Although John Bolt was the most famous and most successful of the non-USAF pilots who flew F-86s, there were others, the largest contingent coming from the marines.
There were a number of reasons why other air forces sent their pilots to fly F-86s in Korea. The Sabre was the best fighter in the West in the late 1940s and early 1950s, adopted by a host of countries and, quite unusually, by both the Navy and Marine Corps.1 Another factor that attracted non-USAF pilots to the two F-86 units was that the Korean War was the first large-scale air conflict since World War II and the first to use jets. Because the UN forces faced Soviet equipment and Soviet and Soviet-trained pilots, it was also a primer for a conflict that the West feared would engulf Europe.
American airmen, both as individuals and in units, had close contacts with Commonwealth airmen beginning in World War I. Americans served in both the RAF and RCAF, and American and Commonwealth units served side by side (or perhaps better put, wing to wing) in World War II. The Commonwealth air forces played a small role in the Korean air war. The Royal Air Force committed only one unit, a maritime reconnaissance squadron; the Canadians, no units; and the Australians and South Africans, one fighter unit each. Probably the most important Commonwealth air contribution was made by the Royal Navy.2
The Royal Air Force sent at least seventeen pilots on exchange duty. Five of these accounted for six MiGs, two by Graham Hulse. He was killed, as was another British pilot; a third was shot down and survived captivity, and a fourth was rescued after a mechanical failure.3 Canada sent twenty-two pilots, all but one of whom flew in combat, logging a total of 1,036 sorties with S. B. Fleming flying the most, 82 sorties. Six RCAF pilots notched nine victories—three by Ernest Glover, who had flown Hurricanes and Typhoons in World War II and was captured by the enemy, and two by James Lindsay, a World War II ace. John McKay was another World War II ace that added 1 MiG to his 11.2 credits, which included an Me 262. Two RCAF pilots were forced to eject, one was downed by friendly fire and captured, and another was rescued after his Sabre suffered mechanical failure.4
The U.S. Navy sent as many as six pilots, two of whom scored one credit each, without a loss. But the most famous Navy exchange pilot was a pilot who neither scored a victory nor was lost: Walter Schirra went on to become an astronaut.5 The Marines made more use of the opportunity to exchange than did the Navy. They had two exchange pilots with each of the two F-86 wings and, based on their victory totals, probably had more pilots cycling through those units than any of the other air forces. Eleven Marines scored 21.5 victories. Bolt downed six MiGs, two other pilots had three victories each, and another two pilots had two each. One Marine exchange pilot was killed in action and another was shot down and rescued.6 Two of these pilots deserve further treatment.
Probably the most famous Marine pilot to fly in F-86s, and for that matter in the Korean War, was John Glenn. (Vying for this distinction, Ted Williams, the outstanding Boston Red Sox hitter, flew Panthers in the war. As fate would have it, the ballplayer and the future astronaut were in the same unit and flew together on occasion.) Glenn left college in his junior year in 1942 to enter Naval flight school and earned his wings and a Marine Corps commission the next year. Based in the Marshall Islands, he flew fifty-nine ground support missions. After the war, he served for two years on the North China Patrol and then as a flight instructor. In February 1953 the Marines sent Glenn to Korea where he completed sixty-three ground attack missions in Panthers. On two occasions his F9F was damaged by antiaircraft fire.7
The Marines posted Glenn to exchange duty with the 51st Fighter Group in the waning days of the war. An Air Force enlisted man accurately summed up Glenn’s attitude when he painted “MiG Mad Marine” on his assigned Sabre. The Marine pilot recognized that this was correct: “I flew with a focus on the target, and if it meant flying on the edge, that’s what I did.”8 On 12 July 1953 Glenn and his wingman, Sam Young, chased one Red fighter miles into China, claiming “hot pursuit”; Glenn nailed it as it attempted to land. Glenn was fifty feet off the ground as he watched the Red fighter splatter at the edge of the Chinese airfield at Antung. Glenn then shot up the Chinese control tower as he blazed down the field.9
A week later, Glenn was leading a flight of four when a fuel feed problem forced one pilot, John Boyd, to abort. In violation of policy, Boyd’s element leader, Henry Buttlemann, who had just become an ace, continued the mission.10 Glenn spotted four MiGs, and as he closed on them, another dozen or more MiGs and four F-86s joined the battle. Glenn got into trouble when he lost his wingman, Jerry Parker, as well as Buttlemann and then overshot his target, allowing the MiG to fire at him. Glenn’s wingman came to the rescue and hit the Communist fighter; it fell into a spin and crashed. Parker’s fighter was damaged in turn, however, probably by ingesting parts of the disintegrating MiG. Parker headed home with only partial power and, subsequently, lower speed, covered by Glenn. When they neared the Chong-chong River, six Red fighters attacked the pair. Glenn turned into the MiGs and, although well out of range, “lit up the nose.” The six .50s were very visible and had the desired effect because the MiGs broke off their attack. But Glenn did not let this end the day; he tacked onto the trailing MiG and shot it down. The remaining five engaged him in uncoordinated attacks and then broke off from the dogfight. Glenn commented, “The MiGs’ tactics were so poor I could only imagine it was a training flight, or they were low on fuel, but we were unbelievably lucky.”11 The F-86 pilots had done well on 19 July, claiming ten MiGs, with Glenn, Parker, and Buttlemann each scoring a victory.
