80th Fighter Squadron

Memoirs of some Korean War Era Headhunters

by Louis Miksits

"In 1948 (July) when I was first ordered to the 80th Fighter squadron at Ashiya Air Base, Kyushu, I thought at the time that we were neither liked or disliked. What I mean by that is the Japanese were just coming off the war and were more interested in making the best of it. They were short of everything; food, clothing, jobs, etc. The black market was booming. I think that Asiatics as a whole were natural thieves. They would steal everything that was not tied down. We had clothing, shoes, etc, stolen right from our barracks. It was not unusual to come back to the barracks and find things gone. One of the methods of punishment, when caught, was to put them head down in an empty 55 gallon drum and beat on the sides. This usually cured them.

As far as the ugly Americans or beautiful ones, I can only remember that we had both. In any occupation, you will have the good and the bad. I must say that the good was more predominate. We helped the orphanage and little league ball teams and in general were treated fair. Those out of line were nailed by the military police.

The town was called Ashiya Machi. We had another town across the bridge over the river Ongagowa called Ashiya Korea. We were told not to go over there because of the hard feelings between the Japanese and the Koreans. The Koreans being more or less servants and laborers during the time Japan dominated them. A lot of fights and hard feelings between them. We were put on standby a few times because of riots. On occasion, the field was raided and damage done to the aircraft. Some Americans got killed at the POL and bomb storage areas (throats cut).

I think by far that the time and place things were about normal for the occupation. The Japanese were given jobs on the base and obeyed the people who supervised them. Pulling guard duty on the POL and bomb dump were a little hazardous because one man was at the gate area and the other walked the area. It was a long way from the main base and a long way around. The only communication between you and the other post was by firing your weapon. An instance occurred in 1949 where the officer of the day tried to sneak up on the guard at the gate and was shot. He survived, don't know his name, but he was a captain from the 80th. You got kind of nervous out there. I'm sure he never tried that again.

There never was too much of a problem between us and the nationals. They resented us calling them gooks. After all, we were really the gooks and they were the nationals. Many of the men had Japanese girlfriends or Kobitos. The word was the find yourself a nice clean girl and stick with her because if you caught VD your ass was mud. The Japanese people frowned on their women going with GIs, but he in turn fed her and her family. I am sure many of them got married and brought them back to the states. As the years went by, the relations between our two countries did improve.

The 80th had one pretty good sized hanger on the far end of the Hanger Row. The P-51, in general, was not hard to maintain once you got to know it. Lt Henderson was the engineering officer and tech or master sergeant French was the line chief. Both of them kept a tight rein on the inspections and minor or major work done on the P-51s. I know of no accidents concerning either the 80th or squadrons while I was there. We had a couple of incidents where P-51s jumped the chocks when mechanics and pilots went the from 1650-7 to the Dash 9 engine. If the Dash 9 was not shut down properly, it would go to full power on the next start. It had a Simmonds Boost system operated by oil pressure and not a linkage. I am sure it caused a few hair-raising events, including one for myself. When I started the engine, it started to go to full power. I kicked off the brakes (or it would stand on its nose), jumped the chocks, went across the ramp, and stopped near the control tower. The start cart disconnected on the way. We were strafed by a P-51 (accidentally) coming off the firing range. No casualties and slight damage to equipment.

A P-51 crashed into the sea from Itazuke. He was on the firing range and ran into engine trouble. He tried to make an emergency landing at Ashiya. On base leg to the runway, he went up and over and into the sea, killing the pilot. My opinion is that the P-51 Mustang was the finest airplane, flying and maintenance wise. I was a sad day when the 80th went to Itazuke and we were sent to other units. I saw many of our 80th P-51s at Tachikawa to be chopped up for scrap.

I think that I sort of enjoyed the occupation as the years went by. I was based at Tachikawa, Johnson, Yokota, Itazuke, and Misawa during my tour, before the Korean War started. I did a lot of traveling throughout the Pacific and learned the Japanese language and customs. I never got used to their stealing, having lost some precious items along the way. Traveling to the mountains and villages was great. I met a lot of interesting people and the one person I will never forget is Colonel Virgil Zoller, Ashiya Base Commander. I am sure a lot of men from the 80th remember him also.

I think covered things the best way I could. I hope it meets your requirements. Thank you for letting me participate in the 80th Fighter Squadron manuscript."

-Louis I. Miksits

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by Dean Price

"When I was in Korea, it was strictly bare bones. We lived in Quonset huts that had never been painted and had no insulation or covering of any kind on the inside walls, all you saw or felt was the cold, corrugated steel. There was one flight to a hut. The hut was heated with fuel oil furnaces made of 55 gallon fuel drums, two of them in each hut. We slept on canvas Army cots with lots of blankets. The only women on base were either Korean or a few nurses. The nurses had their own hut of course, inside a fenced in compound with one other house, it was used by the group commander and hospital commander. The bath house sat off by itself about 100 yards from our hut (we were the closest) and it had the commodes too. There was nothing like taking a hot shower and then running 100 yards through snow and zero degree weather to get back to your warm hut.

But it wasn't all bad. We had some good times, too. The Club, which was for the entire base, really wasn't much. They served some meals there, if you could call them that, and had a small bar. Powdered eggs, powdered milk, canned Argentine beef, and Spam taste the same no matter where you eat it. Liquor was plentiful and cheap. Most of the boozing was done in your hut or with some buddies in their hut. Most of the huts had arraigned some space to have a poker table in it and there was a lot of poker played. We did get some R&R in Japan, I can't remember whether if it was at the end of so many missions or whether it after so much time in the country. We really looked forward to those trips. And of course, we were always ferrying aircraft back to Itazuke for any heavy or periodic maintenance. We had a set of tip tanks that we had cut doors in and we put those on for the ferry flights. Our F-80s didn't have enough fuel to make it from K-13 (Suwon) to Itazuke without tip fuel, so we'd land at Pusan to refuel. On the trip back we'd load the tips with rice beer, usually Asahi, and land again at Pusan for fuel for the trip home. You could get about four cases of beer in each trip. After about three trips we'd have enough for a squadron party.

We usually have the party in Operations. At the time, the squadron had the full crew with it, all the enlisted troops (photo, armament, mechanics, clerks, personal equipment, and all the rest) so it took quite a bit of room. Needless to say, we did that when the next day was a down day...

At the beginning of the war, the flight docs were handing out 1 ounce bourbons at the end of each mission. It was claimed it was needed to steady the pilots' nerves. But they were also flying 5-6+ missions a day, and by mid-afternoon they couldn't find anyone sober enough to fly! That policy didn't last too long before they started giving you a whole bottle for each 25 missions.

I saw a video tape of the JUVAT Boys Choir at the last reunion, they were great! You boys keep things going over there, and God Bless."

- Dean Price

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by Evan Rosencrans

"I was in Korea from July 1950 to April 1951. On several occasions I had the opportunity to exchange firepower with the Mig-15s. At that time the Mig pilots were terrible gunners despite the sizable advantages of the Mig over our Shooting Stars.

About the seventh of December, 1950, I was leading a flight of four F-80s flying top cover for another flight of four F-80s which were bombing and strafing the Sinuiju Air Field, on the east side of the Yalu opposite Antung. We were being hosed by the triple A from China. We saw a bunch of Migs launch from Antung. Shortly after that the triple A stopped and there were 12 Migs about three thousand feet above us; four off the left wing, four off the right wing, and four behind us. A lively engagement followed.

At some time during that contest I saw my bullets hit one Mig from the intake to the tail pipe, along the center of the fuselage. When de-briefing I claimed one Mig damaged.

About two months later I mouthed off to my squadron commander, and as a reward I was sent off to be a forward air controller for six weeks. On return, I walked into squadron ops and the operations sergeant said, 'Lieutenant, you remember that Mig you damaged? Well, you shot it down. Radio reports say it was a kill.' The sergeant's last name was Purcell. This happened around April 1951.

You should find that during late June and early July 1950, Harry Sandlin and Orrin Fox shot down North Korean aircraft too.

Would be glad to tell you more, but you now know all I know. Good luck with your project."

- Evan Rosencrans

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by Jerry Minton

"The first F-80 Shooting Star I ever saw was at an air show at Carswell Air Force Base in the late forties. It was flown slick-without tip tanks or bomb pylons (after all it was a high altitude interceptor design) and was painted with white enamel. The pilot would make low passes-pull up into loops or Immelmann turns-or seemingly climb almost out of sight doing aileron rolls. Very impressive to a young guy who had never flown anything more exotic than a Taylorcraft. (I soloed in a J-5 Cub during my senior year in high school.) I had little idea that I would be flying an '80 in combat in only a few years.

As I recall, the plane was made in four versions: XP-80, F-80A, F-80B, and F-80C. I have heard that the XP had the same thrust and airframe as the later models, but a lot of difference in the instruments and accessories-particularly the fuel flow and throttle controls. The first '80 I saw was probably an XP.

It seems that the XPs, As, and Bs had a somewhat smaller or narrower cockpit. It could be a tight fit for a big man in full winter flying gear; i.e., fleece lined leather jacket, pants, boots over regular flying gear which might (and usually would) include winter flying suit, G-suit, regular boots, backpack chute, seat pack consisting of dingy, cushion carved out to hold survival gear, shoulder holster with service '45, emergency radio, Mae West, bailout bottle, etc. etc. At six feet and 170 pounds I used to doubt that my elbows, knees, and feet would clear if I ejected. One pilot, Bob Bickett, of Louisville, Kentucky (at last word), was a little on the heavy side and simply couldn't wear full winter gear just a gabardine flying suit and nylon jacket.

The As and Bs and probably some XPs were, I believe, all modified to C specs. One thing that the C and the C mods had was a Bendix control on the throttle. Without this, erratic or rough handling of the throttle could put out the fire-an embarrassing and potentially dangerous situation. It required a little more finesse to get an '80 into formation than a prop plane-you needed to back off the throttle while overtaking on a join up and more or less coast into position adding throttle to hold position properly. A frantic chopping of throttle if overrunning or 'firewalling it' if undershooting could result in having to go through an 'air start' procedure. Blowing the fire out while correcting an undershoot on final approach could affect your general health and well being. The Bendix control was a great help.

In the Cs in Korea we used water injection on take off on warm days carrying fuel under-slung tip tanks (about 165 gallons each) and two 1,000 pounders. This water went in on the intake side of the combustion chamber and gave a good kick for about a minute. I can't remember whether we used water on all max load takeoffs in cooler weather.

The 80 was the only single engine operational U.S. jet with a centrifugal flow engine-all the rest to my knowledge had axial flow engines. The engine generated about 5,400 pounds of thrust as I recall and was reliable. I do not recall compressor stall problems or compressor failure. I heard stories of the centrifugal compressor taking hits and continuing to function, although I don't recall witnessing an example of this. As I recall an axial flow engine such as on the '84s and '86s could not take a hit in the turbine and continue to function. The engine was easy to change and I seem to recall a story of a crack ground crew completing a change in less than an hour-but don't hold me to that. (After leaving active duty in 1955 I flew '80s with the 181st Fighter Squadron Texas Air National Guard for a couple of years and I recall stories of some crew chief buying some minor parts at a Western Auto store when the supply room was out. It was not a rumor to be tracked down-there are some things a fighter pilot doesn't really want to know! )

The engine gave the plane plenty of power! I think some Lockheed tech reps were surprised at what the plane hauled on occasion-such as four 1,000 pounders and full internal fuel. The engine was low thrust compared to today' s state-of-the-art but the '80 was a small plane-about 28' span-about 30' long-and fairly light although I don't recall the weight. Still, I remember that in gunnery school at Nellis on very hot days training had to shut down about noon-between runway length, temperature and pressure altitude, it was just a little shy-at least for student missions. The '80 was still much better than the '84s that I flew later.

