bolts worked free. McConnell misdiagnosed the problem as hydraulic failure when in fact his ailerons were disconnected, a much more unstable and dangerous condition. What enemy pilots had not been able to do was done by a careless mechanic.30
Manuel “Pete” Fernandez was born in Key West, Florida, in April 1925. Because his father was in the Air Corps, it is understandable that the son built model airplanes and sold newspapers to pay for flying lessons through which he learned to fly at age fifteen. Fernandez joined the aviation cadet program shortly after graduating from high school in 1943 and earned his wings in November 1944, but he did not see combat in World War II. Although he was assigned to fighters after the war, he flew C-47s in the Berlin Airlift, as did his father. When the Korean War erupted, he was a gunnery instructor at Nellis AFB, where he instructed Joe McConnell, among others. In late 1952, the USAF assigned him to the 4th’s 334th Fighter Squadron.31
Fernandez got his first credit on 4 October 1952 and his fifth and sixth on 18 February 1953. On the latter mission, he was flying as an element leader when he spotted thirty-two MiGs. He singled out one, closed, and fired a long burst that hit the Red fighter’s fuselage. It was last seen descending in a vertical dive. Another MiG latched onto Fernandez’s tail. The Sabre pilot pulled into a hard break to the left; the MiG followed and attempted to turn inside the American, but instead snapped into a spin and crashed. It was one of two MiGs that spun out and were credited as kills on this mission. The 4th Group claimed seven victories on 18 February.32
On 21 March, Fernandez was leading a flight of four when Cho-do radar issued a warning that the MiGs were in the area. At this point, the number three man, the squadron commander, was forced to abort because of a mechanical malfunction, taking his wingman with him. Fernandez should have aborted, as one of his drop tanks would not jettison; but he instead headed for the MiGs, or as he put it, he found himself beneath thirty to forty Red fighters. He turned into them, got behind the last two, closed to twelve hundred feet, and fired a burst that scored hits on the enemy’s wings and fuselage. The MiG began to smoke and slow as Fernandez continued to fire and get hits. The American ace shifted fire to the wingman, who took hits on the nose and then bailed out. Fernandez closed to two hundred feet on the leader and fired a long burst. He saw flames trailing from the fuselage, and the pilot slumped over the controls. The MiG then went into a vertical dive and crashed.33 This double ran Fernandez’s score up to ten. He scored one victory in April and added 3.5 credits in May, making him the top American scorer until McConnell scored three victories two days later to end the war as the top American ace.34
The USAF sent Fernandez home after he had flown 125 missions. He received a hero’s welcome, including a meeting with President Eisenhower, a parade down his hometown’s (Miami) main street, and a key from the city’s mayor. A few months later, with his Korean War rival, Joe McConnell, at his side, he married an airline stewardess. He went back to fighters and in 1956 won the Bendix Trophy for setting a speed record in an F-100C. The Air Force sent him to test pilot school and then in 1960 to South America to advise the Argentineans on how to fly the F-86. Fernandez retired in 1963 as a major.35
Then his life began to fall apart, turning a “onetime exuberant flyboy and model citizen to an embittered, abruptly-aged, for-hire pilot.”36 Too old for the commercial airlines, he became a “freelance pilot,” flying a hodge-podge of aircraft on a variety of jobs: beef cattle to Mexico City, appliances to Caracas, and Christmas trees to Aruba. On a 1980 flight in an old DC-6, the ace lost an engine and was forced to return to Colombia where he was arrested, apparently on bogus charges. He was imprisoned for forty-nine days until he paid a $25,000 fine. Broke and bitter, on 17 October 1980, Fernandez flew a twin-engine light plane from Florida without a flight plan to a lonely road on the Grand Bahama Island. There he crashed and burned along with a cargo of marijuana. Both his friends and family rejected the notion that Fernandez was a drug runner and instead believed that he was working undercover for the DEA. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery ten days later.37
Some of Fernandez’s bitterness arose from his belief that the USAF discriminated against him because of his Hispanic roots. He believed that the USAF pulled him out of combat and sent him home to allow McConnell, with the less ethnic sounding name, to eclipse him. This overlooks the facts that McConnell only surpassed Fernandez’s score two days later and that McConnell flew 106 missions while Fernandez flew 125. In addition, the Air Force allowed James Jabara, with a clearly ethnic name, to return to Korea late in the war on a second tour that almost eclipsed McConnell. For whatever reason, Fernandez only rose one grade above his Korean War rank of captain in the next ten years of USAF service.38