Three days later Glenn led a flight into MiG Alley, saw two Communist fighters, and attacked. He fired a long burst, got hits, and watched as the wounded fighter dove and crashed. This action gave Glenn his third credit; Henry Buttlemann his seventh; and Glenn’s wingman, Sam Young, his one and only MiG. These were the last MiGs downed in the war. Three MiGs in ten days was quite an accomplishment, highlighted by the fact that Glenn had flown only sixty-seven missions in F-86s.12
After the war, the Marines sent Glenn to Navy test pilot school at Patuxent River. In 1958, he joined the original seven Mercury astronauts and in February 1962 made the third American space flight, becoming the first American to orbit the earth. Glenn retired from the Marine Corps as a full colonel in January 1965, having logged almost fifty-five hundred flying hours, nineteen hundred in jets. He went on to the U.S. Senate, made an abortive run for the presidency in 1984, and enjoyed a space shuttle ride in 1998, the same year he retired from the senate.13
It would be great if all stories of American airmen turned out as well as Glenn’s. Unfortunately, this is not the case; not all of the F-86 activities were marked with success. The USAF listed 118 F-86 pilots as casualties in the Korean War: 47 killed, 65 missing, and 6 wounded.14 One of these casualties was Tom Sellers.
Sellers was born in Dallas, Texas, in August 1924, entered pilot training in September 1942, and graduated with wings and a commission in the Marine Corps in August 1943. He remained stateside during the war. The Marines released him from active duty for most of 1946 and then again in December 1947 until he was recalled in February 1951 for the Korean War. Between November 1952 and April 1953, Sellers completed one hundred combat missions in the F9F. The young Marine applied for exchange duty with the USAF and arrived in late April at the 4th Fighter Group.15
Sellers demonstrated great persistence in getting the exchange assignment. As a Marine Corps reserve officer, he was not technically eligible for the slot, yet he kept applying until a new commander saw fit to violate Marine policy and approve his application. Sellers wanted to make the Corps his career and sought the F-86 experience because it would enhance his bid to obtain a regular commission. He knew that the Corps was getting Sabres; therefore, pilots with F-86 flying experience, and especially those with MiG credits, would be very valuable. He wrote his wife on 5 April that this duty “will be the biggest opportunity I’ve ever had, and I intend to make the most of it: to learn as much as I can and to get as much F-86 time as I can, not to be a hero but, if the opportunity affords itself, to test my talents against a MiG.”16 Sellers believed that if he could get a MiG, “I could write my own ticket in the Marine Corps.” He quickly added, “but I’m not sticking my neck out for anything.”17
The USAF welcomed Sellers, and he fit right in, due to shared interests and his personality and that of his fellow pilots. His initial impression was that “these guys eat, sleep and drink flying, that is, chasing MiGs; they never talk about anything else. . . . That’s the way it should be. They have a darn good record and they know it. . . . I think it is going to be fun instead of work, like it was [flying F9Fs].”18 Sellers was enthusiastic about the F-86, which he thought flew even better than it looked. He attempted to reassure his wife, writing that “my promise still holds that I’ll not take any unnecessary chances, such as going north of the Yalu and jumping MiGs in their traffic patterns, as some of the boys have done.”19 Two weeks later, he wrote his wife that she shouldn’t worry because “my first ambition is to get home; my second is to get a MiG.”20 Sellers also correctly noted that flying an F-86 was safer than what he had been doing. In his words, “This flying is so much more tame than what we did at K-3 [the F9F base].”21
Sellers was irritated by the poor weather that hindered operations, and he was frustrated that the MiGs were hard to find, even on good weather days. From the outset, he counted the days until he would return home, complained about the slow mail service, and emphasized the importance of letters from home. On 22 June, he mentioned how Bolt, a friend of his, was overshadowing him, having downed two MiGs, while he had none. Sellers then wrote that he would do his best, and if that wasn’t good enough, that was too bad. “I refuse to go north of the river to look for MiGs.” Then, to reassure his wife, he added, “It isn’t worth the risk; however, if I’ve got one in my sights, I’m not going to turn him loose.”22 The next week he changed his mind. Certainly some of this was due to Bolt, who was getting kills (he got his third credit on 24 June), for Sellers wrote his wife that he was just as good a pilot as Bolt, but that Bolt seemed to be at the right place at the right time. This was his self-confidence, ambition, and frustration colliding.
On 25 June, Sellers had his first chance, but just as he was about to fire, the MiGs spotted his Sabre, made a violent maneuver, and flew into a cloud, not to be seen again. On 29 June, he wrote his wife that, “I’m determined to get a MiG, as are most of the boys around here, and it seems there is only one positive way of doing it, and that is to go north of the Yalu. I did it for the second time today but no luck.” After writing that he had taken his flight sixty miles north of the river, he commented that, “Practically everyone makes the venture and 50 percent of the time it pays dividends. I’ve just got to get one; after that I’ll be satisfied. Jack Bolt has three now, and I know he got all of them across the river.”23
Sellers finally got to fire on 1 July and in his words “muffed it.” Flying over the city of Antung, Sellers’s wingman called a break as four MiGs made a diving firing pass on the Sabres that were at forty-two thousand feet. The fighters went round and round, Sellers remarking that, “they were beautiful; I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight; I felt like I was in a movie.”24 Sellers got behind the third MiG, fired and missed, and then got behind the fourth MiG. He opened fire at one thousand feet; although he thought his tracers hit the Red fighter, his gun camera film indicated otherwise. At this point, a flight of Sabres intervened and shot down two of the MiGs. Then four MiGs painted jet black flew by and Sellers latched onto the trailing fighter. The MiG dove for the field at Antung with Sellers in trail. At fifteen thousand feet the Marine broke off the pursuit and headed home because he could not close the five-thousand-foot gap and because of his fuel situation. He landed with one hundred pounds of fuel remaining. It was both an exhilarating and frustrating experience.
