Arguably the best-known fighter in the US Army Air Forces (USAAF) in the first year of direct American participation in the war was the Curtiss P-40. Designed by Donovan Reese Berlin, the prototype XP-40 was more evolutionary than revolutionary in conception, being nothing more than the tenth production airframe of Berlin’s P-36A Hawk fighter with an Allison V-1710 liquid-cooled inline engine substituted for the P-36’s 875-horsepower Wright GR-1820-G3 Cyclone air-cooled radial.

Donovan’s original monoplane design dated to 1934. He designated it the Curtiss Model 75, reflecting his obsession with that number, while the emotive nickname of “Hawk,” already famous from an earlier generation of Curtiss biplane fighters, was revived for the new-generation monoplane. Although the Hawk 75 first flew in 1935, engine problems delayed its development until July 7, 1937, when the Army Air Corps gave Curtiss the largest American peacetime production order up to that time—210 P-36s, as the Army called them, for $4,113,550. Hawk 75s—built with retractable landing gear or with fixed, spatted undercarriage, depending on whether speed or simplicity was the customer’s main priority—were also sold to numerous foreign air arms.

The first to employ them in combat were the Chinese. The first Hawk 75 to arrive was purchased by Madame Chiang Kai-shek for $35,000 as a present for Col. Claire Lee Chennault in July 1937. In July 1938, the first official Chinese air force consignment of Hawk 75Ms with fixed undercarriage was assigned to the veteran 25th Pursuit Squadron, whose pilots began training under Chennault’s tutelage. Its baptism of fire came on August 18, when twenty-seven Mitsubishi G3M2s came in three waves to bomb Hengyang, and Squadron Commander Tang Pusheng led three of the new Hawks up along with seven I-152s. Intercepting the first flight of nine, Tang shot one down and damaged another, then attacked the second wave of bombers, only to be caught in a cross fire from the gunners, who shot him down in flames. The two other Hawk 75Ms crashed on landing.

On October 1, nine more Hawk 75Ms were assigned to the 16th Pursuit Squadron at Zhiguang, which had just been redesignated from a light bomber unit that had previously flown Vought V-92 Corsairs. Similarly, the next unit to get nine Hawk 75Ms, the 18th Pursuit Squadron, had previously flown Douglas O-1MCs. Training continued apace but suffered a setback on January 2, 1939, when five pilots of the 25th Squadron were killed in crashes while flying from Kunming to Sichuan. Curtiss Hawk III biplanes were assigned to the squadron to supplement its reduced numbers. Chinese confidence in the new plane remained so low three months later that when twenty-three Japanese bombers raided Kunming on April 8, no Hawks rose to challenge them, and the nine were bombed to destruction on the ground.

In August 1939 the 25th Squadron was disbanded, followed by the 16th within the following month, leaving only the 18th to be attached to the newly formed 11th Pursuit Group, which operated six Hawk 75Ms alongside I-152s and I-16s. Success continued to elude the monoplane Hawks, and the ultimate blow came on October 4, 1940, when twenty-seven G4Ms attacked Chengdu, escorted by eight new A6M2 Zeros of the 12th Kokutai, led by Lt. Tamotsu Yokoyama and Lt. j.g. Ayao Shirane. Far from intercepting the enemy, the 18th Pursuit Squadron was ordered by the Third Army air staff to disperse to Guangxi, but as it did some of its planes were caught en route by the aggressive Zeros. Hawk 75M No. 5044 was shot down in flames and its pilot, Shi Ganzhen, killed when his parachute failed to open. Additionally, an I-152 and a Gladiator were sent crashing with their respective pilots, Gin Wei and Liu Jon, wounded. Two other I-152s returning to base with engine trouble, piloted by Zing Ziaoxi and Liang Zhengsheng, were strafed as they landed and were apparently counted among the five “I-16s” the Zero pilots claimed to have shot down, along with an “SB-2 bomber,” which was in fact an Ilyushin DB-3 of the 6th Bomber Squadron, returning on the mistaken assumption that the raid was over, only to be destroyed with its three crewmen.

At Taipingzhi airfield the Japanese reported destroying nineteen aircraft on the ground, four of their pilots audaciously landing to set fire to some of them. The Chinese acknowledged the loss of two I-16s, two I-152s, two Hawk IIIs, six Fleet trainers, one Beech UC-43 Traveler, a Dewoitine 510, and a Hawk 75M. The Hawk 75M’s inauspicious combat debut in China officially came to an end when the virtually impotent 18th Pursuit Group was disbanded in January 1941.

Although its performance was eclipsed by other types by 1940, the Hawk 75 was fondly remembered by a lot of others who flew it for its easy handling and excellent maneuverability. Export Hawk 75As, powered by 950-horsepower Pratt & Whitney Twin Wasp engines, became the best fighters available in quantity to the French in May 1940, and were credited with more enemy planes shot down than any other French fighter. Thailand purchased Hawk 75Ns with fixed landing gear and used them during its war against the French in Indochina in January 1941, as well as during its brief resistance to invading Japanese forces that December. The US Army Air Corps still had P-36Cs on strength when Pearl Harbor was attacked on December 7, 1941, and they scored some of the first American air-to-air victories that day. The exiled Royal Netherlands Air Force used Cyclone-engine P-36s in the East Indies, where they became easy prey for the Japanese Zero. The RAF also used P-36s, which it called Mohawks, as stopgap fighters, most notably in Burma in 1942. Vichy French pilots flew Hawk 75As against the British and Americans during their invasion of North Africa in November 1942, and other French H-75As, shipped to Finland by the Germans, fought the Soviets until September 1944. Although neither as modern nor as famous as the P-40 that succeeded it, the P-36 can lay claim to greater ubiquity and the rare—if somewhat dubious—distinction of having fought on both sides during World War II.