Few of the Korean War aces have written memoirs or put their experiences on paper. Fernandez wrote a short forward to a 4th Group tactical manual during the war that laid out some advice for F-86 pilots. He began by noting that “the ideal situation in combat for fighter versus fighter is . . . to maintain a higher altitude than the enemy, giving him the opportunity to engage or break off at will.”39 As the MiG-15 had a higher service ceiling than the F-86, the Sabre pilot had to compensate by outsmarting the enemy or forcing him to make a mistake. He asserted that the F-86s should maintain the highest speed that allowed formation integrity because he considered speed next in importance. Fernandez reminded the formation leaders to maneuver gently to allow the wingmen to stick with him. The ace noted that because the Reds used the metric system of measurement, the Americans should fly 1,500 feet above round metric numbers. For example, because 14,000 meters converts to 42,000 feet, the Sabres should fly at 43,500. The F-86 pilots should use surprise. Once within range, Fernandez advised firing a “good healthy burst that would assure you of getting more hits and slowing the enemy.”40
Fellow pilots thought well of Fernandez. He was a low-key individual and considered a great guy.41 Known as a good shot, Fernandez had obviously profited from his tenure as a gunnery instructor at Nellis where he learned how to use the gunsight and get long-range hits. As one secondary source put it, “Most pilots of the Korean War speak in awe and admiration of the marksmanship of one particular pilot, Capt. Manuel Fernandez.”42 Unlike a number of other pilots and some aces, he took care of his wingmen. One RCAF exchange pilot summed it up, “Pete was the best there was—no argument.”43
A third pilot in the race to be the top American ace of the war was James Jabara. Born in Muskogee, Oklahoma, in October 1923, he read about the exploits of Eddie Rickenbacker in World War I and from the sixth grade wanted to be a fighter pilot. Thus it was natural for him to join the aviation cadets upon his graduation from high school in May 1942. After earning his pilot wings in October 1943, he flew two tours in P-51s in Europe, completing 108 combat missions and claiming 1.5 aerial victories.44 Jabara transitioned to jets in 1948 and flew Sabres for about a year before he arrived in Japan in mid-December 1950. On 3 April 1951, he got his first jet victory and then on 20 May, his fifth and sixth credits, making him the first American ace of the Korean War.45
This was not an accident. The USAF was pushing to get an ace. The junior service was very conscious of public relations and knew the impact that an aerial ace had on both the public’s and decision makers’ minds. Maj. Gen. Earle Partridge, the Fifth Air Force commander, ordered the 4th Wing commander, World War II ace (24 credits) Col. John Meyer, to pick someone for that role and position him to achieve it. Meyer named three or so pilots, including Jabara, who at this point had downed two MiGs and was seen as a good flyer with both combat and jet experience.46 As a result, Jabara did not fly on missions that were not expected to encounter MiGs, and he only flew as a leader to increase his chances of success. Jabara stayed in Korea when his squadron (334FS) rotated back to Japan and went on temporary duty with its replacement. After racking up two more credits in two missions, he had a dry spell for almost a month. The mission of 20 May 1951 would change all that.47
Lt. Col. Bruce Hinton was leading the American formation that day, with Jabara leading an element with 1st Lt. Salvadore Kemp on his wing. About fifteen miles southeast of Sinuiju the Americans spotted MiGs and dropped their tanks. One of Jabara’s failed to jettison, but he ignored policy to return by continuing the mission. The fifty MiGs were about three thousand feet above the fourteen Sabres, which were flying at twenty-seven thousand feet. The opposing fighters made a head-on pass, fired, but inflicted no damage. Jabara attempted to reverse and get on the tail of a MiG but failed to do so because of the hung tank. “I couldn’t get into any kind of position,” Jabara recalled in his after-action report: “That tank really screwed me on that pass.”48 The American formation quickly broke down into elements, with Jabara and Kemp facing off against about a dozen MiGs. Three attacked the pair of F-86s and overshot. Jabara maneuvered behind a MiG and, after going around about three times, got within range (about fifteen hundred feet) and opened fire. His second burst hit the Red fighter below the cockpit and on the left wing. The MiG burst into flames, did two snap rolls, and fell into a spin, trailing heavy black smoke. At about ten thousand feet, the stricken fighter leveled out for a moment, at which time the pilot ejected—none too soon, since the MiG then exploded.49
The two F-86s started to climb back to altitude but became separated. In a post-flight interview, Jabara attributed this to his wingman’s slow aircraft; other accounts state that Kemp got jumped by MiGs. At twenty thousand feet, Jabara spied six MiGs and pulled in behind the trailing Red fighter. The lone F-86 pursued the Red pilot as he attempted to climb away and probably would have made good his escape except that he foolishly dove off to the left. Jabara had no trouble catching him in a dive and began firing as soon as he was within range. He got strikes on the MiG’s wings and tail and saw white smoke poring out of the MiG’s tailpipe. Jabara overshot but extended his speed brakes and positioned himself behind the damaged MiG, which was probably on fire, certainly smoking, and definitely flamed out as it was only going about 170 kts.
