Following Dieppe, the three Eagle Squadrons were not given any time off. On August 20, the day after the raid, 71 Squadron escorted bombing raids over northern France. Bomber escorts were the Eagles’ main activity during the latter part of August, along with convoy patrols.
The Luftwaffe stayed out of sight most of the time. A frequent entry in squadron logbooks is “no enemy aircraft seen.” It was as though the German air force had made its point—it was still full of fight and was more than capable of challenging either the British or the Americans any time it chose—and was satisfied to let it go at that.
Once in a while, though, the enemy did decide to make his presence known. When that happened, the result was a short, violent combat. On August 27, for instance, 71 Squadron took part in what started out as another routine escort mission. But this time the Luftwaffe made up its mind to come up and fight. In the ensuing melee, 71 Squadron claimed two enemy aircraft destroyed and one probable. The squadron also lost one of their own Spitfires to enemy fighters.1
In addition to the Luftwaffe, the coming transfer to the US forces was also on everyone's mind. The pilots in all three Eagle Squadrons knew that their days in the RAF were numbered and that it would only be a matter of a few weeks until they were absorbed into the growing Eighth Air Force. Handwritten across the top of 71 Squadron's operations record book was the note, “Now No. 334 Sq. USAAF.”
The impending move was not being anticipated with any particular enthusiasm, however. After taking a look at the Eighth Air Force in combat, many of the Eagles wondered what they were getting themselves into. No one was impressed by what they had seen so far. Robert S. Raymond, the Yank from Kansas in Bomber Command, considered the American crews poorly trained, poorly equipped, and not very well prepared for living in Britain.
Not many of Robert Raymond's colleagues would have disagreed with this judgment. From what the RAF had been able to observe so far, the Americans did not seem to be able to do anything right. When the Eagles escorted B-17s over France, the bombers had a habit of showing up either too early or too late at their rendezvous. Also, the crews frequently displayed faulty navigation, failed to hold tight formations, and sometimes even flew right past their target.
One thing the Eagles—as well as other Spitfire pilots—learned very quickly was not to get too close to the Flying Fortresses. The American gunners shot at any fighter that came within range—they did not care if the fighters were German or Allied. Stories began circulating that some of the Spitfires of 133 Squadron returned to base with .50 caliber bullet holes in the wings and fuselage, but Carroll McColpin of 133 does not agree.
“They shot at Spits many times,” McColpin recalled, “but I have never heard of a Spit complaining of being hit.”2 As an afterthought, he said, “I wonder how they are shooting the Jerries if they never hit the Spitfires?”
That raised another sore point—the wildly extravagant victory claims made by American gunners. RAF pilots, including the Eagles, were absolutely astonished by the number of enemy aircraft the bombers claimed as shot down. On one particular mission, Flying Fortress gunners claimed a total of forty-eight enemy aircraft, along with twenty-five probables and thirty-two damaged. But the RAF fighter escort did not see that many German aircraft in the air.
One of the British flyers at Biggin Hill sarcastically asked a 133 pilot, “Why no claims? The bomber boys have claimed something phenomenal, at least ten destroyed and fifteen probables.”3
The Eagle pilots seemed alternatively furious at and ashamed of their fellow countrymen, and were disgusted by their evident lack of training and discipline. Among the more diplomatic phrases used to describe the B-17 crews were “pretty sickly” and “hopeless.” In private, they wondered how the top brass in the USAAF could be so short-sighted and unprofessional as to send such undertrained crews into combat.
A fairly typical escort mission took place on September 9. The Spitfires of 133 Squadron were scheduled to rendezvous with thirty-six Flying Fortresses over the southern coast of England. “The Fortresses were seven minutes early, but 133, being wise guys, were seven minutes early, too,” cracked the Squadron's logbook.4 Ten Focke-Wulfs hovered near the bombers but did not seem overly keen to engage in combat.