The Allison-engine XP-40 first flew on October 14, 1938, and competed against the Lockheed XP-38, Bell XP-39, and Seversky AP-4 at Wright Field near Dayton, Ohio, on January 25, 1939. The XP-40 emerged the winner, and in April Curtiss was rewarded with what was touted as the largest contract since World War I, for 543 P-40s.

Although outclassed by the Zero, P-40s soldiered on as best they could, starting with the very first Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. In the months that followed, the P-40 pilots fought desperately and often heroically, with decidedly mixed fortunes. They were ultimately annihilated in the Philippines and the Dutch East Indies, but in the hands of master tactician Col. Claire Chennault and his American Volunteer Group in China, the Hawk 81 (as the export version of the P-40 was known) did a disproportionate amount of damage and became one of the war’s legendary fighters.

More than half a year before the United States entered the war, however, P-40s had already fought over terrain that could not have been farther removed from Pearl Harbor, the mountains of China, or the jungles of Southeast Asia.

Even while it was filling the Army Air Corps orders for P-36s and P-40s, Curtiss was marketing both the Hawk 75 and 81 to overseas customers. Although not used quite as widely as the Hawk 75, the Hawk 81 saw considerable Chinese use—first by the American mercenaries of the AVG and later by Chinese pilots—as well as service in the Soviet army and naval air arms, the RAF, and the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF). It was, in fact, in British service that the “Hawk” designator probably got more use in reference to the P-40 than it ever did by the fighter’s American pilots. The earliest models were called Tomahawks by the British, while the later ones were christened Kittyhawks.

The first major action in which Tomahawks figured prominently was a sideshow that nevertheless serves as a reminder of just how global a conflict World War II was. On May 2, 1941, British forces in Iraq came under attack by Iraqi forces directed by the anti-British, pro-German chief of the National Defense Government, Rashid Ali El Ghailani. The revolt was quickly crushed and Rashid Ali fled the country on May 30, but not before a number of Axis aircraft had been committed to his cause. Sixty-two German transport aircraft carried matériel to the Iraqis, making refueling stops at airfields in Syria and Lebanon, then mandates of nominally neutral Vichy France. The Germans and Italians had also sent fighters and bombers which, hastily adorned in Iraqi markings, had made their way into the country from the French air bases. Amid the British counterattack, at 1650 hours on May 14, two Tomahawk Mark IIbs of No. 250 Squadron RAF, flown by Flying Officers Gordon A. Wolsey and Frederick J. S. Aldridge, carried out the first P-40 combat mission when they escorted three Bristol Blenheims in an attack on suspected German and Italian aircraft at Palmyra in Syria.

In allowing Axis planes to stage from their territory, the French-mandated Levant presented a threat to British security in Palestine and Egypt at a time when Generalleutnant (Major General) Erwin Rommel’s Afrika Korps was starting to make its presence felt in North Africa. On May 15, British aircraft attacked French air bases at Palmyra, Rayack, Damascus, Homs, Tripoli, and Beirut. The Vichy government responded by dispatching Groupe de Chasse III/6 to Rayak, with a complement of top-of-the-line Dewoitine D.520 fighters. In addition to those, Général de Division (Major General) Jean-François Jannekeyn, commander of the Armée de l’Air in the Levant, had GC I/7, equipped with Morane-Saulnier MS.406 fighters; Groupe de Bombardment II/39, with American-built Glenn Martin 167F twin-engine bombers; GB III/39, with antiquated Bloch 200s; Groupe de Reconnaissance (GR) II/39 and Flight GAO 583, both with Potez 63-IIs; and a myriad of less effective army and navy planes at his disposal for a total of ninety aircraft.

By the end of May, the British had decided to seize the Levant. General Archibald Wavell organized an invasion force by pulling the Australian 7th Division, less one brigade, from its defensive position at Mersa Matruh and combined it with the 5th Brigade of the Indian 4th Division, elements of the 1st Cavalry Division, a commando unit from Cyprus, a squadron of armored cars, and a cavalry regiment. The scratch force was to receive some offshore support from the Royal Navy, and air support from sixty aircraft of the RAF and the RAAF. The Aussie contingent included Tomahawk Mark IIbs newly delivered to replace the Gladiators of No. 3 Squadron RAAF at Lydda, Palestine. Meanwhile, on May 22, No. 250 Squadron had been reassigned to the defense of Alexandria, Egypt.

The three-pronged invasion, dubbed Operation Exporter, commenced from Palestine and Trans-Jordan at 0200 hours on June 8. The British and accompanying Gaullist French forces had hoped that the 35,000 Vichy troops in Syria would be loath to fight their former allies, but they were in for a disappointment. Anticipating Allied propaganda appeals based on the idea of saving Syria from German domination, Vichy High Commissioner Gen. Henri-Fernand Dentz saw to it that all signs of German presence were removed throughout the country. The Luftwaffe, too, had discretely evacuated all of its planes, aircrews, and technicians from the Syrian airfields forty-eight hours ahead of the expected invasion. In consequence the Allied propaganda fell on deaf ears, the French officers defending Syria refused to deal with their Gaullist compatriots, and the Allied invasion force found itself with a fight on its hands.