Jabara was at 6,500 feet when he heard a sound he described as a “popcorn machine right in the cockpit” as two other MiGs attacked him. Jabara retracted his speed brakes and applied full power as he observed the damaged MiG in flames and an uncontrollable spin. Although the Sabre was only traveling at about 500 kts, it was hard to control, forcing the American to use both hands on the control stick. The MiGs were on Jabara’s tail firing away every time he straightened out. Tracers from the cannon shells seemed to be getting closer and closer to the evading Sabre as the fighters frantically maneuvered for about two minutes. Two F-86s heading home, flown by Morris Pitts and Gene Holley, spotted the engagement and radioed that there was a Sabre in trouble. Jabara relied “Roger, I know it only too damned well.”50 They responded, “Call me if you need help,” an offer that Jabara quickly accepted. When asked who he was, he replied, in a high “g” turn: “Jaaabbbaaarraa!” The pair of Sabres entered the fray, one MiG disengaged, and the other four fighters continued to maneuver, with a MiG firing at Jabara, Holley firing at the MiG, and Pitts covering Holley. Holley fired six bursts and drove off the smoking MiG that he was credited with damaging. The F-86s returned home on minimum fuel; in fact Jabara shut down his engine and then restarted it to land.
Soon after Jabara emerged from his cockpit, Colonel Meyer awarded him the Distinguished Flying Cross. Later, in his office, he reprimanded the new ace for violating the hung tank policy. That evening Jabara told his comrades in an excited victory celebration that he had made a bad mistake that day and warned them not to continue the fight without a wingman. On 22 May, the USAF sent Jabara home. He had scored six victories on sixty-three missions.51 However, Russian records cast doubt on Jabara’s claim of being the first American ace in the Korean War. They deny losing any MiGs on 10 April (his second credit) and acknowledge losing only one on 20 May.52
James Jabara was short, measuring five feet five inches tall. He smoked cigars and drank beer, probably too much of both. He had weak eyes, unusual for a successful fighter pilot, and required glasses, prompting some to call him “cousin weak eyes.” One pilot commented that Jabara relied on his wingman to “talk” him into the intercepts, similar to the procedures used in GCI (radar controlled, ground controlled intercept). Hyperbole perhaps, but indicative.53
Compared to other top aces, for which there are either positive comments or few if any critical comments on personality, Jabara drew some unfavorable memories. Although Jabara was recognized as a great pilot, he was not popular with his comrades, especially those who flew on his wing. On one occasion, Jabara grounded a wingman for firing his guns instead of strictly protecting his leader. Bruno Giordano flew on Jabara’s wing on several of the ace’s kills. He recently wrote that Jabara seemed “to care less about what happened to his wingman and more than once put them in harm’s way.”54 He also relates an incident when Jabara attacked a flight of four MiGs that were landing. The opposing fighters crossed at a 90-degree angle; Jabara fired and missed, and Giordano just avoided a collision. The lieutenant looked back to see the MiG crash, either from the Sabre’s jet wash or sheer panic. Giordano called out the crash, believed he was responsible for the MiG’s destruction if anyone was, and thus claimed one MiG destroyed. Jabara, however, refuted this claim, insisting that because he initiated the attack, he deserved the credit. Giordano and Jabara “had a little discussion, but he, being the Major and Executive Officer and me being a punk second lieutenant, I lost the argument.”55
An RCAF officer noted that Jabara always flew the fastest fighter available and then chewed out his wingman for not keeping up with him.56 On the other hand, Lon Walter, who also flew with Jabara and shared a tent with him, had positive comments. He recalls the ace as a pleasant and quiet tent mate, considerate, and well liked.57 The 4th’s wing commander, John Meyer, relates that Jabara was a discipline problem, with bad characteristics, and that some described him as an “aggressive scrapper” and “arrogant little bastard.” The 4th’s commander saw the ace as a “hot shot Charlie type,” cocky, aggressive, bold, “the guy who sang the loudest in the club and made more noise than the other people and dressed on the extreme side for the military.” Meyer noted, however, that Jabara became more stable and mature after becoming an ace.58
As he had done in World War II, Jabara returned to Korea to fly a second combat tour. Arriving in the theater in January 1953, he downed his seventh MiG on 16 May, and rapidly added other credits, including pairs on 16 and 26 May and 30 June. He was in tight pursuit of McConnell’s record as the war wound down. He got his fifteenth and last victory on 15 July 1953, two weeks before the war’s end, and became America’s second highest scoring fighter pilot of the Korean War. Jabara flew a total of 163 combat missions on his two tours and was never hit. After the war, the ace flew fighters as well as the supersonic B-58 bomber. He was killed in an automobile accident in November 1966.59
The fourth ranking Korean War ace was George Davis. He is notable not just for his high victory scores, but also as one of seven American aces in both World War II and Korea and the lone F-86 pilot of four USAF personnel in the Korean War to earn the Medal of Honor. Along with James Jabara, he scored the most doubles during one mission, on four occasions, and was the only pilot to score more than two victories on a mission, with four on 30 November 1951. He was also the only American ace to be killed in action during the Korean War.