In 1952 all of us wanted to go from gunnery school to '86s but there were only two '86 groups in Korea compared to three or four '84 groups and the Eighth Fighter-Bomber Group with F-80s. Also, the Fighter-Bomber Groups not only outnumbered the '86 groups but on the whole were taking more casualties. As I recall, the '84 group was taking more casualties than the '80 group. Not only were they penetrating deeper that the '80s, but I think they were carrying more external stores and making multiple passes. Also because of their range they worked in and around Mig Alley much more than the Eighth. There was one ROK F-51 group and I think one USAF F-51 group around but I simply never did like the idea of following a liquid-cooled engine on a comparatively slower plane through ground fire day after day.

The '80 airframe was very durable. I have 'pegged' the G-meter several times- as I recall the meter ran from -2 to +11 (or whatever the upper limit was). No structural damage! I have seen an '80 with the fuselage buckled aft of the canopy and the wings warped, that flew home without problems. You should be able, through the Air Force Museum or some other source, to find some pictures of '80s with big holes and chunks carved out by flak, flying debris, cables, etc. that brought their drivers home.

One '80 (and I think there is a picture around) bounced off a hillside pulling off a run and still came home-skin on bottom partially ripped off-pieces hanging loose. One unusual piece of battle damage was caused by a duck! One of our '80s looked like it was hit by 20mm or 40mm pulling off a run-right side between the cockpit and the plenum chamber. When they took it back to Itazuki (our rear echelon) for repairs they found parts of a duck inside. Funny what an '80 at .83 mach and a duck on a collision course can cause. What if it had gone into the canopy?

The '80 was not the stable instrument flying platform that the '84 was, but it was okay. Some missions were flown in bad weather under unusual circumstances. A flight of four would take off-each with 2/1000 pounders-and join up in tight formation-climb into the soup and fly vectors directed by radar. The radar controller would tell the flight when to drop while flying straight and level-they would drop simultaneously and then radar would vector them back. I don't think anyone in the flight knew what the target was or the results.

While I have mentioned that the '80 was tough structurally, there apparently was some tendency for fatigue cracks in the skin to develop between the wheel wells. All of our planes had a good sized section of about 1/4" aluminum plate overlaid in this area and held in place by metal screws. It seemed to work fine.

Some experiments were made when Col Levi Chase was Group Commander to extend the range by developing 'Manchuria' tanks-centerline 235 gallon tips that had been cut in half and then had the center section of another 235 tip welded in. The capacity was thus raised to about 285 gallons per tip. It didn't work. Too much structural load. Too much extra JP-4 burned to get to altitude and-if a tip didn't feed and couldn't be jettisoned you could end up in a permanent turn into the fuel tank until punch out time.

Hung external armament stores were not uncommon-particularly the five inch HVARs (I don't recall ever having a whole load fire right ) which would hang, corkscrew, sputter, or just turn out to be duds. Bombs would occasionally hang that could not be jettisoned. In any event if you want to see a smooth landing, watch one made by a pilot with hung bombs or rockets !

While the plane was very honest and easy to fly-I have slipped, skidded, and fishtailed on final approach to kill altitude when over-shooting an approach just as if in a J-3 Cub, these were some things to be cautious about. A spin recovery took a lot of altitude. An inverted stall or spin took a lot more altitude! A stall took altitude for recovery and a vertical stall took a lot more altitude! I saw a T-33 (training version of the '80) go in on a final approach stall that could have been avoided by a prop plane-even when the throttle was 'firewalled' it took time for thrust to build up. Any stall or spin recovery was greatly aggravated by partially full tip tanks or by a condition where one tip was empty and the other full or partially full. I saw one of the pilots in my flight go into a spin while barrel rolling into a dive bomb run, and I am still convinced that he had one or both tips full or partially full. He fought it all the way to impact. It was SOP to 'gang load' all fuel tank selector switches on take off but to then shut off the leading edge and main wing tanks until the tips were dry.

By the way, the fuses on the bombs were usually set at 3 second delay to allow penetration after impact, but as I recall on certain types of targets-rail lines, rails outs, rail bridges, and occasional airfields-delays of up to 72 hours were mixed in the group load. Object-to impair enthusiasm, morale, and labor-management relations in general among the repair crews.

Unusual missions! I was on one in which the 80th flew down a railroad track one at a time attempting to 'skip' 1,000 pounders into two rail tunnels through a hill. One pilot put one in each tunnel on his pass and the rest of us bounced and blew bombs everywhere. First and last mission of that kind so far as I know. Also I seem to recall that on night solo recons there was an assignment or two to take out a searchlight battery. When a searchlight locks on you your head is down and you are on instruments-if your head is up you are blinded. Who thought that one up?

Something about the men who flew the '80s-and a lot of other jets in Korea. I remember our training squadron Commanding Officer in jet advanced at Bryan boasting that all of his instructors had at least 250 hours of jet time. At Nellis the instructors were almost all combat veterans from Korea-in 1952 at least, but remember, a tour in Korea didn't build up much time-I got 135 combat hours in 100 missions. I'm sure the '84 drivers got more. There was a sprinkling of WWII types at command levels-career officers. Also a sprinkling of WWII recalls, most of whom were gone by late 1952-some were released before completing their tours. I had my 24th birthday shortly after my tour began in the summer of 1952 and quite a few guys were younger than me. As we used to joke-'It wasn't much of a war, but it was the only one we had.' Fighter pilots are trained to fight. We were green, and probably not as good as we thought we were, but head and shoulders above the competition-such as it was. We took our losses-about 24 pilots from the Eighth Group while I was there-eight of whom were from the Eightieth (two from 'A' Flight). At one time somebody calculated that about one-third of Classes 52-B out of Bryan and Williams were lost six or eight months after reporting to gunnery school about one half combat losses and the other half various kinds of flying accidents. We knew fear, but I can only remember one or two that couldn't handle it."

- Jerry Minton

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by Ernie Fahlberg

"I believe the Shooting Star was the best ground support plane made at that time. It could be shot all to pieces and still fly. I've seen as much as four feet shot off the wing of one and the pilot would still get her home. It could sneak up on the enemy and clobber them before they could even react. Once I was strafing a hilltop when my wingman, Joe, came in too low and mushed his airplane into the ground as he attempted to pull up. Fortunately, he did not hit hard enough to cause fatal damage, but it was a long trip back across the straits to Japan. He landed with tree branches, rocks, and grass embedded in the underside of his F-80!

The F-80 absorbed punishment very well and was a superb instrument aircraft (very unusual for that time for a fighter). The bird was reliable and easy to maintain. Our in-commission rate stayed close to 80 percent until the end of the year, when some of the aircraft were getting about 1,500 hours on their airframe, with no major overhaul. By the end of December, most F-80s in the Far East were war-weary, their wing tip castings had elongated or broken due to the oversized 'Manchuria' tanks. We couldn't get parts or replacement aircraft. By February of 1951, things began to get a little better, though."

- Ernie Fahlberg

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by Harold Fischer

"The stop at Hawaii was a welcome change and it seemed as if there could be no better place to have something go wrong with one of the engines. We were delayed by an engine change and it gave us an opportunity to look the island over. Going from the airport, one could see The University of Hawaii on the hill and it seemed to beckon me, to further my education, in this beautiful land. There were Air Force units stationed there and I thought what a break it would be to be stationed there in Hawaii. Plans were immediately made to spend a few days in this garden spot on return to the ZI or zone of interior as it is called.

Finally, the DC-4 or C-54 as it is known in its civilian version, lifted from the islands and took up a course for the island of Japan, where a short six years before the country had been an enemy. It made me wonder if our's was a sane society.

The Air Force C-54 circled ever the Japanese international terminal of Haneda, close to Tokyo. The pilot was flying a circular holding pattern ever the fog, between layers of clouds awaiting permission to let down.

Aboard the aircraft were replacement crews for the police action in Korea. All would be assigned to Korea unless they had special skills which were needed in Japan. The majority were rated officers on flying status. Three of us were just out of flying school and were from the same flight in gunnery school at Las Vegas. There we had learned to use our jet aircraft as gunnery platforms and as bomb and rocket launching devices. We felt that we had received the best training in the world and that we were a special breed of "tiger." Our plans were to go immediately to Korea and get in the same flight together. There was a feeling that the war would be over seen and that our training should be put to practice to shorten the war.

After circling for 45 minutes, the pilot of the C-54 eased the airplane toward the lower deck of clouds and the hydraulic lines to the flaps chattered as the flaps were lowered preparatory to being turned an final approach by the ground controlled approach radar operator.

The aircraft touched down on Japanese territory which still bore the scars of the war. The date was March 14th, 1951. A popular song at the time was "Wheel of Fortune" and it expressed my feelings about flying and fighting, in this corner of the world.

Our luggage, which consisted of one B-4 bag apiece and what we could carry was loaded on lorries and we were placed on a bus which was to take us to the processing squadron where we were to receive our orders for assignment to a flying and fighting unit. Before leading an the buys, we were given the chance to exchange all our dollars for military script or Japanese yen.

The journey from Haneda to Camp Fuchu was a revelation and a shock to us. The Japanese way of life is entirely different from what we had been accustomed to and it is easy to regard anything new with suspicion. The streets were narrow and bicycles, three-wheeled motorcycles, busses, army lorries, and passenger automobiles as well as small charcoal burning Nippon vehicles used as taxis, mingled together. Small children would toddle to the side of the road, restrained by a child not much older than itself. "Mamasons" attired in Kimerias with their babies tied to their backs clipped along an their "getas" held on with two things. The houses were unpainted and many were thatched.

On the way to Fuchu, a park was passed, the entrance was a tori, two pillars supporting an arch. The driver said that this was the park where the first American raiders on Tokyo were beheaded. None of the residents of the town would admit that they knew anything about it, when questioned.

Souvenir stores catering to military personnel spotted the street as well as the famed cabarets of the Orient. The stench was noticeable and we had our first encounter with the "honey-buckets," carriers of human excrement, which was used to fertilize the rice and vegetables of the farmers. The carts carrying the "honey-buckets" were pulled by slow oxen or horses. Horses were used but rarely and Japanese were never seen riding them. This custom supposedly dated back to the time when the Emperor rode his famed white horses and he issued an edict that riding a horse was a royal prerogative

The bus turned into Area B at Camp Fuchu and passed several laundries, oriental gift shops and cabarets just outside the gates. Several Japanese girls, "ojosens," lingered on the walk approaching the armed sentry and the cabaret signs shouted forth their wares of beer and girls. Food was not advertised, but sold, as all armed services personnel were warned not to eat any native cooked or grown food because it might be contaminated, as human fertilizer was used to make it grow.

We unleaded our baggage and checked in with the Sergeant at the main administration building. We were assigned to a large dormitory and the first rush was to the shower, after the long flight from the states. As we waited in line for the showers, a Captain quipped, "Far East on Good Friday, first combat mission an Saturday and shot down an Easter Sunday."

One of the officers carried a briefcase, which I presumed was full of orders or official papers. Many carried them. As I was sitting with him on. the bus coming to Fuchu, he opened It and it contained many asserted bottles of pills. Noticing him afterwards he would take a pill about every two hours. Probably to inoculate himself from all the many and varied diseases the Orient is noted for.