On the day of the invasion, June 8, Hurricanes of Nos. 80, 108, and 260 Squadrons, and five Tomahawks of No. 3 Squadron, RAAF, made preemptive attacks on the French airfields. Among other targets, the Hurricanes and Tomahawks strafed GC III/6’s fighters on the ground at Rayak, burning a D.520 and damaging seven others. On this occasion, the Tomahawks drew relatively little fire from French ground gunners, who mistook the unfamiliar new fighters for their own D.520s. On the same day, two Tomahawks of 250 Squadron, flown by Flying Officer Jack Hamlyn and Flt. Sgt. Thomas G. Paxton, together with shore batteries, shot down an intruding Cant Z.1007bis reconnaissance bomber of the Italian 211a Squadriglia five miles northwest of Alexandria.

As Vichy France rushed reinforcements to the Levant, the Germans and Italians put airstrips in newly conquered Greece at their disposal, allowing the swift ferrying of Lioré et Olivier LéO 451 bombers of GB I/31, I/14, and I/25; D.520s of GC II/3; and Martin 167s of the 4e Flotille of the Aéronavale to Syria by June 17.

French bombers attacked Adm. Sir Andrew Cunningham’s naval force off Saida on June 9, damaging two ships. Eight German Junkers Ju 88A-5s of II Gruppe, Lehrgeschwader 1, operating from Crete, also turned up to harass the fleet on June 12, but they were intercepted by Tomahawks of No. 3 Squadron. Squadron Leader Peter Jeffrey shot down one of the attackers, Flt. Lts. John R. “Jock” Perrin and John H. Saunders claimed two others, while Flt. Lt. Robert H. Gibbes caught a fourth bomber right over the fleet and claimed it as a “probable.” In fact, two Ju 88s failed to return—one from the 4th Staffel, piloted by Ltn. Heinrich Diekjobst, and one from the 5th Staffel, flown by Ltn. Rolf Bennewitz.

Three days later, the Aussies turned their attention to the Vichy French, as Jeffrey and Flt. Lt. Peter St. George B. Turnbull each accounted for a Martin 167F of GB I/39 in the area of Sheik Meskine. On June 19, Turnbull damaged another Martin bomber over Saida, and Pilot Officer Alan C. Rawlinson damaged two others near Jezzine. Damascus fell to the Allied forces on June 21. In an encounter between Tomahawks and D.520s of GC III/6 two days later, Capitaine Léon Richard, commander of the 6e Escadrille, was credited with shooting down a Tomahawk south of Zahle—probably Turnbull, who crashed his damaged Tomahawk upon returning to Jenin. The starboard wing of Sgt. Frank B. Reid’s Tomahawk was also damaged by 20mm shells, but the French took the worst of the fight. Sous-Lieutenant Pierre Le Gloan was forced to beat a hasty retreat when his D.520 began to burn, probably after being hit by Flying Officer Percival Roy Bothwell, who also sent Lt. Marcel Steunou, a five-victory ace, down in flames near Zahle, and killed Sgt. Maurice Savinel between Ablah and Malakaa. Flying Officer Lindsey E. S. Knowles claimed to have shot the wingtip off another Dewoitine, which was credited to him as damaged.

Among the toughest Vichy strongpoints was Palmyra, a fortified air base surrounded by concrete pillboxes, antitank ditches, observation posts, and snipers’ nests. When Habforce, a composite invasion group drawn from British and Arab troops occupying Iraq, crossed the border and moved on Palmyra on June 20, it came under heavy and very effective bombing and strafing attacks by the base’s aircraft. Habforce’s advance ground to a halt for about a week. Then, on June 25, appeals for air support by Habforce’s commander, Maj. Gen. J. George W. Clark, were finally answered as Commonwealth aircraft arrived, including No. 3 Squadron’s Tomahawks. In an aerial engagement fifteen miles southwest of Palmyra, Saunders, Flying Officers John F. Jackson and Wallace E. Jewell, and Sgt. Alan C. Cameron each claimed a LéO 451 of GB I/12—though only three such bombers were in fact present, and all were lost along with the lives of five of their twelve crewmen. When six Martin 167s of Flotille 4F sallied out of Palmyra to attack Habforce again on June 28, they were intercepted by No. 3 Squadron’s Tomahawks, and six were promptly shot down in sight of the British ground troops, Rawlinson accounting for three of them, Turnbull downing one, and Sgt. Rex K. Wilson destroying another. The action heralded a pivotal turn in Habforce’s fortunes, the day’s only sour note being struck after the Tomahawks refueled and returned to Jenin, where Sergeant Randall’s plane suffered engine failure, and he was killed in the crash.

Ultimately, the Allied forces prevailed, launching their final thrust on Beirut on July 7. Amid fierce but hopeless resistance, High Commissioner Dentz passed a note to Cornelius Engert, the US consul general in Beirut, expressing his willingness to discuss surrender terms with the British, but absolutely not with the Gaullist French.