Sellers’s envy of Bolt grew when the latter got his fifth and sixth kills on 11 July. Sellers noted that he was not getting the same breaks in the 4th as Bolt was getting in the 51st, the only hint that Sellers was having any problems with the USAF. He wrote his wife that he would tell her the details when he got home. Meanwhile, the combatants realized that the war would be over shortly. Sellers was frustrated and depressed by the poor weather and his lack of success, writing, “My nerves have taken about all they can, but only fourteen more shooting days left [until the end of his ninety-day tour with the Air Force]. If I could only get a MiG, I’m certain I could snap out of it. I just can’t tell you how disgusted I am with myself.”25
His situation was not helped when he ended up flying on the squadron commander’s wing on his fortieth mission, after the number two and four men aborted. Sellers was not in a shooting position and classified his leader as “‘P’ poor: he can’t see a thing.”26 He was understandably upset as he called out MiGs, but before the leader reacted, the Red fighters flew right through their formation, firing as they did. Two others got on the leader’s tail and opened fire but missed. Sellers got off a few rounds and believed he scored some hits. He could not confirm this, however, because his gun camera film did not come out. When the pair of F-86s departed the scene, two other MiGs made one pass. In Sellers’s view, his leader was the cause of the lack of success. “If he had seen them in time we could have been on the offensive, but these are the breaks I’ve been having.”27 He finished his letter with this reassurance. “You can stop worrying about our going across the fence [Yalu] into Manchuria: the Fifth Air Force has put a stop to it, threatening to court martial the next man to shoot MiGs trying to land at their own field.”28 Three days later Sellers was over China, as ordered, attacking MiGs that had just taken off from their airfield.
On 20 July 1953, Sellers was leading a flight of four Sabres on an airfield reconnaissance sweep that entailed overflying a number of Communist airfields at least thirty miles inside China. Sellers brought his formation below twenty thousand feet due to an overcast sky and encountered enemy flak. This disrupted the F-86 formation; unknown to Sellers, the two elements split apart. Sellers observed fourteen MiGs taking off and immediately called a bounce. Sellers dove on the Communist fighters and focused on two MiGs in the middle of this gaggle at about one thousand feet. He deployed his speed brakes and retarded his throttle as he closed on the MiGs and then gave his first target a short burst; it started burning. Seller then shifted his attack with a quick burst on the second MiG, which exploded. The Marine’s wingman, Albert Dickey, radioed that they were being attacked by two MiGs and called for a left break. Sellers acknowledged and started to turn. About one-quarter way through the break a MiG opened fire from a distance usually considered out of range for the Soviet fighter and its first shots hit Sellers’s F-86 in the fuselage near, or on, the canopy. The Sabre exploded, its wings fell off, and the flaming wreckage fell to the ground. Dickey saw three fires on the ground, presumably the two MiGs and one F-86, but did not observe a parachute.29
The Marine Corps listed Sellers as missing in action for a year before declaring him killed in action. The USAF credited Sellers with two MiGs destroyed and awarded him the Silver Star for this action. No further information surfaced about his fate, except that the Air Force had falsified the dogfight’s location to conceal the intrusion into Chinese air space. There is no report that Sellers’s aircraft or remains were discovered. The marine major left a wife without a husband and two young daughters without a father.30
Sellers was not the only F-86 pilot killed in action. During the war, about seventy pilots who flew Sabres died in combat, accidents, and Communist prison camps.31 Felix Asla was born in February 1924, and was awarded his wings and commission in June 1944. He flew P-47s and P-51s in World War II, but earned no victory credits. Asla was briefly separated from the service in 1947 before he received a regular commission. He flew F-80s and F-86s prior to joining the 4th in Korea in October 1951. In March 1952, Asla took over as squadron commander of the 336th. At that point, he had one victory credit; he added two more in March and one in June.32
On 1 August 1952, he was flying his ninety-seventh mission, leading a formation into MiG Alley. Six F-86s attacked a formation of two dozen MiGs. The first indication the Communist pilots had of the immediate presence of the Americans was the sight of drop tanks falling from the sky above them. Asla got behind a MiG, closed for the kill, and opened fire. Unbeknownst to him, he had lost his wingman in the maneuvering. He probably saw a fighter moving up on him as if to join up and apparently assumed it was his wingman because he took no evasive action and continued to fire at his target. Nikolai Ivanov pulled the trigger and his cannon shells struck home, ripping off the Sabre’s left wing. The F-86 entered a spin; no parachute was observed. The 4th Fighter Group claimed four fighters that day, as did the Russians. Americans admit losing one F-86 and one pilot; the Russians admit losing three MiGs and two pilots.33