Davis was born in Texas in 1920 and attended Harding College before enlisting in the Army in March 1942. He pinned on his wings in February 1943 and went on to fly P-47s in the Pacific Theater (348FG) where he shot down seven Japanese aircraft. Besides being an ace, two aspects distinguished his World War II record: he scored two doubles and became very adept at deflection shooting. In September 1946, the AAF assigned him to its demonstration team, the predecessor of the Thunderbirds, and then sent him to be among the first to check out in jets. In October 1951, Davis arrived in Korea to command the Fourth’s 334th Fighter Squadron. He was highly experienced when he joined the unit; in addition to his seven kills and 266 missions during World War II, he had logged over 2,200 hours of fighter time.60
Davis flew his first combat mission on 1 November 1951 and downed his first two MiGs on the 27 November. He achieved ace status with four victories on 30 November. He added two victories on 5 December, four more on 13 December (two on a morning mission and two on an afternoon one) to push his credits to twelve. His success was probably due to his shooting skill; very good fliers are more common than very good marksmen. Some consider him to have been the best deflection shooter of the war, an opinion seemingly confirmed by his multiple successes on one mission.61 Davis’s second outstanding trait was his aggressiveness.
He was an absolute daredevil in the air, in sharp contrast to his subdued on-the-ground behavior where, contrary to that expected of the stereotypical fighter pilot, he rarely drank, did not smoke, and was not rowdy. His conduct in combat went beyond the bounds of what most fighter pilots considered reasonable. He “became more brazen, more aggressive, and more willing to take risks in Korea than he was during World War II.”62 His fellow pilots noted that Davis increased his distain for the ability of the MiG pilots as the war continued; as one pilot put it, “George just didn’t respect the MiG pilots.”63 Another stated that this attitude encouraged Davis to take bigger and bigger risks as he “considered himself immortal.” He wanted to run up his score and exhibited what a number have called “MiG madness.”64 After his success on 13 December, Davis did not score again for almost two months. This dry spell, coupled with his desire to kill MiGs, helps account for the events of 10 February 1952.
Flying as flight leader, Davis, on his sixtieth mission, headed toward MiG Alley to screen a fighter-bomber strike. The element leader in Davis’s flight had to abort because of an oxygen malfunction; Davis’s wingman also aborted because of cockpit pressurization problems. William Littlefield, who had been flying in the number four position, now took over as the leader’s wingman. According to one secondary source, “Apparently bored with the patrol, Davis left his squadron’s formation and took his wingman up to the Yalu to look for action. Leaving formation, especially when he was the leader, was highly unorthodox and incredibly dangerous.”65 Littlefield provides no explanation of how the pair of F-86s were separated from the other Sabres but relates that the two were patrolling along the south side of the Yalu at thirty-eight thousand feet when they saw a dozen MiGs in three flights, well below them and heading southward toward a formation of F-84s. Davis dove on the Red fighters, fired, hit, and set the last MiG in the last flight on fire. The stricken aircraft fell smoking earthward, a kill confirmed by Littlefield. Davis then made a second pass and overshot the second and third Communist flights, leaving seven MiGs behind him. Nevertheless, he deployed his speed brakes, slowed, and attacked the last fighter in the lead flight. It fell out of the formation smoking in a vertical dive. At the same time, a Red fighter closed on the F-86, fired, and hit the Sabre in the fuselage just below the canopy. The Sabre’s landing gear came down; the fighter rolled over, did a split “S,” and went downward, out of control, spinning in a “falling-leaf” manner. Littlefield called Davis several times but got no response. The fighter crashed thirty miles south of the Yalu. No one sighted a parachute. America’s leading ace was dead. For this action, the government awarded Davis its highest decoration, the Medal of Honor.66
Davis was a superb fighter pilot who pushed the situation too far. One Sabre ace commented that Davis “had more guts than the law allows.”67 Benjamin Preston, the 4th Group commander, remarked that Davis was overconfident, believing that MiG pilots were incompetent and that none could touch him. Double ace “Boots” Blesse put it in more analytical terms. “what really got George Davis shot down was that he failed to realize that in every group of people there are lousy pilots and there are good pilots. He had been in contact with so many lousy ones that he lost respect for the opponent, but that day he made contact with a good fighter pilot.”68