Negotiations dragged on for sixty hours, during which fighting continued, and the Tomahawks had one more occasion to test their mettle against the D.520 in the air. On July 10, seven Tomahawks of No. 3 Squadron RAAF went to cover twelve Bristol Blenheims of No. 45 Squadron, which were to bomb an ammunition dump near Hamana, south of Beirut. The Blenheims bombed the target, but the explosions drew the attention of five D.520s of Aéronavale Flight 1AC, which had transferred to Lebanon six days earlier and were escorting Martin bombers on a mission. Attacking from head on and below, the French quickly shot down three Blenheims, riddled a fourth so badly that it subsequently had to crash-land, and damaged six others.

Diving to the belated rescue, the Tomahawk pilots claimed all five of the Dewoitines—two by Turnbull, and one each by Jackson, Pilot Officer Eric Lane, and Sgt. Geoffrey E. Hiller. In actuality, only two French fighters were lost: Second Maître (Petty Officer Second Class) Pierre Ancion was mortally wounded, dying in Beirut hospital two days later, while Premier Maître (Petty Officer First Class) Paul Goffeny bailed out of his burning D.520 over the Bakaa Valley with slight wounds, subsequently claiming that his pursuer had crashed into a mountain while trying to follow his evasive maneuvers. The other three French pilots returned—Enseigne de Vaisseau de 1ère Classe (Lieutenant Junior Grade) Jacques du Merle being credited with two bombers, Premier Maître Jean Bénézet with another, and Lieutenant de Vaisseau (Lieutenant) Edouard Pirel sharing in the destruction of the fourth Blenheim with Goffeny, who was also credited (wrongly) with the “crashed” Tomahawk.

On the following day, Lt. René Lèté of GC II/3, lagging behind his formation due to engine trouble, spotted three Tomahawks and attacked, shooting down Flying Officer Frank Fischer. Lèté was one of only two Frenchmen to shoot down a Tomahawk during the campaign, but he had little time to exalt in the distinction, for moments later Gibbes and Jackson got on his tail and claimed to have sent him down in flames—Bobby Gibbes subsequently getting full credit for his first of an eventual ten victories by winning the coin toss. In fact, Lèté survived his crash landing—as did Fischer, who, after hiding from the French in an Arab village, rejoined 3 Squadron after hostilities ceased. The squadron lost one other Tomahawk to antiaircraft fire over Djebel Mazar that day, Flying Officer Lin Knowles crash-landing near Yafour, ten miles from Damascus.

At 1201 hours on July 12, a cease-fire finally went into effect, ending the thirty-four-day Syrian campaign. A formal armistice was signed at Saint-Jean-d’Acre on July 14—Bastille Day, ironically enough. The Tomahawks of No. 3 Squadron RAAF were transferred to the Western Desert, where their colleagues in RAF and South African air squadrons were already battling the Luftwaffe and Regia Aeronautica. Among other early successes over the Western Desert, Pilot Officer Thomas G. Paxton of 250 Squadron, who had shared in the Cant Z.1007bis on June 8, added an Me 109E to his growing score south of Tobruk on June 26, while on June 30 one of Paxton’s squadron mates, Sgt. Robert J. C. Whittle, shared in the destruction of an Me 110, damaged an Me 109, and probably downed an Italian aircraft.

And so, the Curtiss P-40 had its baptism of fire in the Middle East. Although its principal virtue in 1941 was its ready availability, great things would be done in the P-40, and a series of improved models kept the Curtiss fighter in production for five years, a total of 13,737 being produced.

It was July 1943. Parked on the ramp of Sunrise Airport at Tifton, Georgia, was a P-40F painted in wartime camouflage. To a pilot with a total of about 190 hours, all in trainer aircraft, this was an impressive sight. Stories were coming in from North Africa, where American Warhawks and British Kittyhawks of the Desert Air Force were harassing Rommel’s army and shooting down German aircraft. The Palm Sunday Massacre had taken place the previous April, when Desert Air Force fighters—mostly P-40s—had shot down sixty-five German aircraft as they desperately attempted to get out of Cape Bon. This was a real warplane, one that I had wanted to fly for four years. My time had come.

I first saw the 400-mile-per-hour Curtiss P-40 at the 1939 New York World’s Fair, where the Army Air Corps was displaying this newest fighter. Three years later, I was a second lieutenant on active duty, passing through Philadelphia. Stationed at the municipal airport before deploying to Africa was a squadron of P-40s, and I watched entranced, as they flew landing patterns around the field. I was to report for flying school in a few weeks and here was the airplane that I hoped to fly in combat. (In April 1944 in Italy I was to join this same 315th Squadron of the 324th Fighter Group flying these same P-40s in combat.)

Then, in June 1943, when I was in basic flying school at Shaw Field in Sumter, South Carolina, a combat veteran from Africa came through, flying his P-40 around the country, on a war-bond drive. Of course, the Flying Tigers had in the meantime made a great record with their P-40s against the Zeroes. I had waited a long time, and finally here was my chance.

Fighter pilots are a proud lot—some people say conceited. One of the main reasons is the fact that the pilot can receive instruction only on the ground. He has to fly the airplane alone his first time up. Other pilots have several hours of dual time in the air, with an experienced, qualified pilot in their aircraft. So for a student fighter pilot who would not get his wings for more than three more weeks, taking up a brand new kind of airplane was a challenge.

My aircraft was number 55 and had the name Stinkie painted on the fuselage. Thirty-five years later, some of the details have been forgotten. However, many impressions remain. The 1,000-horsepower Rolls-Royce Merlin engine was almost twice as much power as I had handled so far.