Walker Mahurin was another casualty of the Korean air war. He was born in Michigan in December 1918 and first flew at age seven. After graduation from high school in Indiana, he attended Purdue University for two years and joined the aviation cadet program in August 1941. Mahurin received his wings and commission in April 1942 and was sent to the Fifty-sixth Fighter Group. He was with the group when it deployed to Britain and earned 19.75 victory credits before a German bomber gunner downed him in March 1944. He evaded capture and then was sent to the Pacific theater as commander of the Third Commando Squadron, where he downed one Japanese aircraft and survived an ocean ditching. He ended up as the AAF’s fifteenth highest scoring ace of the war. After the war, Mahurin earned an Aeronautical Engineering undergraduate degree from Purdue and served as Assistant Executive Officer for the Secretary of the Air Force. In December 1951, he went to Korea for ninety days of temporary duty.34
His old friend from the World War II Fifty-sixth, Gabby Gabreski, got him into the 51st Fighter Wing, and there he very quickly added to his victory credits. On his first combat sortie on 6 January 1952, Mahurin flew as Gabreski’s wingman. Cho-do radar alerted the Americans to the presence of MiGs, and soon the jet fighters were engaged in a dogfight. Mahurin spotted a MiG below and got Gabby’s permission to attack. He opened fire at long range without apparent effect; as he closed, the light in his gunsight went out, rendering it useless. Understandably frustrated, he continued to fire but was forced to break off his attack when other MiGs zeroed in on him. He saw three Red fighters hit the ground within five miles of the Communist airfield at Antung but did not think he had damaged his target. However, another pilot who picked up the pursuit of that MiG after Mahurin had broken off his attack confirmed the kill for him.35
He earned his second MiG credit on 17 February after jumping a MiG at forty-three thousand feet. Mahurin dueled with the Communist pilot for some time in a fight that ended up about one hundred feet off the ground. The World War II ace slowly gained on the Red fighter and began to get hits that knocked out the MiG’s engine. When the Red fighter quickly lost air speed, Mahurin overran his victim, passing twenty feet off of MiG’s wing, and observed that the torn up fighter was trailing fuel and fire and the pilot was slumped over his instruments. Mahurin then saw the fighter roll over and dive into the ground.36
Mahurin’s ninety days were up, but Fifth Air Force changed his orders and sent him to command the 4th Fighter Group, which he took over on 18 March 1952.37 Mahurin writes that when he learned that one of his pilots, Capt. Jack Owens (334FS), was shooting off all his unexpended ammunition in strafing attacks as he returned from MiG Alley, he jumped on the idea. This was a tactic used by Eighth Air Force fighters in World War II to beat up German targets, although it was costly in lost fighters and downed pilots. However, a pilot in the 51st states that Mahurin discussed the strafing idea with him in January. Mahurin writes that his purpose was to provoke the Communists so they would rise to engage the Sabres. He flew these missions, destroying a train on one of them, but also got his Sabre shot up. Mahurin then took this concept one step further. He obtained enough bomb shackles and associated equipment to outfit twenty-five F-86s with a bombing capability. Mahurin concluded that the Communists would be most sensitive to attacks near the Yalu; however, the distance would require the F-86s to carry one external fuel tank under one wing and one bomb under the other. (North American mounted two pylons on the F-86A, -E, and early -Fs.) The 4th flew its first bombing mission on 8 May against targets in Sinuiju, just across from the Antung airfield, but with little bombing and no aerial success. In the following days the 4th engaged in more bombing and strafing attacks.38
On 13 May 1952, Mahurin pursued the fighter-bomber idea with a vengeance. On his first mission of the day, he led a squadron of Sabres to bomb the Uiju airfield in North Korea and to strafe various targets. Several Red fighters took off in China, but none crossed the Yalu. That afternoon, Mahurin led a flight of four F-86s each carrying two 1,000-pound bombs against rail targets in Kunuri a short (150 mile) distance from the Sabre base. The F-86s began their attack from twelve thousand feet and encountered antiaircraft fire that Mahurin described as “intense.” Nevertheless, they achieved good accuracy. The MiGs came up and were met by escorting F-86s. The Sabres returned home and rearmed for another bombing mission. Mahurin told Harrison Thyng, the 4th Wing commander, that this would be his last bombing mission. In their conversation, Thyng mentioned that in a few days Mahurin would be replacing Gabreski as wing commander of the 51st.
The target for this third mission was again the railroad targets at Kunuri. After Mahurin completed his attack, he circled the target observing the impact of the rest of the flight’s bombs. He then saw a truck moving down a road and lined up for a strafing run. He later admitted he got carried away and got hit in the process without hitting the truck. On fire and too low to bail out, he headed for the Yellow Sea, sixty miles away. He flew over more Communist antiaircraft positions and was hit again. He was flying with partial power at only about 150 mph when the fire warning light illuminated and the main hydraulic system went out. Mahurin throttled back to reduce the temperature but soon felt the controls stiffening as the emergency hydraulic system began to fail. One mile from the sea, the Sabre hit the ground hard, broke off the wings, rolled over twice, and reversed direction. Close, but not close enough. He was quickly captured. The Americans abandoned the F-86 fighter-bomber tactics the next day. Despite this experience, the Air Force revived the concept in 1953, converting the 8th and 18th Fighter Bomber Wings to the later versions of the F-86F that mounted four pylons.39 They too suffered heavy losses.