There was nothing for us to do until the next morning and many of the officers took advantage of the opportunity to go to Tokyo on the Air Force bus which .ran into the central railroad station serving Tokyo. The officers came back with mixed reactions and reports. One of the officers, who was assigned later to Korea, had been to one of the "geisha" houses and told of the treatment he had received, of being served breakfast white sitting on the floor with his feet stuck down in a recess where a charcoal fire burned. A blanket covered his knees and kept the heat in. It was still cold in late March. He had also purchased an ornate pool cue which struck me as being a little ludicrous for there were no pool tables where we were going. But there is no accounting for an American with money n his picket when he sees a "bargain."

Paper work, the lifeblood of the Air Force, occupied us for the next few days and then we awaited our assignments. The three of us were sure we were going to Korea and we were ready, eager and willing. Without us, we felt, an indispensable cog in the war machine was missing. We thought we would be assigned to the same unit. There was a spirit of camaraderie which had developed between the three of us, having been in the same flight together at gunnery school. Our instructor had been a bachelor and a real educator and leader. He had forced us to fly at our very best at all times and initiated us into the intricacies of team acrobatics. He was a very brave man.

Eagerly we jostled each other to see the assignments as they were tacked on the bulletin board. Down the alphabetical list our eyes traveled. My name was first to the 8th Fighter-Bomber Wing, APO 929, Fukuoka, Japan, as well as my closest friend. The other assignment read to the 49th Fighter-Bomber Wing, APO 970, Taegu, Korea.

It was a shock, first to be separated and then to be sent to what we considered a base where missions were slow. All of us were there to get our mission in as fast as possible and get home and on with our careers. There were pilots who had been in the Far East 100 days and had completed their 100 missions, which at that time was considered a combat tour. We would have like to have done the same and it looked like an assignment to Korea meant the best chance to accomplish this.

The two of us assigned to Japan were scheduled to take a train to southern Japan while our third team member was scheduled for a flight out of the nearby air base of Tachikawa. We had some time before we were scheduled to leave so we took the bus to Tokyo.

Getting off at the railway transportation office at the central railway station, we were beset by jinrickshaw drivers, who pulled their high wheeled carriages by hand and those more fortunate who pedaled theirs, small boys who polished shoes and taxi cab drivers. The taxis were nondescript vehicles which had charcoal burning apparatus on the rear, fuel not being readily available. It was also my first experience with electric cars, which sounded like Model A Fords, when I thought they should be silent.

Passing by General MacArthurs's headquarters we saw a crowd of Japanese awaiting for MacArthur's departure from Army headquarters. It was about five o'clock when he would make his exit to the waiting Cadillac. It seemed as if MacArthur may have taken the place, to a small extent of the Emperor after the defeat of Japan and this was the reason for the adulation he received. A Japanese policeman was on duty as well as the honor guard, to control the onlookers.

The taxi took us to the Ginza, the tourist street of Japan. Street vendors crowded the side walk selling their wares. Jackets, embroidered with dragon, imitation Ronson and Zippo lighters, fans, curios, what-nots and pipes were offered. The prices were always too high and the vendors rejoiced when there was no bargaining because a huge profit was made. By "horse-trading," arguing, shouting, the original price could be cut drastically. The exchange rate being 360 yen for one American dollar, many service people became hypnotized by the apparent great amount of the Yen that they carried and thinking that they were spending very little "hard" cash found in the morning, when inventory was taken, that they had depleted their finances drastically. There were good buys, the fly rods and small alarm clocks. Almost every pilot purchased a small replica of a Samuraisward to carry in his flying suit, to deflate the "Mae West" life preserver and life raft should they become accidentally inflated during flight. There isn't much room in the cockpit of a fighter aircraft.

We hurried to the Tokyo rail transportation office to the catch our train. Japanese transportation facilities had not recovered from the war as yet and after securing our tickets from the Army Sergeant hurried on the loading platform. Queues of Japanese awaited their trains. When it would pull in and the door would open, there would be a rush for the door, without regard to the aged, children or pregnant women. It would be done silently and as a matter of course. It was analogous to a group of animals going up a loading chute in a rush, back on my father's farm. One elderly Japanese man suffered an attack and was obviously very sick. No one paid any attention to him. It is a sad thing to see people who had so little regard for their fellow human beings. Eventually, the workers an the railroad car carried him to the office. No compassion was evidenced, just indifference.

It was a two day train trip down to our base at Fukuoka on the Island of Kyushu. We were assigned to sleepers with a group of Marines and Naval personnel who were going down to Sasebo, the Naval base in southern Japan. They spent the night in merry revelry. A game was played involving coordination and close attention. A deck of cards was placed on a table and each player put forth a hand close to the cards. A song was sung, with an even beat which both knew. Then each would alternately tap on the cards either with the tips of their fingers or their knuckles. If one tapped the cards with his knuckles the other had to follow suit. The loser had to take a straight drink out of a bottle which must have been pure JP-4, the fuel for a jet. Noise and revelry filled the night but it was very quiet the next day.

The train passed from the island of Kyushu via an underwater tunnel between the islands. None of us were aware that it occurred. Late in the evening the train pulled into the Fukuoka station. We embarked and arranged for transportation to the main base, struggling with our B-4 bags. We were propositioned twice at the railroad station and it was a new experience for each of us, being openly "invited" on the streets. The evolution of thinking about oriental women usually occurred something like this. At first their was a definite repugnance, with the wondering how anyone could be attracted to any of them or their environment. Their racial characteristics are such that they could not possibly be compared to white women. White women, or round eyes, were usually preferred but they weren't there except the tokens who were associated with the Red Cross. After about six months the complexion would seem to change and those who were going to fraternize would usually do it around the six month period.

There was a definite point in favor of the "ojosons," they would treat the man like he was the only man in the world at the time. They would pour his sake, teas, await his every wish. Many officers and enlisted men had their "cobitas" or sweehearts, who they kept during their tour overseas. They would feed, cloth and entertain them for services rendered. They would set up housekeeping, Japanese-style, sleeping on straw mats, eating rice and fish with chopsticks. Their women would be adorned with western clothing bought from Sears Roebuck and Montgomery Ward catalogues. At five o'clock there would be an exodus from the base by the personnel carrying sacks filled with post exchange snacks. After a tour was ever, the "foreign wife," might be turned over to a man's friend. Out of these liaisons came a few marriages.

The "House of Mirrors" was the officers' house in town, where enlisted men were not allowed. It was situated in the district of Fukuoka where the better houses of ill repute were located. One would go in and be greeted by the madam of the establishment, 3600 yen would be charged, the equivalent of ten dollars, shoes would be removed and the girls brought out. The officer would pick the one he wanted and they would retire to their room. If he picked the star of the house, he would be given the room with the mirrors which covered the walls including the ceiling. Food, Japanese-style, could be purchased and American cigarettes purchased from the black market, consequently the price would be at least double. One technical representative from Lockheed reserved the "belle" of the house every week-end and furnished her with western clothes. Eventually he purchased her release and set up housekeeping. Later, he went back to the states, divorced his wife with two children, came back and married her.

There still existed, at that time in Japan, though outlawed, the practice of fathers selling their daughters to restaurants, geisha houses or the house with the "red" light. Before, if a daughter was sold it was for the life of the child. Then they were under a contract for a number of years, theoretically. A few could save up enough money to buy their contracts but most of establishments saw to it that their charges were never paid enough and they became even more indebted to them and the contract continued indefinitely.

We hired a taxi to take out to the main base and we checked into fairly comfortable quarters and settled for the night. The next morning, we learned that the air strip was not at base one where we were located, so we packed and again set out to the strip about two miles away, near the edge of the town of Fukuoka. It was an old Japanese air base, with the runways being lengthened to take jet aircraft. We reported into wing headquarters and were summarily assigned to the 80th Fighter-Bomber Squadron.

A line of tents greeted us, on the first tent was a picture of a Headhunter's head. painted in yellow and black. It was the symbol of the 80th Fighter-Bomber Squadron. Taking our records, we went in and an airman asked us if we had quarters and then told us to check in with base housing. There was no hurry for us to go down to operations and the general attitude was, "the war can wait." We went down quickly to the housing office and were assigned to a tent with six others. It was a winterized tent with no windows and two smoky oil stoves. Throwing our meager baggage on our canvas cots, we rushed down to operations.

The operations officer welcomed us aboard, took our flying records and told us to go sign up for the replacement training unit, the RTU. This was a shock to us. Here we were probably the highest trained fighter pilots anywhere having just gotten out of gunnery school at Nellis and we were assigned to a RTU. Probably at no other time in our careers would we be so finely trained, so expertly honed as right now and here we were being retrained. Our respect for the Air Force diminished as our indoctrination with the red tape of this huge organization was begun.

The RTU was located in another winterized tent, where a number of pilots were sitting around dejectedly with an air of impatient waiting. The pilots were checked out in the order that they checked in. Since the war mission came first, aircraft were made available to the RTU when they were not used in the accomplishment of this mission, hence pilots had been waiting days and even weeks to complete their training. The instructor pilots, who had completed their missions were the ones who had been delegated the duty of getting the novice piles assigned. Then, as always, the weather played a large part in the influencing of when a pilot could fly to be checked out.

One of the instructor pilot for the RTU was an old F-51 pilot, that had been shot down and was able to bail out ever friendly lines as the Americans were being pushed back. He broke his ankle and had to be carried back ahead of the attacking Chinese and North Korean advancing hordes. One of the pilots going through the RTU had a great deal of F-51 time. Because of his high time, he was transferred to a F-51 unit before he finished training. I saw him a short while later and he had been flying one mission a day and sometimes two. Since 100 was the magic number to complete before rotation, he could have easily completed his missions in the record time of three months. This actually occurred to some pilots, having been overseas for four months, returned to the ZI with a combat tour an their record. Not seeing this pilot for awhile, I inquired about him from some of his squadron mates and I was informed that he had volunteered to fly over his hundred missions and he was killed on his 102nd.

When my good friend and I were assigned to the six man tent, there were a number of pilots who were flying combat missions and living in the tent. One Lieutenant who had been flying fighters in the ZI and recently arrived and became a flight leader. One morning around 3o'clock, the Lieutenant was awakened for an early morning mission, requiring a pre-dawn take-off. He had something go wrong with the airplane on take-off causing a power failure and in the dark had tried to turn back to the field. A high pyre of flame marked his unsuccessful efforts at the end of the runway and the fires lighted the path for the remaining pilots. The primary rule of flying had been violated, but not without reason, that being never to attempt to turn back to the field. In this case, the runway that was being used was encircled at the end by Japanese houses and a few short miles from the end of the runway was Fukuoka Bay and a water landing at night, with a full bomb lead was almost impossible. There was little choice but for him to attempt it. For some reason, perhaps for the fear of killing innocent Japanese, he did not drop his bombs or his tip tanks. It was my first experience with death during combat operations. Up to now it had been merely an academic thing, we were at war and people are killed, but this was someone in the same tent with me.

After impatiently waiting for a check out, I sat out the allotted time until those who had checked In earlier passed through the RTU. During the RTU, one of pilots, assigned to the 80th FB Squadron was killed at Taegu, Korea. He had been mentioned to the young pilots as being infallible. Assuming that he had been killed in combat, I asked for the details. He and another pilot had taken off from Taegu for an instrument practice flight and they were practicing on actual instruments, when they hit one of the mountains in the vicinity. This did not seem a fitting end to so illustrious a career,

Finally after almost an anti-climax, they said that I was ready for my first blooding. It was the practice, at that time to send the newly graduated RTU pilot on a mission as soon as possible. The details of the mission are hazy, probably because of the fear that was in me. First, the long over-water flights that were required both ways, almost one hundred miles each way from Japan to Korea and back, then the weather that was almost always a part of the long mission. This was not looked forward to since formation weather was a dread phenomena to the novice pilot. Then the actual shooting at and back by strangers, whom I could not hate as individuals. To say that I was reluctant was certainly an understatement and to say he least, the situation was viewed with mixed emotions. There was only one approach that seemed feasible to me, to stick with the flight leader and not let him out of my sight. The number two spot is always allotted the newest pilot and it was the place that I occupied so literally, since two pairs of eyes were always an me from number three and four.