In the P-40, as well as the Spitfire and the Jug, we would climb on to the trailing edge of the left (port) wing and then into the cockpit. The Spitfire had a horizontally hinged flap on the port side of the cockpit that let down permitting easier entry. The crew chief standing on the left wing would help us with the chute and harness straps after we were seated. There was enough room in the cockpit for a six-footer whose height was in his long legs. It was a comfortable arrangement in there, with good visibility, except straight ahead, where the P-40’s long nose blocked the view. My instructor led me through the steps in starting the engine, although I had practiced this several times by myself in simulated cockpit drills. When the engine actually started, I realized that I was on my own.

I have forgotten the exact details of engine start for the three aircraft, and although between them there were minor differences, I am sure nothing stands out in my memory. Aside from the ever-present problem of overheat on the liquid-cooled engine, starting was simple and routine.

The P-40 Warhawk and the Jug had the standard U.S. braking system of individual toe brakes on each rudder. That is, right rudder—right brake, left rudder—left brake. Both had a steerable tailwheel which responded to rudder movement, but most steering was by differential braking. I personally never landed nor took off in a fighter with my heels on the floor; I always put my feet up on the pedals for takeoff and landing, and heels on the floor for taxiing and flying.

Taxiing was not difficult, as we had been taught since our first flight in a primary trainer always to “S” to clear the view dead ahead. But in Italy, we were flying P-40s off dirt strips with a heavy dust problem so the crew chief rode sitting on the leading edge of the left wing astride the pitot tube wearing dust goggles. He would direct our taxiing with hand signals to avoid any chance of collision. As we turned onto the runway, lining up for takeoff, he would jump off, salute us (his pilot), and we would be off. Both in Corsica and France with the P-47, although there was no problem of dust on the hard-packed ground at Istres and on the sod of Amberieu, we kept up the crew chief system of riding the wing. In Africa, in the Spit, we taxied alone.

The pre-takeoff drill in the P-40 of checking propeller controls, magneto, oil pressure and temperature was routine. This liquid-cooled engine on a hot July day in Georgia was quick to overheat and the acrid smell of coolant was one that always seemed present.

The P-40 was a development of the radial-engined P-36. The long liquid-cooled engine placed the propeller several feet farther from the center of gravity than it was on the P-36, so that the torque was greatly increased. On takeoff it was necessary to turn in a good bit of right rudder trim from the control in the cockpit. As the aircraft accelerated along the runway, the effect of torque increased and had to be corrected by proper application of right rudder. The reverse was true in a dive, and it was a standing joke that all P-40 pilots had very highly developed calf muscles as a result of this characteristic.

Having been briefed on all this, a pilot on his first flight was ready, but it was still a difficult thing to control. On takeoff the aircraft would yaw from right to left and back. As the pilot made his corrections, the hot exhaust would blast into the cockpit from six exhaust stacks on each side of the cowling. We took off and landed with the canopy open as a safety measure in case of a crash, and this sudden blast of heat added to the confusion and excitement of a first flight in this fighter. To complicate matters, there was a very strange procedure necessary to raise the gear. The gear handle was placed in the “up” position with the left hand, and at the same time a trigger at the bottom of the pistol grip on the stick was squeezed with the right little finger. (The trigger at the top of the pistol grip squeezed by the index finger fired the six guns!) Next we swapped hands, as it was necessary to check the gear position by pumping the handle of the hydraulic lever located on the right of the cockpit, while controlling the climb with the left hand holding the control stick. Then there was another swap of hands to put the gear lever in the “neutral” position. Then the canopy was cranked shut, with its handle on the right-side canopy track. Once one mastered this technique, the climb was easy, and the aircraft was nice to fly. The rate of climb and the evidence of power were much greater than I had previously experienced and were a great thrill for an aspiring fighter pilot.

Leveling out at 10,000 feet (we were not equipped for using oxygen), this airplane flew beautifully. Slow rolls were particularly easy to do, as the Warhawk just seemed to be designed to roll on the axis of that long nose. Loops also came smoothly, as did the standard chandelles, lazy eights, Immelmans, and Cuban eights. We had been instructed not to spin the aircraft deliberately, but if we got into a spin, neutralizing the controls and releasing them would bring it out easily. About a year later, I was to find this true in the Liri Valley in Italy. In tight turns, if the controls were coordinated, the aircraft would out-turn any fighter (except maybe the early Spitfires), as the Germans in their Me-109s learned when fighting with the Warhawks in the Mediterranean. A bad turn would result in a snap roll, generally to the right.

We were not taught, as the RAF was in Canada, to pull off power. We maintained the same power and pulled into the turn. There was, of course, depending upon the airplane design, the ever-present chance of snapping out; however, this was part of the technique to be learned and practiced.

The P-40 could dive very fast. Our technique in combat when dive-bombing consisted of turning in full left rudder trim at 10,000 to 12,000 feet, making a half roll to the left and then a full-power dive onto the target in as close to a vertical altitude as we could estimate from the cockpit. Using the standard 100-mil gunsight, we would pull the nose up through the target and drop our 1,000-pound bomb just after the target disappeared under the nose. By that time we were down to about 2,000 feet and up to 450 miles per hour. We would leave in the left rudder trim during a zoom back to 10,000 to 12,000 feet, yawing in this climb and confounding the gunners on the ground, who would shoot out in front of our nose but not on our flight path.