Understandably, the Communists attempted to learn who had downed America’s leading Korean War ace. The Chinese made their claim first, but the details they offer did not match up well with what we know from the American side. More recently, the Russians have made a similar claim for one of their pilots; again, the details inspire no confidence in their claim. That being said, clearly a Red pilot downed the top USAF pilot of the day, even if the Red pilot cannot be specifically identified.69
It was bad enough that Davis was killed and the USAF lost its leading ace, but matters got worse. Davis’s widow, mother of his two children and six months pregnant with a third, published a number of the ace’s letters that embarrassed the Air Force. She told the press that her husband had written her that he wanted and expected to come home after he got his fifth credit and that he would come home at the first opportunity. Davis also made a number of pessimistic comments about the war, criticized Air Force maintenance, and declared that the F-86 was inferior to the MiG. “Things can’t go on like they are,” he wrote his wife. “We lose so many planes and so many men. The MiGs are so much better than the Sabres that something must be done.”70 She also complained that Davis should have been sent home, as had the first three U.S. aces. The controversy got to the point that the Fifth Air Force commander, Lt. Gen. Frank Everest, canceled a press conference scheduled with the pilots of the 4th, and those fliers were instructed not to talk to reporters about the story. There were also calls for an Air Force investigation of the situation, but it did not take place. At first, the USAF stated that Davis had volunteered to stay on in Korea. It later retracted that statement, which would have branded Davis a liar, and issued a statement that Davis and two other aces were kept in Korea “because they were needed.” Internal USAF messages note that on several occasions Davis indicated that he wanted to complete his tour.71 The Air Force also publicly stated that its ace policy had changed: initially pilots went home after becoming aces; the new policy required that everyone fly one hundred missions and permitted pilots to volunteer for an additional twenty-five.72
Royal Baker was one of the oldest of the Korean War aces, having been born in Texas in November 1918. He graduated from college in 1941 and shortly thereafter entered the aviation cadet program. After Baker earned his wings in January 1942, the AAF assigned him to the 31st Fighter Group, which went to Great Britain in June 1942. He flew 160 missions there and in North Africa and then returned for a second tour with the 48th Fighter Bomber Group in March 1944, flying 112 missions. He scored 3.5 victories on these tours, flying Spitfires and Thunderbolts. After a twenty-month separation from the service, Baker received a regular commission in June 1947. He was a group commander (52FGp) before his assignment to the 4th in May 1952. At this point Baker had logged about twenty-three hundred flying hours.73
In June 1952, Baker took over as the 4th Group commander and got his first Korean War victory on 20 June 1952. Baker destroyed his fifth Communist aircraft on 25 October and his tenth on 14 February 1953. He went on to score three more victories, the last on 13 March. That same month, Baker transferred out of the unit, having flown 127 missions.74 Baker had three advantages over most other Sabre pilots. First, he was a very experienced combat pilot. Second, due to his position as group commander, he could fly on missions on which they could expect to encounter MiGs. Third, he flew in lead positions and thus was a shooter.
Baker inspired mixed reactions from his subordinates. While some liked him, called him an excellent pilot and a great or good leader, and could recall hearing nothing bad about him, others had a contrary opinion. One stated that he was unlikable but a good combat leader. Another saw nothing spectacular in him. One of his pilots thought that he was too young for the position, was immature, and wanted to be a “big shot,” a leading ace rather than a combat leader. This officer also insists that Baker discouraged his subordinates rather than encouraging them. Wherever the truth lies, the facts remain that Baker was one of the USAF’s top Korean War aces; the 4th Fighter Group did well under his command, whether because of, or in spite of, his leadership.75
Baker went on to more success in the Air Force. He flew 140 combat missions in Vietnam, raising his overall total to almost 540 combat missions in three wars—surely among the highest number flown by an American fighter pilot. After the war, the Korean War ace served in a variety of positions and rose in rank to lieutenant general by the time he retired from the Air Force in 1975.76