The strike was against the front line, a ground support mission, and the mission stated it was against the village of Suijui. Each mission was preceded by a briefing two hours before take-off time and since the take-off time was not always the same, there could be a briefing at 3:15 or 3:30am depending an the actual take-off time. In the briefing, the general intelligence information was given, the target for the particular mission and the location of friendly and enemy troops as well as specific information such as the location of anti-aircraft batteries were mentioned. In addition, the armament load we were to carry was mentioned; the weather that we could expect along the route and lastly the tame hack ended the ritual to the Gods of War. To say that the first mission was viewed with mixed emotions could be characterized by the three months in that I felt nothing, heard nothing and saw nothing but reacted as I should. After the first mission, just as it is after the first airplane is shot down, there is much reliving of the actual event, like a virgin an her first attempt at being a woman, the experience may not be pleasant but there is much thought upon it.

Group living did not exactly appeal to me or my close friend, and the five of us living in the tent, probably were not the neatest. The words of a Colonel, who spoke to us when we were going through training back in Williams AFB, echoed in my mind. They were that no matter where you are you do not have to sacrifice too many of the comforts of life, if you only de a little work and improve your environment. With these thoughts in mind, my friend approached the housing office and became friendly with the Japanese in charge of the barracks and the maids. With a carton of cigarettes, that I always managed to have on hand since I did not smoke and drew my ration, we were able to get an entire tent for ourselves, reading lamps, desks and a personal maid for the tent. It was across from the base .theater and we got to know the Sergeant that was responsible for the showing of the films. Many time, we saw the films from the projection booth far a somewhat private showing and we always relied on his advice as to what show was good and what show we should not waste our time on.

There is a certain amount of tension generated by an individual flying combat, which must be dissipated, if the person is to remain a rational, functional fighting unit. Many pilots approached it in both socially acceptable and socially unacceptable ways. Some would get loaded at the bar and give vent to their feelings through demon serum and with drinks only 25 cents, they rationalized that they could not afford not to drink. A few would frequent a house of ill repute, a "Ocat" house and both drink and relieve their physical tension in a hot community bath or some would become attached to a local belle and set up housekeeping oriental style, with food being procured from the PX, or an the local market, which was forbidden. I found my outlet in riding throughout the adjacent countryside an a used Japanese scooter and with it, I found what I thought was the real Japan, not the Japan of the souvenir shops and the beer and sake parlors. Every chance that there was, I would spend the time wondering through the Japanese markets and the food stores. It was particularly interesting to turn down a tide street barely large enough for the scooter and see where the Japanese would trade. Their fish markets were astounding to Western eyes, particularly the small live fish that the indigenous personnel would order much as we order gold fish in the dime stores to take home. Octopus was available and the Japanese house wife would be as careful as any American housewife as she went from shop to shop shopping for bargains. Normally, if anyone were found in one of these places, it was a strong indication that he had gone native and had a "cobita" or Japanese mistress. It was on one of these tours that I saw a Captain assigned to the 80th in an old 1940s black Ford.

A popular spot frequented by Air Force personnel and these an Relaxation and Recreation, or R and R, was the Fifth Air Force Officers' club located in downtown Fukuoka. Here one could get excellent food at a nominal coast and the bar was one of the most popular places in the immediate vicinity. It was southern Japan and the hospitality could be compared with the heart of the Confederacy. The head cashier was a Japanese girl educated at the Junior college in San Bernadine and spoke English more grammatically correct than that of the majority of Americans. Her father had sent her to the states, after the war for her formal education and then she returned to her native country. It was in this air and in this environment that I flew my first combat missions.

While waiting for the missions and especially when there was bad weather over the front line, the pilots would set around in squadron operations playing cards, bitching, or drinking coffee and sometimes writing letters home or reading their letters. There was an interesting sociological interaction. In this small group which was made up of reserve officers, regular officers, and Air National Guard officers. They represented all kinds of backgrounds and ages. Walking into operations on a rainy day, you would find the older Captains clustered together, around them would be the senior grade first Lieutenants and then the newly graduated second Lieutenants. Entirely aloof from the group would be the field grade officers. It was a well defined distinct caste system and one did not move up or across the sociological groups easily. The most closely knit group were the regular officers, who were dedicated, but who were dedicated not to the Air Force but the furtherance and the preservation of their own careers. Friendship had very little emphasis in their world and there was a tendency to regard all the other officers as necessary to the fighting of the war but to be relegated to a minor position as soon as the war was over. A more coldly, calculated, friendless group, save in their own small clique, one could not hope to find anywhere. They always seemed to have a monkey an their back. The friendliest group were the older Captains, who had been in the service for many years or who had been in the Air National Guard for a number of years. There was one Captain whom I admired both as a pilot and as an officer. He had been one of the first to check out in the P-80, when they became operational near the end of WW II. He was from the Florida ANG and had flown an their acrobatic team when they were flying the F-51s. I felt if he had been flying F-86s, he would surely had been an ace. It was a shock to me to hear that he had been killed after the war. He was taking off on a night mission and en the join up, became disorientated before he could transition to instruments and before he could recover crashed into the Arizona desert.

The F-80s would be loaded down with a huge load of fuel, over 930 gallons of JP-4, or low grade kerosene, around 1800 rounds of ammunition for their fifty caliber machine guns, which there were six in number and either 500 or 1,000 pound bombs, rockets or napalm. Then they would take off and fly from 200 to 250 miles, with 10 to 15 minutes in the target area and return. This was the way my first few missions were conducted. The climb out to Korea would take around 125 miles and the maximum ceiling that we could achieve was around 23,000 to 24,000 feet with the heavy bomb lead and fuel. Coming back the airplane would ease up to 30,000 to 34,000 feet. I concentrated on being the best possible wing man and attempted to fly formation closer and better than anyone else. My motto was if I could not be a leader, then I could be the best wing man the Air Force could produce.

Every fourth day, we would be liable for standing alert on the strip and it would commence at dawn and be ever at dusk when the night fighters would take over. The night fighters were an abortion composed of two 51s combined into what was termed the F-82. The pilot would set in-one fuselage and the radar observer in the ether. According to the ground crews, they were a plumbers nightmare to maintain. When on alert, the pilots had to remain an duty in the alert shack at the end of the runway a few feet from their airplanes and when the buzzer would sound, we would race out to the airplanes, the mechanics would start the auxiliary power unit, or APU and the pilot would scramble into his parachute and start the engine. Normally, the reason for a scramble would be a C-119 coming back from Korea with its identification, friend or fee, IFF set not operational. We would fly down, the errant aircraft being around 7,000 feet, identify and report their number.

The night before our flight was to have alert, was the night that was usually reserved for normal squadron revelry and many a morning, when the flight was scrambled, the pilots, including myself, wondered why it seemed like such a good idea to celebrate the night before and vowed never to commit the same mistake again. It was one of these morning afters that the flight was scrambled before the hangover was slept out, that I came close to having an accident. Normally, 100% oxygen is the standard cure for a sick fighter pilot but this time, it did little to alleviate the ills of the day. The flight was uneventful, with radar picking us up after take-off and vectoring us to intercept a friendly cargo plane, whose pilot had neglected to turn on his IFF. In some cases, we would be vectored out ever the water to intercept fishing vessels that were picked up on the radar sets and we used to buzz the fishing vessels until the Japanese government protested and an altitude restriction was placed on the alert aircraft. After intercepting, a C-46 aircraft, we circled and climbed to altitude, flying a square pattern ever an island out in the sea between Japan and Korea waiting for targets of opportunity to give us practice.

The rest of the flight was uneventful and I followed the leader into the traffic pattern at Itazuke AFB. There was a strong headwind, which was straight down the runway and no brakes were used, as was normal, until I turned the airplane on the taxi strip to go back to the alert area. Taxiing along, at about 15 mph, the aircraft veered to the right slightly and I attempted to correct the aircraft with the left brake. Suddenly the left rudder pedal, that controlled the left brake offered no resistance when pushed, which indicated a complete brake failure. At that airspeed the rudder offered no help in steering the airplane and there was nothing that I could do as the airplane slowly moved to the right side of the taxiway and toward the drainage ditch which was about three feet, in depth. An utter feeling of helplessness pervaded my entire being as the ditch came closer and closer. At the last minute, 1 hit the good right brake causing the airplane to go into the V shaped drainage ditch at an angle of 90 degrees. It was barely moving as the airplane came to rest with the tail in the air at an angle of 40 degrees. Sheepishly, I slid back the canopy and cut the switches thinking what a horrible day this turned out to be. Normally, when any accident occurred, the flight surgeon was the first man to be checked with and I did not feel in any condition to be inspected by a M.D., trying to determine whether I was physically capable of handling any flying emergency.

Attempting to determine what had caused the failure, I checked the brakes visually and not finding anything wrong, walked back ever the path of the F-80 and picked up remnants of the brake pucks that had broken when I applied the brakes. While walking back, I met the squadron commander and the operations officer, in a jeep and explained what had happened. I was given the fishy cold stare of the commander who had already passed judgment before hearing the explanation, and who must answer to his commander. To back up my explanation of what happened, I held out the shattered brake pucks. The fact that I had an explanation and that there was no apparent damage to the venerable F-80 seemed to get me off the hook. Since there was no apparent damage, I did not have to face the flight surgeon and this taught me a lesson that when I flew, to be in the best possible shape physically. However, there were a few times later, that the fruit of the vine should have been left in the cup. I still have a picture that shows the old gallant F-80 with its tail in the air and the nose in the drainage ditch as if it were some forest animal kneeling down to drink.

Later, I found out that there were a number of instances, when the brake pucks had failed in other aircraft, a group of defective pucks having arrived in supply. There was no apparent way to determine whether the brake pucks were defective before installation. On a random selection basis, it should not have happened again to me, considering the number of failures in the group, however lightning can strike twice. on some of the missions that were deep in enemy territory, there was not enough fuel to return to hour home base in Japan and on these missions the flights would land at a base in Korea about 60 miles inland, called Taegu. During this stage of the war all the base had to offer in the way of a runway was pierced steel planking and the engineers were constantly at work repairing the damage done by the landing aircraft. There was a 5,000 foot runway, which was barely long enough for safe landings and safe take-offs and the pierced steel planking was extremely rough and an landing it gave the same affect to the aircraft as If it were landing on a small roller coaster. It was at this base that the second puck incident occurred.