One time in the Liri Valley, after dropping the bomb, I popped into clouds which were scattered at about 10,000 feet. But the deck of clouds was much thicker than I had estimated, and I soon found myself in a spin. Neutralizing the rudder trim with the trim tab control wheel I remembered instructions and turned the controls loose. The aircraft came out of the spin and went into a dive. I came out of the bottom of the cloud in a dive, much too low, I thought, to pull out. But I pulled back hard on the stick and went back into the clouds in a coordinated climb. Popping out of the clouds, I thanked the Warhawk and its stability for my life.

After a pilot has been airborne for a while and has put an aircraft through its paces on a first flight, there comes a sense of confidence, even euphoria. Pretty soon, however, the small voice keeps reminding him that he has not landed the aircraft yet (usually the most challenging part of a flight). The P-40 had a narrow landing gear tread, and although the long nose obscured the view dead ahead, I never found it very hard to land. It was heavy and rugged, and although it was not easy to make a perfect landing, it was not any harder to land safely than the primary and advance trainers (PT-17 and AT-6). The procedure for putting the gear down was as complicated as getting it up. Putting the flaps down was just as complicated, but aside from that, I could bring it in safely, sometimes very smoothly.

That successful first flight in a modern high-performance fighter, before even graduating from advanced training and before getting our wings and pilot’s rating, was a great thrill to all of us. It was an experiment with our class. Most pilots before this had not flown fighters until they had been graduated and had received a pilot’s rating. We continued flying the P-40 for the rest of the week and accumulated about ten hours in eight flights.

The P-40 was about equal in speed to its peers the Spitfire and the Me-109. Although it could not climb as fast as either of them, it could dive and turn just as well. In the hands of experienced pilots it could do better than hold its own. Our 324th Fighter Group, which had fought with the Desert Air Force across North Africa from Egypt to Tunisia and through Sicily and Italy, bested the German Me-109 at a better than twoto-one ratio in victories in air-to-air combat. The aircraft’s range and endurance were sufficient for our mission, except for the invasion at Salerno, when our Warhawks, stationed at a distance in Sicily, could only provide very limited beachhead cover. Even though the P-40 had the liquid-cooled engine (considered by most people to be more vulnerable to ground fire than the air-cooled radial engines), it was a rugged sturdy aircraft, a fine combat vehicle.

My dogfighting in combat was very limited. Within these limits we felt that full power was best (the more power the better), especially when we were outmatched as we were in the P-40. In training, to avoid undue wear and tear on engines, we would use less power, maybe forty inches of mercury, rather than cruise or takeoff power. The Spit had comparative pounds boost. Altitude was where it occurred, but only fools would try to climb with an Me-109, and diving was the best course of action, as well as turning.

Flying damaged aircraft in my experience was done on a case-by-case basis. The vital question was whether even to try to fly it. Fine pilots had been killed when, possibly because of pride, they did not bail out. After deciding that a damaged craft could be flown (and this decision was always subject to change), the best general rule was to stay well within the limits of its capability under the circumstances. In other words, never press one’s luck—be very conservative. None of these lessons in judgment or common sense are included in a manual.

Bailing out, like so many other facets of air combat, had to be learned by experience. A fellow officer and tentmate had an unsuccessful bailout using a technique that was generally thought to be effective. This consisted of turning the aircraft on its back and dropping out of the cockpit. Unfortunately, the air flowing past the cockpit would hold the pilot in his seat until the nose of the aircraft fell through into a dive. By this time the pilot was usually unable to clear the plane and was hit in the legs by the tail. My friend lost one leg at the knee. Another pilot in our flight tried to pop out of the cockpit by rolling forward full nose-down elevator trim and turning loose the stick. He was thrown upward as he expected by the sudden nose-down maneuver of the aircraft, but not high enough to avoid both legs being virtually cut off at the knees by the canopy. He died before being picked up by rescue craft.

A successful maneuver used by several pilots (including myself) required a certain amount of control of the aircraft. With a dead engine, the canopy was opened and the aircraft put into a shallow climbing turn to the right, holding the airplane in this attitude as long as possible until it was on the verge of a stall. By that time the airflow over the cockpit was not enough to prevent the pilot from climbing out of the cockpit. A dive at the trailing edge of the right wing with the legs tucked up as in a front one-and-a-half somersault off a diving board into a pool, enabled the pilot to clear the aircraft as it went by. Then the chute could be opened.

Landing the P-40 was not any different from landing any other aircraft, although there were variations in landing patterns in the various commands. At flying school, the conventional rectangular pattern was used, but in the operational training unit and at Sarasota, Florida, where we had our combat training, the overhead pattern was standard. The aircraft was flown over the landing runway at 1,500 feet at about 200 miles per hour. As it passed over the upwind end the pilot would pull into a tight 90° turn to the left. In the humid air of Sarasota, this maneuver caused vapor trails to form and stream off the wingtips. This spectacular maneuver became a status symbol of a skilled (and daring) pilot. If this sharp turn was coordinated, there was no danger; but if uncoordinated, the aircraft would snap, often into a spin, deadly at 1,500 feet.

Aside from the chance of a spin this was a good technique for landing. Gear was dropped on the downwind leg of the pattern, flaps on the base leg, and a three-point landing was made at the end of the final approach. As I remember it, the downwind was flown at about 130 miles per hour, base leg at about 120 miles per hour, and final at about 100 miles per hour.