Mahurin was subjected to extreme pressure from his Communist captors, who were in the midst of a propaganda campaign accusing the UN airmen of conducting germ warfare. Mahurin, along with a number of other captives, “confessed” to this crime. After sixteen months of captivity, Mahurin was released. Some believe his confession ruined his career. In March 1956, he left the regular Air Force and served in the reserves, flying C-119s and C-124s, quite a comedown for a fighter pilot with 20.75 World War II and 3.5 Korean War victories. He went on to work for a number of aviation companies, including Northrop and McDonnell.40
Ed Heller was born in Philadelphia in December 1918 into an affluent family, whose lifestyle dramatically changed after the 1929 stock market crash. When war came to America, he was working as a state policeman. He quickly enlisted and, with the college requirement dropped, entered the aviation cadet program, graduating in March 1943 with wings and an officer’s commission. He flew two tours in Europe, logging 520 combat flying hours with 5.5 aerial credits and at least fourteen ground credits. Heller stayed in uniform after the war as an instructor with the West Virginia National Guard and went on to command the 62nd Fighter Squadron. He arrived in Korea in September 1952 and took over the 26th Fighter Squadron.41
Heller scored his first victory in November, downing the last of four MiGs that flew through his formation. The Communist pilot bailed out. Three weeks later he split a kill credit with his wingman. Heller writes that after scoring hits, he could not complete the victory because of a hung up fuel tank that restricted the Sabre’s performance. According to the official account, the MiG spun out and crashed trying to elude the Americans.42 Three days after being notified of his spot promotion to lieutenant colonel, he scored two victories on 22 January 1953, both over China.
The next day he led a flight with the squadron’s new operations officer, Harold Herrick, as his element leader with soon-to-be ace Dolph Overton on Herrick’s wing. This was Heller’s fifty-seventh F-86 mission. Cho-do radar alerted the Americans to a number of MiG formations that were airborne. The flight split into elements to meet Red fighters that swooped down on them. Herrick and Overton each downed a MiG. Meanwhile, Heller lost his wingman; some say he fled the scene. In any case, Heller dove on a Red fighter below him although he spotted a MiG climbing to attack him. That MiG opened fired with a split-second, large-deflection angle shot and cannon shells, which streamed over his cockpit, in Heller’s words, looking like “burning golf balls.” One or more hit the F-86, exploding in the cockpit—a case of remarkably good shooting or good luck for the MiG pilot.
The American was lucky as well, for the aircraft’s armor plate saved his life. Heller was wounded in the arm and in a vertical dive, the control stick useless; the cockpit was in shambles. The canopy was smashed, blood or hydraulic fluid covered the smashed right console, and the instrument panel was completely shot away. Heller locked his shoulder harness, pulled his feet under his seat, and squeezed the ejection seat trigger. Nothing happened: Heller was trapped in the rapidly diving F-86. He actuated the lever several more times with an equal lack of results. However, when the Sabre reached the thicker air at lower altitude, it began to recover from the dive, and pulled so many “g”s that the wounded pilot blacked out. When he recovered he was close to the ground. Heller released his seat belt and harness, stood up in the seat, and was sucked out of the fighter. He survived the bailout and was quickly captured about 60 km north of the Yalu River.43
Heller joined a number of other American aviators in captivity. A later captive was Harold Fischer, who may have gotten the MiG that downed Heller. The USAF credited him with a victory that day for a Red fighter that Fischer reported was climbing and firing on an F-86.44 I. I. Karpova was the Soviet pilot that got Heller, his one and only victory credit. Shortly after Karpova fired a long burst that nailed the Sabre, he in turn was shot up. In his words, “My aircraft was hit and rattled like an empty can, beaten on by peas.”45 His aircraft uncontrollable, the Russian ejected from the faltering MiG.46 Fischer and Heller were not released with most of the prisoners when the war ended in July. Instead, the Chinese held them and a few others until May 1955. Heller resumed his flying career and went on to retire from the Air Force in 1967 as a lieutenant colonel.47
Some of the aces were to gain greater fame after the Korean War. John Glenn is obviously one of these; Robinson “Robby” Risner is another. Born in Arkansas in January 1925, he enlisted in the AAF in April 1943 and in May 1944 was awarded his wings and commission. Risner flew P-38s and P-39s in Panama during the war. The AAF discharged him in January 1946, and the former fighter pilot went on to a number of limited, dead-end jobs. In 1947 he joined a fighter unit in the Oklahoma Air National Guard that was activated in February 1951. His effort to get into combat was almost thwarted, for on his last night at home he was thrown from a horse, breaking his hand and wrist. This would have grounded most others, but not Risner. He concealed his injury until he convinced a doctor that it was healed and took his hand out of a cast to fly his first combat mission. He used a connection, a former guardsman he knew, to wrangle his way from the reconnaissance unit to which he was initially assigned, into the 4th Fighter Group in June 1952. This was not outright favoritism; the unit was seeking experienced pilots, and Risner had almost sixteen hundred flying hours.48
Risner was not successful at first. One factor was that the MiGs were not consistent in opposing the UN airmen; they flew in cycles. In early August, Risner went to Japan for three days of “rest and recuperation.” The second day he was there, he learned that the MiGs were flying and immediately flew back to his unit, arriving there at three in the morning. In short order he joined his flight, which was on alert. The flight launched and spied eight MiGs below them just after leveling off at thirty-five thousand feet. Before the Americans could attack, the number three man spotted six other MiGs diving and firing on the F-86s. Two overshot and Risner pulled about one thousand feet behind them and fired a long burst at one of the enemy fighters. “He lit up like a Christmas tree” from the .50s that struck home, Risner noted, and then “seemed to stop in the air.”49 The American pilot threw out his speed brakes and pulled his throttle back to stay behind the MiG. The Red fighter went into a spin and Risner’s Sabre stalled as he attempted to stay with the Communist aircraft. The American regained control, fired again, and closed to about three hundred feet. His bullets severed the MiG’s tail from the fuselage. The pilot ejected, but because he was at thirty-two thousand feet when he opened his chute, he probably did not survive. Despite a lack of sleep, Risner had posted his first victory credit.50