I was flying number four in a four ship flight and we had just returned from a close support mission which had expended out fuel making a landing at K-2, or Taegu necessary. Landing to the north, we flew up the valley an initial entry to the airfield; the flight broke in two second intervals and began smooth turns to the final approach to the airfield. The leader landed an the inside of the runway, to the left, the number two on the right side and I lined up and touched down behind the leader about 800 feet behind him. As it was a short runway and the braking action on the pierced steel planking was poor, I applied the brakes as soon as the airspeed diminished so they would be effective and again the mushy feeling in the brake told me either there was a ruptured brake line or the pucks had again failed and this time while I was on the runway traveling at a high rate of speed. Having rehearsed the prior emergency, I immediately stop cocked the throttle, opened the canopy and called for the flight ahead of me to clear the runway. They immediately cleared when I said that I had no brakes. Using the rudder to guide the aircraft until the airspeed dropped below 40mph, I aimed the airplane at the only clear space in view, there being airplanes lined up on either side of the runway. The clear space was off the end of the runway and I left the runway still going at a fair clip and with a helpless feeling. Ahead of the airplanes lay an open ditch of about 15 inches across and two feet deep, and I had visions of at the minimum a sheared nose gear. However, the aircraft having expended all but about 30 gallons of fuel, all of the ammunition and with no ordnance on board, skipped lightly over the ditch and slid to somewhat of a muddy stop in the clay of Korea. This time, I knew what happened and I left the job of getting my aircraft to the ground crew and went ever to debriefing, to talk to Intelligence concerning the details of the mission.

Actually carrying the fight to the enemy delivering the ordnance, a combat mission is probably never like an first supposes it to be. If one were terribly afraid, It would not be as frightening as he supposed; if he were courageous, as courage is only the ability to overcome fear, he might find it fear inspiring. When the ground gunners of the Communists would begin to fire the 20mm and 40mm cannon and the projectiles would start to float toward his aircraft, then suddenly begin to converge at tremendous speed, it would increase the adrenaline flow of the most courageous man. The cannon shells were termed "golf balls" and they had somewhat the appearance of a luminescent golf ball which would grow to the size of a tennis ball as they would pass by the airplane. A person could become fascinated, almost hypnotized by the appearance of the 'golf ball' and it was an exhilarating feeling to be shot at and missed.

The approach to flying combat that I adopted, was to as a wingman, be the best wingman that it was possible for me to be. When flying as number two, on a leader that I could trust, I would go in an a strafing pass and actually be hitting a target underneath the lead airplane as he was pulling up and over the same target. Positioning myself, on the inside of the lead airplane and knowing which way he was going to turn, I would commence firing as he finished firing and pulled over the target. This would work when the target was the same for both aircraft or very close together. Some leaders would complain since it was distracting to pull over a target and see it come alive with light from the tracer bullets and armored piercing ricochets, although it was safe. In order to keep the lead airplane in view, it was necessary to keep him in sight at all times and only concentrating on the target when on the actual firing run.

If flying and dropping ordnance against living target and most of our strafing work was against living targets could be termed "fun," the dropping of napalm was the most interesting, skip bombing next, then rocketry and finally dive bombing. To drop napalm, the pilot would get down as low as possible, usually less than 50 feet, when the target disappeared under the nose of the aircraft, the napalm would be released, both napalm tanks at once or one at a time, for greater coverage. Under these circumstances, it was almost impossible to miss the desired target and it was one of the most feared weapons that the Air Force possessed according to reports from the prisoners of war. Skip bombing was similar to dropping napalm and with the delayed fuses in the bombs, it would allow the bomb to bounce up in the air once and hit the target and explode and again it was difficult to miss the desired target. It was used to good advantage against railroad tunnels and I can recall one Instance when a bomb of mine exploded on the other side of the tunnel from which the run was made and on analysis determined that the bomb had skipped all the way through the tunnel and exploded somewhat harmlessly an the tracks.

Rocketry was the more difficult of the techniques successfully used against the enemy. In order to be effective, it was necessary to get almost a direct hit on any target and since the launching technique was to be at 3,000 feet away from the target and at an angle from between 30 to 45 degrees, there were many factors which entered into the successful launching of the rockets. The gunsights that were used had a setting for rocketry but most of the pilots estimated the correct range and altitude and, in many cases, the attack was about as useful as throwing rocks at the enemy. Dive bombing of the targets was similar to rocketry but the angle of the dive was steeper and the altitude for dropping the bombs was necessarily higher. The accuracy and devastation of the results from these bombs were increased by using proximity fuses which exploded about 100 feet above the ground and rained death and destruction on all those below it. Another technique used later in the war was that of glide bombing and I am sure that it must have been an interesting and rewarding sight to the Communists to see an entire squadron or group of American planes fly ever a railroad, straight and level and the pilots, with no gunsights or bombsights to aid them, to try to hit the railroad track and cut it. Perhaps from 24 airplanes, there might be two or three good rail cuts and as soon as the whine of the jets died away, thousands of laborers would swarm around the tracks, if the Air Force had been bombing this area regularly and have it repaired in a matter of hours. A few of the bombs would have delayed fuses of up to 12 hours and this would deter a too rapid repair.

The two most effective weapons used against the Communists, as far as the fighter aircraft were concerned were, as in WW II, that of napalm and the fifty caliber machine gun.

It must have been demoralizing and frightening for the enemy soldiers to be constantly facing the attacks of our aircraft, although the enemy was able to adopt their survival techniques extremely well to the situation that they faced. Having never been strafed the first idea that I had of being on the ground and having aircraft firing their machine guns at the ground was at K-2, when a flight of 51s had to dispose of some of their ammunition in order to achieve their maximum landing weight and since a round of ammunition weighed about a pound, this was the easiest and quickest way to lighten their weight. Near the airfield there was an ammunition disposal area along the bank of the river and I was waiting to be briefed for another mission when the roar and the chatter of the 50 caliber machine guns interrupted the silence. Having just returned from a ground support mission, the question of what its like to be strafed was partially realized.

One of the greatest tragedies of the Korean war was that there was no way to determine whether a village contained peaceful Koreans or was a billet for enemy troops. The question was discussed by pilots and it was unofficially decided that if we had not been briefed an a village containing troops then it would not be hit. But there was a minority of pilots that thought that any village was fair game if it was near the front lines, since if it was not being used, it could be and therefore should be destroyed. I felt that the war was not the responsibility of the villagers near the front and they should not be attacked except for a military reason and the majority felt this way. But it was very easy to rationalize when searching for a target of opportunity and finding none, with the fuel diminishing and no target in sight, to attack a village and destroy or attempt to destroy it just because it happened to be there. One pilot was notorious for hitting anything that had smoke coming out of it and he was kidded about strafing old men and pregnant women and I am sure that the jokes about old men and women were an indication of what the pilots were actually thinking. Perhaps the village that was hit was really a peaceful village and not headquarters for the sector of that front.

Two incidents that happened to my roommate, may give some indication of the feeling of some of the pilots. My friend had been on a support mission to attack a village which reportedly contained enemy troops. Napalm was used in the attack and he recalled lining up on a home in the center of the village; just as he dropped his napalm, as the thatched house passed under the nose of the aircraft, at an altitude of less than fifty feet; he vividly described the woman of the house reaching out for the husband and trying to help him to safety in their house, surrounded by children in the doorway. It was a direct hit not only on the house but on the pilot's conscience that dropped it. Another time; another attack on a village and this time, the bullock was running for its safe place, just as a bull in the bull ring will select an area where he will always return after his charges; the bullock was racing for his safe place when its life was snuffed out by napalm. Since my friend was a rancher and owned cattle, this also affected him but in a different way than that of the other occurrence. The life of an animal and human beings cannot be compared but the senseless killing, in his mind, could be.

After the first few mission, taking off and returning to Itazuke AFB, there were more mission which were double missions, i.e., the airplanes would take-off from Japan, render close support and then land at Taegu, in Korea. There close to the apple orchards that this area of Korea was famous for, the flight would be briefed for another mission deep into Korea and then either returning to Japan or landing at K-2 to refuel before returning to Japan. On sone of these missions the tires of the airplanes would have to be changed after the landing or landings at K-2, due to the damage sustained by landing on the PSP. From a pilots standpoint, an excellent concrete runway could have been built for the cost of maintains the aircraft that were landed there and the crashes and deaths that were the result of the bad conditions on the runway.

One of the missions that I was to take part in, my aircraft became damaged before I could take-off. The F-80s were equipped with 265 gallon tip tanks, the largest ever used to my knowledge on this type of aircraft. Turning around to line up on the uneven runway, there being very little room and desiring to use every bit of the runway, the left tip tank snagged a piece of PSP that was projecting up from the edge of the runway It tore a three inch gash in the tip tank and the JP-4 spewed out on the ground. As the fuel rushed out on the ground, I hurriedly got off the runway and just as I turned off, the right tip tank drug on the ground and came to rest. The tail of the airplane was still on the runway and the left wing projected high in the air.

During the spring offensive of the Chinese communists, in 1951, our unit was flying continuously. Just as soon as our aircraft landed for a mission, they were refueled and rearmed and ready for take-off on another mission. While one mission was still in the air, the pilots were briefing for the next. Under these circumstances, the line crews worked night and day, an indispensable part of the organization and not enough credit can be given to the crew chiefs. my crew chief was a Southerner, totally devoted to the job that he had. I always made it a habit to clue the crew chief in on the mission that we were to fly and told him of the results of the mission when we landed. This was not done by all the pilots but it should have been since the crew chief was responsible for the safety of the aircraft the pilot was going to fly and without him there would be no mission.

Being one of the lowest ranking First Lieutenants in the unit, I was given the oldest airplane in the squadron that I could call my own. Deciding what to call the airplane was a problem and since the problem of survival seemed to be in the hands of fate, I decided to call the airplane Kismet. The name was placed on the left nose of the airplane, my name on the right side of the canopy rail and the crew chief's name on the left side of the canopy rail. It was a good and reliable airplane and no one was more proud of his airplane than I, which is akin to the feeling one has for the first car that he owns. It had one bad habit that it was known for and that was the fact that it would throw a turbine blade in the accessory turbine, which were called "buckets." Since the aft turbine would turn around 10,000 rpm, the loss of a bucket weighing a few pounds would set up a vibration in the engine section and if the airplane were to be continued to be flown for an extended period of time, it would cause a severe enough vibration to cause the engine to be shut down. However, this reliable aircraft would lose one bucket and normally the opposite one and continue running until home base was reached.

My crew chief used to take bets on which aircraft would make the best landing on return from a mission and since I prided myself on my landings, used to frequently help my crew chief win. The crew chiefs were always on hand to watch the landings since some of the airplanes did not always return and the majority of the crew chiefs were dedicated and attached to their airplanes and in some cases to the pilots. The first question they would ask on landing after the engine was shut down, was whether or not the airplane all right or not. It always gave me a great deal of pride to answer in the affirmative and compliment the chief on the condition of his airplane. There was no one group who put in longer hours or who did a finer job than that of the men who worked on the line and who got so little credit for it.

It was during this period that many of the airplanes would take-off and the engine would quit soon after the airplane was airborne and too late for the jet aircraft to abort. There is nothing more morale shattering than not being able to trust the airplane on take-off. Since the airfield at Fukouka was bounded by the city on one end and rice paddies on the other, there were almost always fatalities in these instances of engine failure. In order to increase the thrust of the F-80s on take-off so they could carry a greater load, a mixture of water and alcohol was used to increase the thrust. it would last long enough to get the airplane airborne, gear and flaps up and establish an angle of climb if used properly. It actually increased the thrust up to 15% and after a number of accidents it was decided that there was a foreign substance in the water alcohol which would cause an explosion and flameout when the mixture was used to increase thrust. It was rumored that it was a clear case of sabotage and this is what happened to the pilot that was killed when I first arrived at the unit, whose airplane crashed and exploded an a pre-dawn take-off.

The F-84 was introduced into the theater during this period when an Air National Guard unit was assigned to Itazudke AFB from Texas. It was an entire intact Air Guard unit and it was rumored that some political strings had been pulled to bring the Guard ever as a single fighting unit. Normally, when a Guard unit is assigned to active duty, it was broken up almost immediately to prevent nepotism from impregnating its ranks while on active duty with an army unit, there was an unwritten regulation that as soon as the unit came an active duty, it would be hit for cadres until the entire unit was broken up.