My total time in the P-40 was 225 hours, 123 of which were combat hours, flying seventy-two sorties. We were hard on engines, most of which were rebuilt, and I used up three. My log book, which I am sure does not include all of the small-arms bullet holes, shows five missions in which I was hit badly enough to put the aircraft out of action for at least a day. The worst damage was on June 5, 1944, when I was hit dive-bombing and then strafing German vehicles in their retreat north of Rome. The spinner was more than half shot off, and the resulting vibration made it impossible to use more than a small fraction of available power. However, I was able to make it to our emergency landing strip at Anzio, where repairs were made, and the spinner was replaced. After spending a day at the Anzio strip, I flew my airplane back to our home base. Another bad day for my P-40 required the replacement of the right wing when an 88-millimeter shell went through it without exploding, leaving a hole 88-millimeter in diameter. So the P-40 could take punishment; fortunately, I was never hit by a killing round.

About seventy of my hours in the P-40 were in the K and M models, which were equipped with the Allison engine. The remaining 150 hours, including the ten in flying school and all of my combat time, were in the F and L models with the much better Packard-built Rolls-Royce Merlin engine. On takeoff we had available fifty-four inches of mercury manifold pressure as opposed to forty-eight in the Allison. The Merlin was much more rugged, and even when overheating would deliver full power. The Allison was likely to cut out when it was overheating, and an engine failure on takeoff, the normally hot time, is one of the most dangerous things that can happen to a pilot and his airplane.

All of the P-40s had six 50-caliber machine-guns (the Ls, which normally had four guns, had been converted to the F armament by adding two guns). There was provision for carrying either a seventy-five-gallon auxiliary gasoline tank or a 1,000-pound bomb on a shackle under the fuselage. Under each wing were shackles for three twenty-pound antipersonnel fragmentation bombs.

This aircraft was my first love. I developed a sense of confidence in the P-40 that I never had in any other craft. It always brought me back in combat, and our relationship was like that between a cavalryman and his horse.

John A. C. Andrews

Col. John A. C. Andrews was a fighter pilot in the Twelfth Air Force in Italy and southern France in 1944. He was shot down while strafing a German airfield on his eighty-ninth mission and was held prisoner in Pomerania until May 1945.

Of all the missions flown against Rabaul-or even throughout all of World War II- few were as unusual as the sixteen one-way sorties by unmanned “assault drones” in October 1944. Almost seventy years before the proliferation of unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) such as those used in the Global War on Terror, expendable radio-controlled drones were used to attack Rabaul. The TDR-1 looked conventional in almost every respect, with two inexpensive Lycoming six-cylinder engines, tricycle landing gear, and the capability to carry an external bomb or torpedo. A cockpit with flight controls was included for test or ferry flights, then faired over for the unmanned attack. Equipped with an RCA television camera in the nose, along with a gyro stabilizer and radar altimeter, the drones were flown by an operator in a stand-off TBM (General Motors-built) Avenger using radio control. Almost two hundred drones were manufactured, using lightweight tubular frames supplied by the Schwinn Bicycle Company, before the contract was cancelled. Most of the completed TDRs were shipped overseas with a unit called the Special Task Air Group (STAG)-1.

Before launching the drones against enemy targets, a live demonstration was conducted on July 30 for the benefit of the ComAirSols brass. Four drones carrying two-thousand pound general purpose bombs were directed by their control planes against Yamazuki Maru, a 6,500-ton merchantman beached on Guadalcanal. Technically the drones scored three direct hits, although one bomb failed to detonate. The fourth drone missed the superstructure by a matter of feet, exploding against the tree line. On the heels of that success, two missions were conducted against ships off southern Bougainville, along with other well-defined targets such as antiaircraft emplacements. Initial results due to malfunctions and equipment failures were disappointing. Nevertheless four separate strikes were flown against Rabaul by STAG-1 in October. Flying from Nissan in the Green Islands, each strike consisted of four drones for a total of sixteen sorties against Rabaul. A great majority either missed due to radio interference or malfunction, or crashed en route. (One of the wrecked drones was partially recovered by the Japanese, who discovered that the lightweight generator assembly and a sparkplug from one of the engines made an excellent cigarette lighter.) The last strike, on October 25, resulted in one direct hit on a secondary target, and a couple of hits on buildings near their intended target. The following day, the program was officially terminated.

On 27 September 1944, Special Task Air Group 1 arrived at Sterling Island, southwest of Bougainville, and Green Island with its Interstate TDR-1 assault drones. Pilots had flown these aircraft up from the Russell Islands. Then the manual controls were neutralized and a 1,000 pound general purpose bomb was hung under the fuselage. The aircraft were flown, under radio control from a following TBM, to targets in the Bougainville and Rabual area. Being guided by a television camera in the nose of the drone, the controller would dive the aircraft into the target – this at a time when few had even heard of television. While the results of these strikes were inconclusive, they did prompt Tokyo Rose, the Japanese propagandist, to broadcast stories about the American suicide pilots. Kamikaze strikes were yet to be conceived by the Japanese. After expending approximately 50 drones, the squadron returned to the United States. Little did any of us who watched these strange little airplanes skitter off the deck realize we were watching the granddaddy of the formidable cruise weapons of today.

Special Task Air Group One (STAG-1) was equipped with the Interstate TDR-1 pilotless assault drone.