When the B-17s recrossed the French coast on their way back to England after bombing their target, their gunners, “for some reason or other,” began shooting at the Spitfires. “This did not please the pilots at all,” the squadron's intelligence officer recounted, “so they dived down to sea level and came back alone, leaving the bombers to themselves.”
Opinions of American bombing techniques were as uncomplimentary as those of American gunnery and navigation. On another bombing mission, the Flying Fortresses showed up twenty minutes late for their rendezvous with 133 Squadron, proceeded to drop their bombs “all over the place,” and then “made for home.” This sort of performance was not even close to the standards demanded by the Royal Air Force.
From what the RAF had seen, the American bomber crews were not going to be much of an asset. Their navigators could not steer a course, their bomb aimers could not hit their targets, and their gunners could not hit anything.
Even though most Britons had never met an American before, their mental image was of a people who were always thorough and efficient, in a ruthless sort of way—“typical Yankee efficiency” was one transatlantic trait that was given enthusiastic admiration. It did not take very long for the myth of the efficient, energetic American to come crashing to earth.
The British view of American involvement in the war to date went something like this: First, they had been caught sleeping at Pearl Harbor. After being kicked into the war, they found themselves without any fighter aircraft that could hope to compete with the Luftwaffe's Focke-Wulfs and Messerschmitts. When they finally were able to send aircrews to Britain, the men were either undertrained, incompetent, or both.
And this did not apply to just a few untrainables who somehow slipped through the net. The majority of American aircrews were inadequate, at least by RAF standards. But it was not the men who were to blame; senior air force officers back in the States were pushing them through training and sending them off to war before they were ready.
It seemed to the RAF that the United States was planning to fight the war with half-measures and excuses—a program that was certain to kill a good many Americans in the sky above the German-occupied Continent. They came to England bragging, “We're going to win the war for you,” but could not even do their jobs properly. So much for “typical Yankee efficiency!”
Dissatisfaction with the performance of American pilots and aircrews was widespread throughout the RAF, and Eagle Squadron pilots criticized them just as loudly. Although the Eagles probably did not realize it, their reaction to the newly arrived Eighth Air Force was filled with irony. When the first Eagle Squadron had been formed two years before, the Yank volunteers were bitterly faulted for being unmanageable, undisciplined, and generally of little use against the Germans. Now, the pilots of the Eagle Squadrons were making the same sort of remarks about another group of Americans who had recently come to England to fight the Germans. The course had run full circle.
A dramatic photo of the Mighty Eighth, in all of its glory: a formation of B-17 Flying Fortresses escorted by fighters, somewhere over the enemy-occupied Continent. In 1942, the Eighth Air Force was just starting operations from British airfields. Bomber pilots and aircrews lacked training and experience and would learn many things about the Luftwaffe the hard way. (Courtesy of the National Museum of the United States Air Force®.)
Members of the three Eagle Squadrons did not confine their criticism to just the Eighth Air Force. They were also still busily finding fault with each other.5 The rivalry among the three units had not diminished with time, as RAF Fighter Command had hoped. If anything, it had grown—“to the point where it was causing concern to various wing commanders,” one historian noted. Keeping the three squadrons separated, basing them at three different airfields was the only way to keep the problem at bay.
Besides troubling senior RAF officers, this unfriendly rivalry was also causing increasing concern among officers in the Eighth Air Force. Once the three Eagle Squadrons had been absorbed into the American forces, the plan was to station all three units at one base and incorporate them into one group: the US 4th Fighter Group. If the three squadrons kept squabbling with each other, such an arrangement would be out of the question.
The negative attitude of the squadrons toward each other once again came into plain view after Dieppe, when 133 Squadron was reequipped with the new Spitfire Mark IX. The Mark IX was the most up-to-date and sought-after British fighter. Number 133 had been issued the newest model Spitfire (along with the other two Biggin Hill squadrons) and claimed this as a sign of superiority over both 71 and 121 Squadrons, which still had the old Mark V Spits. The other two Eagle Squadrons, needless to say, resented this.