The F-84 was considered a newer airplane and more advanced and it was a revelation to me to see the airplane carry half the load normally carried by the F-80 and have to use JATO to get the airplane airborne. On landing, it was pointed at the ground and allowed to fly into the ground. If this same technique were used by the F-80s there would not have been enough airplanes left after a week to fly a normal four plane mission. On take-off, they used up more runway that the F-80s with a lighter load. The temperature conditions became critical for take-off and some missions were canceled because it was determined that the airplane could not get airborne in the runway length available. It was a constant wonder why a newer airplane could be less effective that the already existing airplane and warrant its production. However, it had a slightly greater range and was better suited for escort work that the F-80 was.

Escorting the B-29s on their way to targets in North Korea was a task that the fighters were seldom called upon to do. The new aircraft were viewed with slight disdain and many sarcastic remarks were made condemning them. They had a propensity for either blowing up or burning up and I can recall one morning as I crossed the runway on my scooter to take my place on alert, hearing an explosion at the approach taxiway to the take-off runway from one of the two F-84s that were checking their engines before take-off. Turning around I saw, the pilot open his canopy, leap out on the wing and start running, hitting the ground apparently about every three steps. Smoke began to pour out of the tail section and from the intake section. The fire trucks were immediately called and they confidently pulled up to the airplane. Using all their vaunted fire fighting techniques, including prodigious amounts of foam, they were unable to control the fire, only delay it. Soon the ammunition in the nose compartment began to cook off. The fire department, crash wagons and all the personnel were able to save a portion of the wings and the tail section. During the latter stages of the fire, the fuselage settled to the ground like a melting wax airplane that had gotten too warm.

Many of the pilots who had been over some time had their Japanese mistress whom they either covertly or overtly lived with and supported. Some of these liaisons lasted just a few days and some developed into a long lasting relationship. There was one of the pilots who had completed a combat tour and returned to the States. He requested an assignment back to the Far East. He had been cohabiting with a Japanese girl, a school teacher, somewhat larger than the normal girl and strikingly beautiful. During the time that he was back in the states, she reportedly took up a new lover for a time and then when he came back, she returned to the pilot. They eventually married and were seen occasionally at the officers' club.

My good friend and combat pilot, in his nocturnal prowls around the area would frequent one of the cabarets that flourished in Fukuoka. There beer could be purchased and also a dance partner and if pursued, a more personal relationship could be had for a price. In this particular cabaret there was an attractive hostess who seemed to not be the usual type. Being more willowy than the normal Japanese hostess and without the gait of the majority of the girls, who seemed that they had just stepped out of the rice paddy, especially in high heels. She had taken an American name, while working in the cabaret, since it was almost impossible to pronounce her Japanese name. My friend became interested in her when she seemed not to be readily available and in fact resisted his suggestions and advances. After a period time, they became attached somewhat to each other and he began to stay with her in the apartment she shared with another girls, not far from the base but off the beaten path normally frequented by Americans. She was getting a small pension from the Japanese government since her father and she had been living in Manchuria, when she was a young girl and had been shot by a Japanese soldier, the scar which she still carried. After an evening in town, I would take my friend on the motor scooter which was small for one and deposit him at the doorstep of the apartment. In the morning, if anything would come up, I would have time to get him if he was needed.

One time a mission was called and all the available pilots were needed and since my friend was not around, I was asked where he was. Asking for the operations jeep, I pretended that I was going down to the tent we occupied. Instead I drove to the small house off the base and got my friend. Just as I was pulling on the main road from the side road, an Air Policeman pulled up and stopped us. It was forbidden to drive government vehicles on side streets of the villages. It so happened that the Air Policeman was involved with a girl in the area and so he ignored the fact that we were breaking the regulations. The relationship soon cooled and my friend began to see less and less of the young lady from the cabaret.

The gate of the base was the place where the street girls would gather after dark and wait for the airmen to come off the base or come on the base. There charms were offered in no uncertain terms and the common greeting was "Where you going boysan?" These were probably the lowest class of prostitutes available and this was where some of the girls either began or ended up when pursuing their profession which was forced on the majority by economic necessity. The order of the classes of the prostitutes could be broken down into the streetwalker, the girl of a house of ill repute, the cabaret girl, and finally the kept woman, who was the highest of the class. It was possible to pass up and down the scale or start at one level and never progress up or down. When queried, the girls at the gate would quote a price of two different figures, either as a short time or all night as they phrased it. Some of the street girls had rooms of their own and some required that the customer provide the place.

The actual fall of many of the tried and true family men occurred from loneliness and the cheap liquor available at the Air Force bars. One of the pilots was in this category. He was a character and an individualist, an excellent cartoonist and somewhat older than the majority who had just finished flying training. His training had been in the F-51 and after graduation he had transitioned to jets. He had one accident with the 51, taking-off on a tow mission for air-to-air gunnery, he had to land after take-off and ignored the restrictions, either by design or accident, that of landing with a full fuselage tank. On the final turn, the Mustang snapped and spun into the ground. Fortunately he survived, and after a lengthy stay in the hospital, he was assigned to the 80th squadron. He named his airplane the "Little Fellow" which was what was he and his wife's name for a certain private part of his body. During the course of an evening's drinking at the 5th Air Force officers' club in downtown Fukuoka, he started to the base in the carryall belonging to the unit. He was "plowed" to say the least and the closer he got to the base, the slower he drove past the good time girls waiting beside the road. Finally the urge got too much for him and he stopped and made arrangements with the girl to go to a nearby Japanese hotel. In the room he came to either before the actual culmination of the act or after and realizing what he had done, dashed out of the hotel and tried to turn the carryall around in the narrow Japanese street. He backed into the gutter and it came to rest with one wheel in the gutter, hopelessly stuck. Coming to his senses, he called the Air Police and they filed a report with the squadron commander listing the complaint of unauthorized use of a military vehicle and being off limits.

The pilot who ran the carryall into the gutter and I were assigned to attack an airfield north of the site of the eventual meeting place for the truce talks in Kaesen. There were only two of us since one member of the flight had to abort. Three-ship flights were not permitted since a friend of mine was lost in an attack on Pyongyang airfield. The three-ship attacked Pyongyang and made their pass and only two ships came off the target. No one knew what had happened to the third pilot until he was repatriated with the first group of returning prisoners of war. So it happened that the two of us were assigned to attack the airfield. Arriving over the approximate vicinity, we let down. By his erratic flying, it seemed he was lost. Coming up to a fork in a river, he called asked me which way we should go up the river. Hastily looking at my map, I told him to the right. The mission was not successful in that the airfield was not located and our bombs were dropped on what appeared to be truck revetments. Returning to the field, the leader really got on me and said that I was a hell of a navigator and what school did I go to. It seems that he thought that I had been through navigation training and had received my wings and then decided to go through pilot training.

The rumors began to fly that the unit was going to be stationed in Korea and the thought of going to Korea was not pleasant. Determining to fly as many missions as I could I used-to stand by in spare aircraft, having briefed for the mission, hoping that the aircraft of one of the pilots would be found mechanically defective. In many cases, there would be something wrong with the airplane or one of the pilots and then the spare aircraft would be called to start up. Once the flight was airborne and an airplane had to abort then there was little possibility of getting the aircraft that was standing by to ever catch the rest of the flight. At one time, they even had the spare aircraft taxi out to the end of the runway with the flight, in case there was something wrong with one of the airplanes. Being always available for a flight and willing to set in on briefings in case a plane might abort, I rapidly built up my roster of missions. In one thirty day period, I managed to log 30 missions or one a day. As soon as this was discovered, I was forced to slow down in order to remain with the rest of the pilots that I came over with. It was my intention, at this time, to get all my missions completed and get back to the States and on to other things. It did not make any sense to me to be assigned back to the States to a fighter unit, when I would be practicing for what I had already done, flying combat.

To relieve the tension brought an by steady combat flying, I frequented different places to eat the evening meal. The Army had an officers mess down town and I often ate there, with the Army officers. Then there was the ever popular 5th Air Force officers' club down town, the officers' club on base one, as well as the mess that we used on the strip. Along with these places, there was the Japanese market and although everyone had been warned about eating the Japanese food, still the majority of the people who had been in the Far East for some time ate the food, with relish. For one thing, it was cheaper, a good steak would cost 200 to 250 yen which was about 75 to 90 cents.

I used to go to a small place, near the river which emptied into the bay, which serve sukiyaki. It catered to only the Japanese and unless one knew where to go a foreigner, who could read no Japanese, would not know where to get authentic Japanese food. The Japanese cashier at the 5th AF club recommended this place to me. One would enter the sliding door and be met by a waitress in the entrance where one would take off his shoes. Then a person could be ushered into a room with sliding door, cushions and a low table. Taking a seat on the cushions, in the oriental fashion was difficult, since a person was seated with his legs crossed. Once accomplished, it was difficult to remain in this position for an extended period of time and sooner or later the legs would have to be stretched to rest them. After ordering the sukiyaki, the vegetables and meat would be brought in and cooked over a hebashi, which was the fore-runner of today's charcoal burners. In winter, these were used for cooking as well as for heating. The food was cooked together in a skillet. Two bowls could be given to the customer, one filled with rice and the other with an egg in it. Using the chopsticks, one would take some food from the skillet between the chopsticks and dip it in the raw egg, place it on the rice and scoop up the rice, vegetables and meat, into his mouth if he was lucky. Teas, sake or beer would be served before with and after the meal. Desert was usually fruit. No matter how much food a person would eat of this type, before he went to bed he would feel hungry. Another place, much like the restaurants in the states, was where at times, I would go to order chicken and rice. For 100 yen, the cook would make a mixture of peas, chicken and rice that would be mountainous. Another pilot and myself used to eat this an the way home to the air strip.

In war or in a situation fraught with danger, experienced individuals do not sometimes act rationally. my flight leader at the time was about 33 years of age and was considered an old man. From the first, he and I had a personality conflict and he wore a hat on the back of his head and a cigarette seemed to be always dangling from his lips. He acted as if he had been around the world three times, had seen everything and knew everything and his word was the last word on any subject. He could have acted this way if he had a reason to but there was no apparent reason that I knew of. His career had been mediocre as far as anyone knew and if it had been of any consequence. It would surely have been known to the aircrews as these things get around by word of mouth, if there is anything different about any of the members of the squadron. For instance, there was in the squadron, the son of a famous general and tales were told of his relationship with his father, when he married a Chinese girl, he hit him the first time he saw him after the marriage. Whether it was true or not is problematical.

Our flight was on a mission near the front lines, in close support of the ground troops. On a pass over an area where there was little visible ground fire, the flight leader called and said that he thought his airplane had been hit. Number three in the flight moved up to check his aircraft and he reported that he could see an opening under the engine which appeared that it had been put there by either a small explosion in the engine or possibly a hit by a small caliber weapon. The engine functioned fine, evidently for awhile, allowing the airplane to be flown to a high altitude and it seemed as if there would be no problem getting back to the airfield at K-2, the only suitable airfield in the vicinity that could be reached once the flight had climbed to altitude. The flight leader called and said that he was gradually losing power and his airplane fell back. We remained with him, over the overcast, since the loss of power also meant that he would probably lose all electrical equipment as soon as the battery lost its charge since the generator no longer worked when the engine rpm drops below a certain point. Since it was difficult to locate the field over the broken overcast, the aircraft were slowed down so the flight leader could follow us to K-2 and then either bail out or make a forced landing. The element leader was having some type of generator trouble so it remained for the other wingman and myself to stay with the leader until he made his big decision.