Risner got two more credits in September, the second of which was perhaps his most memorable. On 15 September 1952, Risner was leading a flight escorting fighter-bombers attacking a chemical plant near the mouth of the Yalu. The Americans flew over China and across the Red airfield at Antung. As the Sabres made a second sweep across the area, four MiGs attempted to attack the F-84s. The Sabre flight broke into elements with Risner and his wingman, Joe Logan, engaging in a dogfight that raged from thirty thousand feet down to the deck. Risner pursued a MiG, at times at nearly the speed of sound, at one point momentarily flying in wing tip formation with the Communist pilot who shook his fist at Risner. The chase led down a dry streambed, across wooded hills, with the MiG flying inverted for a time at very low level. Despite the Communist pilot’s superb flying, Risner scored hits on his canopy and tail and started a fire. As the trio of jets crossed a Chinese airfield thirty-five miles inside China, flak gunners let fly. The fighters flew between the hangars and down the runway, and Risner thought the Communist pilot was attempting to crash-land. But then about four feet of the MiG’s wing blew off just before the MiG exploded and set some parked fighters afire.
During the overflight of the airfield, flak hit Logan’s Sabre, puncturing his fuel tanks and making it impossible for him to reach his home base. But the closer the pilot could get to Cho-do, the greater his chances of rescue. Risner then tried an unprecedented maneuver; he had his wingman shut down his engine and attempted to push him toward safety. But after two attempts Risner had to back off, as the venting fuel and hydraulic fluid covered his canopy.51 Logan bailed out near Cho-do as Risner, short of fuel, shut down his engine for a time and glided toward home. He restarted the engine, but it flamed out, forcing Risner to make a dead-stick landing. Risner was safe and had notched his third victory. However, his wingman did not survive, for although Joe Logan was a good swimmer, he got entangled in his parachute risers and drowned.52
Six days later, Risner bagged two MiGs to become an ace. He added three later, to end the war with eight victories. On one of these kills, the Communist pilot ejected and he and his seat hit Risner’s Sabre. Plexiglas flew into his eyes and temporally blinded him. However the ace was able to regain enough sight in his eyes to successfully land. Risner went on to fly 108 or more missions.53
After the war Risner commanded a succession of fighter squadrons before taking over an F-105 outfit in August 1964. He led this unit to Thailand and, while flying from there, was shot down twice by flak. He was rescued the first time but was captured the second time. Risner was the ranking U.S. prisoner of war and as such provided leadership and an example to his fellow captives. He also suffered great punishment before his release in February 1973. The USAF promoted him to brigadier general in 1974. He retired from the service in 1976.54
Risner was not the only Korean War ace who went on to fly in Vietnam, get shot down, and survive captivity. As already noted, James Low shared that distinction, as did Jim Kasler. Born in South Bend, Indiana, in May 1926, Kasler enlisted in the AAF in September 1944 and served in combat as a B-29 gunner.55 He left the service in 1946 but then joined the aviation cadet program in January 1950 following three years of college. After earning his commission and wings in March 1951, the USAF sent him to Korea in November 1951 where he joined the 4th Group.
On 15 May 1952, flying as an element leader with three victory credits, Kasler was scrambled because of reports of MiGs airborne. The flight of Sabres flew north toward the Yalu. Before they made contact, however, Cho-do radar lost contact with the MiGs. Kasler then broke off his element from the flight and with his wingman, Albert Smiley, punched off his drop tanks and dove toward the Communist airfield at Antung. He caught a formation of MiGs just as they were pitching out to land. Kasler popped his speed brakes, executed a split-S, and got behind the MiG leader. He opened fire at a range of twelve hundred feet and scored hits; as he closed to one hundred feet, the MiG began to flame and fall apart. Kasler pulled alongside the stricken fighter and saw “the pilot sitting in a pool of fire.” He crashed and “scorched a wide, fiery trail across the air base.”56
Kasler then saw his wingman hammering a MiG that was on fire. However, another Red fighter was in turn attacking him. Kasler radioed Smiley to break, as he maneuvered to get that MiG into his sights. The dogfight was at ground level, with flak darkening the sky. Kasler chased the MiG for fifty miles toward the sea. He claims that during the chase, his flight commander, Philip “Casey” Colman, pulled between the MiG and the F-86 and then pulled out of the way as he radioed, “Come on, Kas, you have your five.” Kasler replied, “Negative. Smiley got one of them.”57 By this time, the fighters had reached the sea; after the Red pilot executed an Immelmann, Kasler fired, scored again, and closed the gap to five hundred feet. The two were diving at what Kasler later described as about a 60 degree angle at five hundred knots over the mud flats in poor visibility when the MiG crashed—or perhaps better put, splashed—into the mud. Kasler jerked the throttle back, deployed his speed brakes, and pulled hard back on the control stick with both hands, expecting to feel the impact of collision with the ground. He barely avoided joining his victim in the mud. The USAF credited Kasler with two victories, making him an ace, and credited Smiley with one, the only Air Force credits on 15 May. The ace later learned that Mao Tse-tung’s son was shot down that day.58 He got one more MiG credit and completed one hundred missions.