“We had the best planes,” said one member of 133. “We had dawn readiness—71 didn't…. We considered ourselves the best without question. One-three-three was number one among the Eagle Squadrons.”6
This latest version of the Spitfire had been designed to match the Focke-Wulf 190 in performance. It had a much larger and more powerful engine than the Mark V, giving it a higher speed and faster rate of climb. The Mark IX was also more heavily armed; it came from the factory with mountings for four 20 mm cannon and four .303 machine guns. The pilots of 133 only used 20 mm cannons, however. Adding four machine guns would have meant carrying an additional 300 pounds, which would result in a loss of maneuverability at high altitudes.
Getting the Mark IX was certainly a status symbol. Every fighter squadron in the RAF wanted them, and only the Biggin Hill wing had them. But although 133 Squadron now had a more advanced fighter, the other two squadrons did not agree that this made them the best of the all-American fighter units. (Neither did senior officers in the Eighth Air Force, who still considered 71 Squadron the best.)
The pilots of 71 Squadron shared the Eighth Air Force's opinion. Their claim was based upon the number of enemy aircraft they had shot down—more German planes than the other two “junior” squadrons combined. And 121 Squadron did not want to hear that either of the other two Eagle Squadrons thought that they were better flyers.
All of this sounds petty and carping, but the resentment among the three Eagle Squadrons was bitter and deep-seated, enough to frighten officers in both the RAF and the USAAF. Even though all the pilots were American, the only thing they seemed to have in common was animosity. There could not be any possibility of forming an all-American wing; at least not with these three squadrons. If they were all based at the same airfield, the pilots would spend more time fighting each other than the Luftwaffe.
By September 1942, the problem was more of a concern for the Americans than for the British. On September 15, 1942—more than nine months after the United States entered the war—the first group of Eagle Squadron pilots was commissioned into the US Army Air force.
“We went to London in ones and twos during our precious 24-hour passes to transfer and pick up our US uniforms,” recalled James Goodson of 133 Squadron.7 Before they could transfer officially, every pilot had to travel to London for an examination by a board of American officers. Among those asking questions were two of the highest-ranking officers in the USAAF: Major General Carl A. Spaatz, commander of the US Army Air Forces in Britain; and Brigadier General Frank O’Driscoll Hunter, in command of US Fighter Command.
James Goodson, sitting at the controls of his P-51 Mustang. He had been on board the British liner Athenia when it was torpedoed by a U-boat in September 1939 and volunteered to join the Royal Canadian Air Force when he recrossed the Atlantic and made his way to Canada. (Courtesy of the National Museum of the United States Air Force®.)
After their examination, the pilots were sworn into the US forces. Most entered the American air force with the rank that corresponded with their current RAF grade: flight lieutenants became captains, squadron leaders became majors. Sergeant pilots were given commissions, entering the USAAF as second lieutenants.
Not every pilot was fully prepared to go along with this scheme, however. Squadron Leader Carroll McColpin told his examiners that he ought to be promoted to brigadier general—after all, the American forces would be acquiring a seasoned combat veteran and a proven combat leader—but allowed himself to be persuaded into settling for the rank of major.
Most of the pilots did not ask for a promotion, but they did make one special request—permission to wear their RAF wings on their American uniforms. They felt that they had earned the right to wear them. To almost everyone's surprise, the Eighth Air Force agreed with them. Transferring pilots would be allowed to wear miniature copies of their RAF wings over the right breast pocket of their tunic. Full-sized US silver wings would be worn over the left pocket. It was a small concession, but it raised everyone's spirits—while serving in the American forces, the former Eagles would be able to wear a symbol of their time in the RAF.
The most significant changes in the pilots’ lives involved issues that were much more basic than their uniforms or rank. When transferring to the US military forces, pilots became eligible for American-style food, as well as American-style pay.