Over K-2, the field could be seen through the broken ceiling and the flight leader elected to make a landing on the field. He set up a pattern and since he had no radio, he depended upon me to call the airfield requesting that all the traffic be cleared. I couldn't get the runway control officer who was directing traffic in a radio jeep until we were just about 150 feet above the ground. The flight leader had set up a pattern for a north landing and it looked like he was in a very good position for the landing. I coasted around close to him keeping out of his way and just when it looked like he had it made, he turned away from the field. I could not believe my eyes as I saw the F-80 as it began its last long glide in the opposite direction to the landing traffic. Although, there was not much wind, still he was going to make a crash landing going downwind which placed him at a disadvantage when he needed every advantage. The area he was headed for was full of rice paddies and the retaining walls were as sturdy as concrete. The largest field did not comprise an acre of ground. The F-80 slowly settled toward the earth and came to rest against a dike. The point of touch down to the sudden stop was not more than 50 feet. I expected to see the familiar pall of black smoke but there was none. At the last moment before impact, the landing gear was still down. Landing as soon as possible, the other wingman and I commandeered a jeep and raced to the wreck. The "meat wagon" was just taking the flight commander out of the cockpit. He was still conscious although in obvious pain. Walking beside the stretch as he was carried to the ambulance, I looked down at the man who made all the mistakes in the book, the man who said bail out rather than make a forced landing if the situation was doubtful and then under ideal conditions to make a forced landing. He goofed it up so badly so as to almost surely kill himself. Fortune was smiling favorably on him to enable him to be carried away with a trace of life left in him and here he did not seem to be apparently suffering from anything more than shock. It turned out later that his back had been severely hurt and he spent some time in the hospital. But for him his combat days were over. Later, I found out that he felt a little more favorably to me when I elected to remain in the flight when given a chance to get out because of the personality conflict.

An example of the personality conflict occurred after returning from a combat mission, the flight commander relinquished the flight lead to the element leader, without prior briefing. I took up a different position than he wanted me to. He became enraged and said over the air, "dammit get in position!" This was the day that I lost the brake pucks and when I got to the briefing after extracting myself from the mud, he said, "So you landed hot," before I could explain. It was a good thing that he did not let me fly his wing, with only two ships in the air or I swear, I was mad enough to shoot him down. Tales of platoon leaders, who were unpopular with the men under them and who were killed from bullets in the back, facing the enemy were too familiar to me and this was the first time that I thought that I could do it to someone else. But these were only passing thoughts and the flight commander put himself out of the way just as readily as if someone else had done it for him.

On May first of 1951, the United Nations forces decided to make a show of force on this traditional Communist holiday. It was decided that the officer training school just outside of Sinanju would be hit with all the fighter airplanes in the Far East. This show of force was to be within sight of the Chinese mainland. All of the airplanes of the 8th were flown to K-2 and then armed and fueled and the pilots briefed. The airplanes of the 8th were lined up on the west side of the runway and the 51st on the east side of the runway for a north take-off. It was a hot, dry, dusty day and the plans were for the 51st to take-off to the north first and the 8th to the south after all 51st airplanes were airborne. Sitting at the far end of the runway, I watched the 51st F-80s take the runway and after the airplanes reached about 100 mph, their JATO units were cut in. The first few airplanes were successful on the take-off but the smoke from the JATO lay on the runway and the following airplanes had to fly through the smoke which was almost as thick as the thickest cloud. One could hear the rear of the engines and then the airplanes would appear at the far end either a few feet above the psp or about to become airborne. A few of the pilots thinking they were not going to make the take-off, would punch the panic button and drop all the ordnance and the airplanes tip tanks. Bombs and rockets would fall on the end of the runway, then the F-80 would leap into the air. One pilot aborted in the smoke and slowed his airplane up, the following airplane not hearing the radio call struck the aborting aircraft causing major damage to both aircraft.

Another pilot inadvertently fired his JATO as he was about to line up for take-off and the JATO force pushed the airplane until it hit the ground controlled approach shack, in spite of brakes and a stop-cocked throttle. All this was viewed with trepidation since soon we would be taking off the opposite way. Our armament load was restricted to rockets and since they were lighter, JATO units were not used.

Consequently, our take-off was to the south and with a slight tail wind. Our flight was the second flight to take the runway, and I was flying as the number two man. The two aircraft before us had jettisoned their loads and then we roared down the psp together. The runway became smaller and I inadvertently moved my left hand from the throttle to the red button on the instrument panel which would jettison the tip tanks and rockets. At the last moment as the wheels passed off the end of the runway, the P-80 became airborne. At this time, the throttle had been 100% and there was no attempt to remain in position on the leader and as we passed over the end of the runway, our two airplanes were line abreast. The leader delayed his gear and since we were observing radio silence while in the air, I delayed mine.

Finally his gear came up but it was too late to take our planned place in the squadron formation. Later, after the mission, he said that he was so worried about making the take-off and so surprised that he did, that he completely forgot about the gear. The target, was hit and it did not seem as if the target was worth all the ordnance and aircraft expended upon it. The few buildings comprising the complex were thoroughly destroyed. There were B-26s, F-84s, F-80s, F-51s, and F-9s all in a coordinated effort to destroy the school. Every fighter aircraft was aloft on a political mission and there was expected that there would be a great deal of fighter activity from the Communists. As it turned out, the only losses were on take-off. Returning to K-2 all the aircraft that took off had to be landed within a short period of time. The landing was as difficult as the take-off but fortunately no airplanes or pilots were lost.

In the hills around K-2, there were reports of guerrilla activity and aircraft had been fired on while taking-off and landing at K-2. In addition, the Korean people had learned to exist off the Japanese under their some 40 years of rule. They were accomplished scavengers and nothing was safe if left anywhere there was a chance for it to be picked up. At K-2, where we were charged one dollar per night for a cat and two blankets in a winterized tent without a stove, a squadron commander from the 36th squadron had lain his clothing beside the bed. He was bald, pudgy and an all around good troop. Awakening the next morning, everything was except the long winter underwear he had on and the government issue shoes. He flew back to Itazuke in long winter underwear, shoes and nothing else.

The Korean people viewed the stealing in a different light that we did. Under the Japanese, it was the accepted thing to do and that, in some cases, one form of tyranny was replaced with another form. Driving off the base an occasion, I saw the places that the Korean people occupied and the dilapidation and filth that they were forced to live in was unbelievable. It was somewhat akin to badly kept hog houses that we had back an the farms in Iowa. When the person that I was riding with told me that some of the personnel who lived an the base were keeping Korean girl friends and living with them in those conditions, it was inconceivable to me to understand how they could do this when they were actually supposed to be restricted to the base. I found out later that the armed guards around the base were not only to keep the Koreans off the base but to keep the Americans on as well.

The Japanese were different in respect to stealing, in that one could leave their belongings about and take only normal precautions such as one would in the United States. Their feeling about stealing and thieves were akin to ours but probably not like ours. The Japanese police had a reputation for being brutal concerning their own population and this was one of the things that MacArthur had changed when he was the supreme military commander. The Koreans must have suffered under the occupation and also became skillful in thievery, for punishment has never eradicated behavior, it has only suppressed it.

While in Japan, I endeavored to learn as much about the Japanese people that I could and the housemaid that took care of our quarters helped my flying friend and I both understand the Japanese people and the way they thought. She used to eat her lunch in our tent along with the other housemaids. Speaking broken English she would explain the question that we would ask. Her father was a minister of the Japanese faith, which was not the militaristic religion of the Japanese Shinto belief but of the accepted religion of the Japanese as permitted by MacArthur. Fukuoka had a religious shrine where many people would come from all over the island to worship and it had been converted into a park.

The music was difficult to understand also to the foreign ear and it sounded as if all the music was sad and the singers wailing and not singing, a mournful tune. At one time, I was taken to a school where the Japanese instrument, the "shamuzen" was taught and listened to the pupils play and sing. What was of more importance to me was the pageantry that accompanied the renditions that they played. The instrument was plucked something like a zither and each of the students sat, opposite each other, when playing it.

Too soon, the time came for the unit to leave the island of Honshu and it was with much reluctance that these who were unattached left and it was more difficult for these with wives and girl friends. Some of the pilots had their wives living at base one. Some of the wives had been with their husbands in the Philippines when the war started and subsequently, came to Japan after the outbreak of the war to be with their husbands. They would drive their husbands to work, which in this case was flying combat and then pick them up after the mission. It was a very unreal situation, where a pilot could have breakfast with his wife, fly a combat mission and return home safe and sound to the arms of his wife for the evening meal. It was all part of an unreal war.

Finally, one morning, I climbed aboard my gallant old airplane, 659, flew over the city of Fukuoka, bidding it sad adieu, with all its diversions and set course for K-14, Kimpo.

The blue water of the sea between Japan and Korea welcomed our flight as we climbed for Korea. Leading the flight was a pilot who had left his wife back at base one and this was to be the first separation for them since they came to the Far East. He had an interesting tale to tell about the first date that he had with his wife. It was a graduation party of some type, perhaps from high school and during the course of the evening, they both became rather well 'plowed'. The next morning his mother came up to his room and there he was stark naked as was his future bride sleeping with him, side by side. He swore that there was nothing premeditated or planned about all this and the evening had been a platonic one. However, he still has not been able to explain it to his mother but I believe that what he told me was true and I am certain that it could have happened to him.

Kimpo was the place where the first American airplane was lost. A Yak-9 came over and strafed the airdrome at the beginning of the war and a C-54 was waiting to take a group of evacuees to Japan. The C-54 burned; the first American plane to be lost. Later, the men in my squadron were responsible for the shooting down of a number of Yak-9s, one pilot accounting for two, before I joined the 80th.

The one permanent structure was the remains of the administration building that was built by Pan American before the Korean war. It was a concrete structure, unusable now since it was the main target for attack by both sides. Bomb craters and scars as well as countless machine gun bullets ricocheted through its empty rooms. The runway was permanent and constantly under repair. It was almost as rough as the psp at Taegu. Tents, Quonset huts and sometimes a small frame building signified that the 8th had found a new home. The heat during the June of 1951 was oppressive and it lay like a blanket over the dusty fields and rice paddies. The airplanes were hot to touch and a rain was welcomed to coal off the light colored earth. Only the green of the rice fields contrasted from the tan of the soil to appear cool. The airplanes that were stationed there were the F-82s which constantly flew at night and attempted to checkmate "bed check Charlie," British Meteors, a few T-6s, RF-80s, a couple of C-47s and our own F-80s. It was a hot, dusty, day and the missions which were to have been coming faster now that we were as close to the combat area as possible slowed down and there was very little to do.

One job that I had been given prior to coming to K-14 was that of the armament officer. This was an interesting and rewarding job and I am afraid that I knew very little about armament and if it were not for the Technical and Master Sergeants that were assigned to the job, I would have been a hopeless flop. One of the Technical Sergeants had been an armorer with the Flying Tigers in China. He used to regale me with the tales of the days of the American Volunteer Group, the AVG, and how they tried to fit all types of armament to the P-40; Japanese, Swedish and American. He told of the fines levied against the pilots for landing long in the P-40 and how this saved many precious airplanes. Many interesting hours were spent listening to his stories of this famous group that I have always admired.