In August 1966, ground fire downed his F-105 on his ninety-first mission in Vietnam. In March 1973, the North Vietnamese released him. Kasler went on to serve as Vice Commander of the 366th Tactical Fighter Wing until his retirement in May 1975.59
Iven Kincheloe was another Korean War ace who gained greater fame after the war than in it. Born in Detroit in July 1928, he first flew before his fifth birthday and soloed on his sixteenth. He graduated from Purdue in 1949 with a degree in aeronautical engineering, a desire to be a test pilot, and a second lieutenant’s commission through ROTC. The USAF awarded him his pilot’s wings in August 1950 and assigned him to fly F-86s. Kincheloe arrived in Korea in September 1951 and flew sixteen missions with the 4th Fighter Group. In mid-November, he transferred to the 51st Fighter Group, which was commanded by his former (56FGp) skipper, “Gabby” Gabreski.60
Kincheloe was an eager and inquisitive fighter pilot. He also was in a position to bag MiGs because his squadron commander, Bill Whisner, appointed him a flight commander. Nevertheless, he was not getting any MiGs. The first lieutenant asked Col. “Bud” Mahurin the reason for this. Mahurin answered that he was pressing too hard and firing when he was out of range. Perhaps it was this advice that made the difference.
On 19 January 1952, Kincheloe shot down his first MiG in a classic attack. Kincheloe was leading his flight when his element leader spotted three MiGs ahead and below them. The Americans dove out of the sun with Kincheloe closing to within eight hundred feet before the Communist pilot detected him. The F-86’s bullets racked the Red fighter, and it began to fall apart as it fell out of control.61 He did not score again for two and a half months but then caught fire, probably because he was crossing the Yalu. On 1 April, he got a double and the next day scored another victory. Kincheloe posted his fifth and last aerial victory on 6 April, on his eighty-fourth mission. He downed one of these MiGs near Mukden, 120 miles north of the Yalu.62
Kincheloe also registered some kills on the ground. The USAF awarded forty-two air-to-ground victory credits during the Korean War, all but eleven during 1950.63 During the remainder of the war, there were only three days on which Air Force pilots made ground kills, one in 1951 and two in 1952. The number of ground kills was small because the American airmen could only attack the Communists on the ground in North Korea. Such attacks were off limits in China. On the few occasions the Communists brought aircraft into North Korea, they met stiff opposition and destruction from B-29 strikes and marauding Sabres. On 22 April 1952, Kincheloe and Elmer Harris each destroyed a Yak-9 on the ground. Two weeks later the pair attacked two dozen Yaks on the same North Korean airfield; Kincheloe claimed three and Harris another two on the ground. These were the ace’s last victories. In all, Kincheloe flew 101 F-86 missions and 30 F-80 missions (with the 51st, prior to its conversion to Sabres).64
Kincheloe went from Korea to Nellis AFB where he served as a gunnery instructor. The USAF then sent him to Britain to attend the Empire Test Pilots’ School, which he completed in December 1954 to fulfill his lifelong dream. He went on to fly the X-2 over 2,000 mph and 126,000 feet and was awarded the Mackay Trophy in 1956 for the latter feat. Kincheloe was one of three pilots selected to fly the X-15, the next and newest American experimental aircraft. Unfortunately, he was killed in an F-104 takeoff accident in July 1958 before he could fly the X-15.65
In his superb book on flying, test flying in particular, Tom Wolfe has high praise for Kincheloe. He writes that he “was a combat hero and test pilot from out of a dream: blond, handsome, powerful, bright, supremely ambitious and yet popular with all who worked with him, including other pilots. There was absolutely no ceiling on his future in the Air Force.”66 His fellow pilots confirm this assessment and noted that he looked out for the enlisted men and probably could have become Chief of Staff of the Air Force. In 1959, the USAF named one of its bases in Michigan after him.67
African-Americans were not permitted to fly in the U.S. military until well into World War II. Then, segregated units were organized using pilots trained at Tuskegee Institute. The Tuskegee airmen of the 332nd Fighter Group flew and fought well in the Mediterranean theater, seventy-one Tuskegee pilots claiming 108 aerial victories. Segregation in the military continued after the war until President Harry Truman issued an executive order in July 1948 that ordered the military to integrate. The USAF disbanded its segregated units and dispersed their personnel to various Air Force units prior to the Korean War.68
Despite the number of African-American fighter pilots with World War II experience, none of these veterans flew F-86s in Korea. Instead, they served in a variety of stateside assignments and in other aircraft in Korea. There is no official explanation for this situation, but it may have been to deny blacks this prestigious assignment or perhaps to prevent them from excelling in this very visible position. The war ended before Benjamin Davis, the ranking African-American USAF pilot, took command of the 51st Fighter Wing in November 1953.69 At least four black pilots, all recently out of pilot training, flew F-86s during the Korean air war. The most prominent of these was Earl Brown. He graduated from Penn State in 1949 and entered aviation cadets in late 1950, pinning on his wings in December 1951. He arrived in Korea in mid-1952 with 103 jet flying hours and flew as wingman for three of the 4th’s most successful aces, James Jabara, Pete Fernandez, and “Boots” Blesse. Brown completed 125 missions and damaged one MiG. After Korea, he stayed in fighters and flew 100 missions during two tours in Vietnam, surviving one bailout forced by antiaircraft fire. He retired as a lieutenant general in 1985, having flown over five thousand hours.70