This drone was a twin-engine, low-wing monoplane with a fixed tricycle landing gear and the ability to carry bombs. The aircraft was originally developed by the Naval Aircraft Factory in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania as the TDN-1 but because the factory was busy building the PBN Catalina, production was turned over to the Interstate Aircraft & Engineering Co. Although it had a cockpit for a pilot to test the aircraft, normal operation was for a TBF/TBM to control the drone via radio until it was over the target. The TDR had a TV camera in the nose and an operator in the TBF/TBM would control the path of the drone and aim it at a specific target.

5 October 1944

The USN’s Special Air Task Force (STAG 1), based on Stirling Island in the Treasury Islands, commences operations with Interstate TDR-1 target drones controlled from converted TBM-1C Avengers against Japanese targets in the southwest Pacific. Four Interstate TDR-1s, each carrying a 2,000-pound (907 kilogram) bomb, are launched against Japanese supply caves in the Keravia Bay, Rabaul, area of New Britain Island. One TDR hits in the vicinity of cave entrances; one misses the target area. Two are lost en route due to interference from communications frequency used by a motor gunboat (PGM) operating in the waters over which the drones fly.

9 October 1944

The USN’s Special Air Task Force (STAG 1) continues operations from Stirling Island in the Treasury Islands, Solomon Islands. Four Interstate TDR-1 target drones controlled from converted TBM-1C Avengers are launched against Matupi Bridge, Simpson Harbor, Rabaul, on New Britain Island. Antiaircraft fire, however, downs three of the TDRs; one is lost en route to the target.

15 October 1944

The USN’s Special Air Task Force (STAG 1) operations continue from the Nissan Island, Solomon Islands, as four Interstate TDR-1 glide bombs are launched against Matupi Island, Bismarck Archipelago, as part of coordinated attack by USMC PBJ Mitchells, F4U Corsairs and SBD Dauntlesses against Simpson Harbor Rabaul, New Britain Island. (Matupi Island is located in Simpson Harbor.) Poor picture reception and pilot error results in none of the TDRs hitting their targets.

17 October 1944

The USN’s Special Air Task Force (STAG 1) (Commander Robert F. Jones), based on Stirling Island in the Treasury Islands, Solomon Islands, continues operations as Interstate TDR-1 target drones are launched against Japanese installations near East Rabaul on New Britain Island. One of the four hits the objective; a second hits a target of opportunity; a third is lost due to the failure of a vacuum tube in the drone receiver; a fourth may have been shot down (light and inaccurate antiaircraft fire is noted).

18 October 1944

The USNs Special Air Task Force (STAG 1) operations continue as three Interstate TDR-1 drones are launched against a lighthouse on Cape St. George, New Ireland Island. None hit the target.

19 October 1944

The USN’s Special Air Task Force (STAG 1) based on Stirling Island in the Treasury Islands, continues operations with Interstate TDR-1 target drones. Two flights (one TDR each) are launched against Japanese gun positions west of Ballale. Ballale Island is a small island south of Bougainville. In the first, one drone misses its target during its run; in the second, the drone drops part of its ordnance [the two four-100-pound (45 kilogram) bomb clusters] on the target before it crashes.

20 October 1944

Special Task Air Group (STAG 1) operations continue from Stirling Island in the Treasury Islands. Three Interstate TDR-1 target drones controlled from converted TBM-1C Avengers are launched against Japanese gun positions west of Ballale Island located south of Bougainville: one is lost, one makes a hit with its bomb but crashes before it can be directed into its ultimate target (the beached Japanese freighter serving as an antiaircraft gun site off the Kahili Airfield on southern Bougainville and christened the “Kahili Maru”), the last achieves a bomb hit and crashes into “Kahili Maru” as planned.

23 October 1944

The USN’s Special Air Task Group One (STAG-1) operations continue in two missions; three TDR-1 target drones each guided by TBF-1C Avengers are flown against beached Japanese ships in Moisuru Bay and off the south end of the Kahili airstrip on Bougainville Island. In the first mission, one TDR scores a direct hit on “Kahili Maru” the beached Japanese freighter serving as an antiaircraft gun site off the Kahili airstrip; in the second, one TDR scores a direct hit on “Kahili Maru” while another hits a beached merchantman in Moisuru Bay.

25 October 1944

At Stirling Airfield (Coronus Strip) on Stirling Island in the Treasury Islands, In the Russell Islands, the last attack in a month long demonstration of the Interstate TDR-1 assault drone is made by Special Task Air Group (STAG-1), thereby concluding the first use of the guided missile in the Pacific. During the demonstration a total of 46 drones are expended, of which 29 reach the target areas: two attack a lighthouse on Cape St. George, New Ireland, Bismarck Archipelago, making one hit which demolishes the structure; nine attack anti-aircraft emplacements on beached ships achieving six direct hits and two near misses; and 18 attacked other targets in the Shortland Islands and Rabaul areas making 11 hits.

The TDR was a remotely-controlled aircraft — a cockpit was provided for ferry flights.  It was a clean twin-engined monoplane with fixed landing gear.  The TDR was fitted with a TV-camera in the nose, and could carry a bomb or a torpedo. The TDR was used in some attacks in the Pacific in 1944. Type: TDR-1 Function: attack Year: 1942  Crew: 1  Engines: 2 * 220hp Lycoming O-435-2 Speed: 225km/h   Ceiling:   Range: 685km Armament: 906kg