The change in food constituted a gigantic improvement, at least in the opinion of most of the pilots. No more “bubble and squeak”—cabbage and potatoes—in the officers’ mess. From now on, there would be real vegetables, real American coffee, ice cream, pork chops and other red meat, along with other items they had not seen since they left the States. The British Isles had many pleasant attributes, even in wartime; the food, however, was not one of them.
But the most profoundly felt change, the biggest and best, was in the rate of pay between the US forces and the RAF. Once they were in the American forces, the pilots would be receiving somewhere between two and three times the amount of their RAF pay. A pilot officer in the Royal Air Force was paid roughly $67.00 per month; an equivalently ranked second lieutenant in the USAAF earned $162.00 per month. By joining the American air force, the pilots would be getting a promotion (in pay, at least), whether they received an increase in rank or not.
During 121 Squadron's farewell party, a departing pilot told an RAF wing commander, “We can't afford not to go. Do you realize, Wingco, as of now, I'm being paid about twice as much as you if not more—and I'm only a lootenant. Too bad you don't qualify to come with us, your accent would be worth every cent of your pay—what, what, old boy?”8
But in spite of all the incentives, some American pilots were reluctant to leave the RAF. Leo Nomis, who had been with 71 Squadron until he transferred to duty in Malta, was still in the Middle East when he joined the USAAF. He admitted that he was reluctant to leave the British forces, “because by that stage I had become immersed in RAF tradition, and American procedures seemed quite foreign to me.”9
Others felt the same way. Robert S. Raymond had been in RAF Bomber Command for two and a half years when he transferred to the US forces. “It's a bit depressing to leave a service I've grown to like,” he reflected, “to leave familiar ways.”10
Raymond had flown thirty missions over Germany between January and April 1943, including strikes against Düsseldorf, Nuremberg, and five trips to Berlin. After finishing his tour of operations, he was sent to an Air-Sea Rescue unit as a “rest” posting. Raymond was not happy with his new job, however, which consisted mainly of saving downed flyers from the freezing waters surrounding the British Isles. So, when the opportunity presented itself, he left the RAF to join up with the Eighth Air Force.
Although he was now back among his own countrymen, Raymond did not feel at home. “It seems strange to be an officer in an army and know nothing about the methods, customs, and procedures they use,” he said. Even some of the language was foreign to him. He had seen the well-known initials “G.I.” stenciled on army equipment, but he had no idea what they meant. . Somebody had to tell him that they stood for “Government Issue.”
Like the pilots of the three Eagle Squadrons, Raymond also had a less-than-glowing opinion of the American Flying Fortress crews and their sub-RAF standards. He observed several cases of “battle fatigue” in his new unit, an affliction that was very rare in the RAF (where it was known as “operational nerves”). He blamed the common combat nerves of American crews on their “typical” temperament—Americans always seemed shocked whenever they were faced with unpleasant situations.
Most of the American servicemen he met also seemed rudely surprised to discover that the Germans were very aggressive opponents. Raymond blames this shortcoming on the US high command, who did not prepare pilots and crews for what they would be facing when they went into combat—an irresponsible omission, since it meant that the men would have to find out for themselves.
But Raymond also encountered a few pleasant surprises. During the last two and a half years, he had forgotten what Americans were really like. He quickly rediscovered American ways and also learned first-hand how foreign the British and Americans are to each other—especially where the separation of rank and class are concerned.
The American forces, Raymond observed, were “a most democratic army.” Enlisted men displayed a singular lack of deference to officers—which they never would have got away with in the British forces. The men also tended to add individual flourishes, such as baseball caps, to their uniforms. Raymond had become accustomed to the “class-conscious British way” and found the New World difference in attitude refreshing.
Another welcome change was the American get-up-and-go—they may not have done things right all the time, but at least they did them in a hurry. Everybody seemed to do everything on the run; nobody ever seemed to walk anywhere. “The Yankee energy here displayed is infectious,” Raymond remarked. “It makes me feel like I've been sleepwalking.”