Dayton Ragland also flew with the 4th. Born in Kansas City, Missouri, in December 1927, Ragland was involved in the one strafing attack of 1951. On 7 November, the North Koreans moved a number of MiGs onto the airfield of Uiju, in North Korea close to the Yalu River, and flew several missions from there. After American reconnaissance noted twenty-six fighters on the airfield on the tenth of the month, the Fifth Air Force staff proposed a coordinated attack by B-29s, B-26s, and fighters. But as the staffers and decision makers debated the concept, on 18 November Capt. Kenneth Chandler (336FS), with Ragland flying his wing, spotted eight MiGs on the field and pounced. Chandler sprayed the ramp and his gun camera film recorded numerous hits. He claimed four destroyed, one probably destroyed, and three damaged. There is no explanation, but Ragland did not claim any Communist aircraft. Although the USAF credited Chandler with four aircraft destroyed on the ground, a North Korean pilot who was on the field during the attack states that the strafing destroyed one MiG, damaged another, and killed one pilot.71
Ten days later, Ragland claimed a MiG, which was the only victory credit posted to an African-American in the Korean War. He was shot down on that same day, 28 November 1951. Ragland survived captivity and continued to serve in the Air Force, advancing to the rank of lieutenant colonel. He flew ninety-seven missions in Vietnam and was shot down flying an F-4 in May 1966 and was listed as missing in action.72
A number of veterans of World War II flew Sabres during the Korean air war. We do not know the total number of pilots but we do know those who scored victories in both wars. As already noted, there were seven pilots who scored more than five victories in both World War II and Korea. Six Korean War aces also registered victories in World War II, albeit less than 5. Three of these who have not been discussed were Stephen Bettinger, with 1 credit in World War II and 5 credits in Korea; Richard Creighton, with 2 World War II credits and 5 Korean War credits; and George Ruddell, with 2.5 and 8. Twenty-five pilots registered less than 5 kills in each war. Ten aces in World War II not already discussed also scored in Korea, including Lowell Brueland (12.5 in World War II and 2 in Korea), Van Chandler (5 and 3), Philip Colman (5 and 4), Benjamin Emmert (6 and 1), John Hockery (7 and 1), William Hovde (10.5 and 1), John Mitchell (11 and 4), and Herman Visscher (5 and 1).
John Meyer was the 4th Fighter Group commander between August 1950 and June 1951. He had scored 24 aerial victories in Europe, including 4 kills on one day, and 3 on two others, to rank as the seventh highest scoring AAF fighter pilot of the war. In Korea, Meyer added two more credits to his totals.73
Glenn Eagleston replaced Meyer as commander of the 4th Group, a position he held from May until July 1951. He claimed 18.5 German aircraft in the big war and 2 in Korea. Despite his experience, Eagleston almost became a credit for a Communist pilot.74 In late June 1951, Bruce Hinton was leading the 334th Squadron and Glenn Eagleston was leading the 336th on a MiG sweep near the mouth of the Yalu. The MiGs came up and the Sabres broke into elements in the ensuing dogfight. Hinton latched onto a lone Red fighter and closed to under fifteen hundred feet. As he was about to open fire on what he considered a sure kill, a lone Sabre followed by a MiG firing away five hundred feet behind, crossed at 90 degrees between Hinton’s F-86 and his intended target. The Red fighter was moving in for the kill, hitting the American fighter, which was shredding pieces and spouting flame. Hinton yanked his fighter around to engage the MiG that had overshot his prey and was swinging around to complete the kill. At this point, the MiG spotted Hinton and the two engaged in a maneuvering air battle. The American slowly improved his position enough to get off some shots at the MiG, which broke off the action and scurried across the Yalu. Hinton credited the enemy pilot with being very good and perhaps the legendary “Casey Jones,” who the Americans believed was an exceptional non-Asian pilot, perhaps a former Luftwaffe pilot, who attacked lone F-86s in a MiG painted with a red nose and fuselage stripes.75 (This story has all the markings of what later became known as an “urban legend.”)
Hinton then joined up with the battered Sabre and commenced to escort it home. Because the damaged F-86’s radio was knocked out, Hinton used hand signals to suggest the Sabre pilot fly toward the Yellow Sea for a bailout. The pilot emphatically rejected that notion, continued south toward home as he lost altitude, and made a successful wheels-up landing. The Sabre was a wreck and was written off, having been hit by two 23-mm shells in the aft fuselage and a 37 mm in the left gun bay. The cannon fire damaged the engine, knocked out the hydraulic system, and smashed the cockpit. The pilot was unharmed because the three left-side guns had absorbed the impact of the cannon shell that exploded just under the cockpit. Glenn Eagleston, triple ace in World War II, was very lucky and the Sabre proved to be very rugged.76