William Dunn, the first ace produced by the Eagle Squadrons, had an entirely different reaction toward transferring out of the RAF.11 By the autumn of 1942, he had fully recovered from his combat wounds and was serving as acting squadron leader of 130 Squadron, stationed in Canada. Dunn knew that most American pilots in the British forces were changing their RAF blue uniforms for US khaki, but he had no real desire to do the same.
A letter from an organization that called itself the United States Inter-Allied Personnel Board changed his way of thinking. The letter was not a friendly one; the board pulled no punches. “It was sort of implied that if I didn't agree to a transfer, they'd come and get me,” Dunn recalled. He was not intimidated by the nasty letter, but, like most Americans, he was won over by the generous US pay and allowances. Squadron Leader Dunn agreed to the transfer and was released from the Royal Air Force in June 1943.
When he became a member of the US Army Air Force, however, Dunn was unpleasantly surprised to find that at he had been sharply reduced in rank. He would enter the American forces as a second lieutenant—three notches below his current rank.
Dunn was not happy about being “busted,” to put it mildly. He complained about the situation and had his rank increased to captain—still one notch below his RAF rank—which is what he had to settle for. The next time he flew against the enemy was as a member of the 406th Fighter Group, USAAF. While with the American forces, Dunn shot down another German plane. He finished the war with a score of six victories.
In reality, neither Dunn nor any other American citizen was compelled by any law to transfer to the American military forces. Anyone could stay in the RAF if they chose to. And a number of Americans did elect to remain with the British forces. Nobody knows exactly how many since, because of the Neutrality Acts, nobody knows how many Americans served with British military units to begin with. For any number of reasons, these men were not influenced by the incentives of added pay and better rations.
Some likely had practical reasons for remaining in the RAF. There were probably more than a few who entered the British services by way of forged passports or other documents who had to keep their mouths shut regarding their true citizenship. Some “secret Americans,” who went to Canada in 1939 or 1940 under forged passports or assumed identities, might have felt hesitant about leaving the RAF after having gone through so much trouble to get into it. Others may have simply elected to stay in the RAF because they had already served two or three years. They had thrown in their lot with His Majesty's forces and decided that they might as well stay for the duration.
J. K. Havilland, one of the seven “official” Americans who fought in the Battle of Britain, remained in the RAF throughout the war.12 He survived the fighting, and after the war, he moved to Canada and became a teacher. James C. Nelson of 133 Squadron also elected to stay in the RAF when the Eagle Squadrons transferred. When the war ended, he returned to the United States.
The American in the RAF with the most enemy aircraft shot down was Lance C. Wade, who scored twenty-five victories in North Africa, Italy, and Sicily. Wade was given the nickname “the Arizona Wildcat,” which he probably hated—he was also described as being “unusually modest” for an American. Wade was the commanding officer of 145 Squadron and scored the units 200th victory. Shortly after this, he was promoted to the rank of wing commander. On January 12, 1944, Wade was killed in a flying accident.
John J. Lynch, formerly of 71 Squadron and hailing from Alhambra, California, rose to the rank of squadron leader and is credited with shooting down thirteen enemy aircraft. All of his victories were scored over Malta. He is credited with Malta's 1,000th German aircraft destroyed, which he shot down on April 28, 1944.
Wing Commander James H. Little of New Orleans commanded 418 Squadron, a night fighter unit. Little is officially credited with four enemy aircraft destroyed.
David C. Fairbanks, a native of New York, destroyed fifteen enemy aircraft during the course of the war. Two of these were Messerschmitt Me 262s, the revolutionary German jet fighter, which Squadron Leader Fairbanks shot down in February 1945.
Two Americans who left the United States soon after the war began in 1939 were Alger Jenkins of Montclair, New Jersey, and Alan Reed, who graduated from Princeton University in 1940. No trace of either of them exists after their departure for Britain—which, presumably, was via Canada. They simply left the country and disappeared. No one knows how many of their fellow countrymen shared the same fate.