It was while I was the armament officer that I ran into the political aspect of the service and which affected me and my relationship with the service that I had chosen. The ground crews had been working a 25 hour day servicing and arming the airplanes and there was little rest for them because they were understaffed. One of the lads in the armament section, while charging the guns an the P-80, accidentally discharged a round which went harmlessly into the hills around Itazuke and the guns were pointed this way since an accident had been anticipated. The shot from the 50 caliber sounded like a cannon and the poor ground crewman was immediately surrounded by airmen and officers and there was no chance to cover up for him. A report had to be filed which went through channels up to the base an wing commander. It was a stereotyped policy that anyone who had caused a round to be discharged would be automatically court martialed and this entailed a reduction in rank, the way the bureaucracy worked.

After talking to the airman, who honestly admitted his mistake, I decided that the approach to take was to stick up for the man, both because I believed that a mistake could take place under the circumstances that the men were working and the fact that it would be good for morale if the officer in charge were to take a firm stand on their behalf, because it was unusual that anyone would buck the system. Surely, the bucking of the system comes early in anyone's career because he soon adapts if he desires to be successful and to be successful, he must adapt.

Making the preliminary investigation, I made some recommendations that were forwarded to the squadron commander. Shortly thereafter a meeting was held informally, with the squadron commander and the operations officer in the operations ready room, when there was no one around. They had my recommendations and placing myself in the middle because there was no other place to set, they diplomatically requested that I change my recommendations. At first, I tried to stand up for my convictions, but eventually under pressure I agreed to change them. Many times after I have wondered what would have been the outcome had I stood firm for what I believed was right. The airman was sacrificed for the squadron commander's belief that this was what his superior wanted him to do. My conscience hurt and often later I wished the decision could have been changed. I was being indoctrinated into the political aspects of a career. It was difficult to go back and tell the airman what was now being done in his case and that he would be court martialed. He was resigned to the fact and much wiser that his officer, in some respects, in that he knew that he must be punished according to the crime and that it was not tailored to the individual or the circumstances.

The barracks that were assigned to us were Quonset huts and the sun beat down on the tin roofs making the barracks unbearable during the day. It was some time in the evening before the pilots could crawl into their beds with the mosquito netting and cool off. The mess hall was barely functional and the officers would line up to get food which was a far cry from what we had served to us by Japanese girls back at Itazuke. Most of ate because it was necessary to forestall the hunger pangs. The officers club-adjoined the mess hall and on occasion it served beer when it was flown in from Japan, in a special pod carried under an F-80. The supply run back from Japan was as important to some of the officers as the missions that they were slowly accumulating in order to reach one hundred. For myself, I had developed an appreciation for an after-dinner drink called a king alphonse, which required creme de cacao and cream and one of the possessions that I carried to Korea was a bottle of creme de cacao. It seemed to keep me in touch with other places, having an after-dinner drink after rather bad chow.

Squadron operations was a tent and much time was spent there waiting for missions and watching the airplanes take-off and land. In order to take a shower, it was necessary to take a vehicle to the north side of the base and line up with the other troops, Army, Navy, and British to bath under water that smelled as If it were pumped from a slough. A guard was stationed near the water supply, close to the shower, because it was rumored that an attempt would be made to poison the base's water supply. The way it smelled, I was sure that it was already poisoned.

There were provisions for four planes to be stationed at the south end of the runway on joint operations center alert. If a target came up which necessitated a strike force immediately, the four F-80s were available. For practice, sometimes two airplanes would be scrambled to give the ground controlled interception operators practice vectoring our airplanes around the sky. Since we were vectored usually north and we took off to the north west, if the turn was delayed for a few minutes, our airplanes would be flown ever the front lines and we would be given credit for a combat mission since any airplane that crossed ever the front lines met the minimum criteria. With missions so hard to come by, on a few occasions the operator's instructions were not complied with since the radio developed unexplainable trouble which was soon corrected. Since the pilots did not know when they were scrambled whether the mission was practice or an actual mission, they wasted very little time in getting airborne. Some times we would be released from a practice mission to seek targets of opportunity in the vicinity of the front lines.

On one of the two-ship missions that I was leading, we went up the valley of Chorwon, one of the most heavily fortified of the area. It fairly spouted ground fire, both small caliber and 20 and 40 mm. On reconnaissance up the valley, there was a lot of fire from the ground. Looking around for the number two man, I requested his position. He answered back and said that he was above the broken overcast about 1,000 feet above me. Back on the ground, he said that he was with me as I began the pass up the valley and then he saw all the aerial garbage being thrown at my airplane and he decided to evacuate the area. Every time, I saw him after this, we had a good laugh about this mission. He was not afraid of being shot at, since the Chinese and North Korean gunners, invariably fired behind the jets, he was more afraid of being hit by the ground fire that was aimed at me.

Another mission, at dusk, I was leading an element near the Iran Triangle, when a 40 mm gun emplacement began firing at the element. Since this target was as lucrative as any that presented itself at this time, I pulled the F-80 up into a modified chandelle and came back and strafed where I thought the gun position was. All was quiet as I strafed the position and I was sure that the gun crew had been knocked out but as I pulled off the target, the unit would begin firing at my airplane. Back again, I would dome determined to end this duel once and for all. Every time that the pass was completed, I was sure that there would no return fire, they would again left the flaming golf balls in my direction. Firing all my ammunition and depleting the fuel supply, I returned to base and as I turned away the 40 mm was still active. It was a draw as far as I could tell.

During this time, there was an emphasis on putting out of action the available airfields in North Korea so the Communists could not bring in their airplanes at night or in inclement weather to launch an air attack against our poorly camouflaged front line troops. One could always tell when he was ever the United Nations lines because you could see all types of vehicles moving on the roads and well as troops. It was common knowledge that a large air force was kept and maintained in China, safe across the Yalu river which could be brought down at any time if it was tactically and strategically advantageous. The number of aircraft that could be brought to bear against our forces were overwhelming but I felt that it would be welcomed if they did. Most pilots envisioned a turkey shoot and were anxious to have done with this front line support and engage in air-to-air fighting, which is what all the pilots desired. In fact, the situation could be analogized to the fighter bomber pilots being truck drivers and the fighter interceptor pilots as the sports car drivers. There was little glamorous about dropping bombs or strafing the enemy troops and in many cases not see the actual enemy. But there was about seeing anther airplane disintegrate after a fair battle in the air.

On a mission to "post hole" the airport north of Pyongyang, which was one of the more heavily defended areas as far as anti-aircraft was concerned, the airplane that preceded me in the dive was hit and crashed on the runway. The flack was heavy by Korean standards but nothing compared to WW II in Europe. The communists were using 88mms. Once could tell when a burst was close since he could see the red flame in the black ball when it burst. I was number four in the flight and our run was to come from the west and turn left on our dive bomb run. Another flight was to come over the target at the same time, only the run was begun from the east and the actual dive was begun by turning right. In this way our forces were to be over the target at the same time. My flight began its run and turn on target and the other flight did likewise. The other flight was staggered in our flight, first their leader then our leader began his run. I followed their number four man. Being intent on the run and concentrating an hitting the runway with my thousand pound bomb, I noticed a pall of black smoke off the side of the runway. At that time, it did not make an impression, but when I got back to the squadron, I learned that one of the airplanes had been lost and no one had seen him-crash or knew what had happened. He went in on the target and just never pulled off. It happened that his plane had preceded me an the dive run and I had evidently seen him crash which accounted for the black pall of smoke. In the heat of battle, pilots often remember little, Although there are exception to this.

It wag during this time that twins were assigned to the squadron. They were identical in every respect and they were aptly name Bill and Will. Silent and taciturn they seemed to find more enjoyment in each other's company than anyone else's. Both were regulars and they seemed to exist in a world by themselves and the only difference between them was that one was married. The flight leader of the flight they were assigned to was a tremendous individual who had been a navigator and then had taken pilot training. His flight was ordered on a mission into North Korea and when he arrived ever the target, the clouds had closed in beneath them. Searching for a hole to let down in, the flight began to descend. The Communists had done what had been successful before and aimed all their anti-aircraft guns at the one break in the clouds. As the lead plane came into their view, they were alerted as the second came into view they were ready to fire and they opened up with everything they had on the third airplane. The airplane was evidently hit either in or near the cockpit for it fell lazily off on one wing and descended to the ground. The airplane did not burn nor was there any sign of life as the airplanes had to leave the area since they were short on fuel. One of the wing men took it very badly and his reaction was to immediately go to his quarters, the hot Quonset and turn his face to the wall. He remained this way for half a day and a night and resisted all attempts for anyone to talk to him or ask him to go to eat. The twin that was killed was the one that was married and his brother was immediately flown out of the combat area and the last report was that he had married his brother's wife.

Again the runway accounted for more than one airplane and pilot as it had at K-2. One of the Air National Guard pilots assigned to the unit made a take-off from the bad runway and he was just able to get the airplane airborne. I saw this particular take-off and the pilot maintained a few feet above the rice paddies and at this altitude he began a turn toward a prominent hill in the area that supported a radar site. The pilot burned out his fuel and came back and landed aborting the combat mission. Talking to him, he said that he hit a high speed stall seven times and every time he was ready to jettison his load, he recovered from the high speed stall. This incident caused him to be grounded and he had difficulty getting back on flying status.

One of my classmates attempted to take-off and aborted too late to prevent his airplane from hitting a Korean house and burning. He had a new issue flying suit which was extremely porous and comfortable and many pilots desired to get them to wear. This particular suit, caught fire and welded itself to the pilots' skin and seriously burned him. As a result of this accident the flying suits were given an unusable report and they disappeared from the Air Force Inventory only to appear an surplus sales counters.

The truce talks were beginning and the war was to be ever in thirty days and the missions dropped to practically nil. There was a great deal of waiting, reading and listening to the meetings at Kaesen. While were waiting, the work went on at K-16 repairing the base and particularly the runway. I recall being on runway control, seeing literally hundreds of Korean men, women and children working beside the runway leading two trucks. A few of the Koreans would work loading the trucks with shovels while the others would sit around and talk or just sit. Asking the officer who was responsible for the hiring of the Koreans why so many were hired and why they were not working, he said that this was one way that our government could aid the Koreans and still not give them an outright grant, which is psychologically destructive.

Since I had taken the stand that I had on the lad who had accidentally fired the round, I was soon replaced as the armament officer in charge of a section, by a non-rated First Lieutenant and assigned the additional duty of gunnery officer. This duty was simply looking over the film from the gun cameras and to maintain rolls of film for the individual pilots.

It was while I was at Kimpo that I became blooded or had my aircraft hit. While on a strafing mission against a village, I was on a pass and firing. Just when I pulled up the aircraft shuddered and I heard a thump. Sometimes the airplanes would act similarly to this on a pullout from a dive at high gravity or g-forces so I thought little of it. Landing, I left the airplane and went to debriefing and when I returned I was informed that the airplane had been hit in the left leading edge of the wing and the projectile had come out of the tank filler cap for the main wing fuel cell group. The airplane was termed a class 26, from this one round, since it had damaged the main spar. Class 26 refers top the fact that the aircraft was uneconomical to repair. Evidently the 50 caliber round had been fired directly at my airplane from the front and I had not been aware of any ground fire whatsoever. It caused me to wonder about the airplanes that I had fired on later without apparent damage and perhaps these crashed or were class 26s. It so happened that this was one of the older aircraft in the squadron, 578, which had more time on it than any of the others, except mine, 659 and it was like loosing an old friend. She retired nobly and without apparent damage except for the hole in the leading edge and near the fuel cap. Her parts were used to keep other airplanes in the air and so still in a sense she flew on.

During these days when we were not flying and the missions were few and far between, we used to see the F-51s climbing up in squadron formation to gain altitude and then take up a course for the front lines. At that time there was a dearth of F-51 pilots and the idea came to me that this was the opportunity that could be grasped to check out in the 51s. I decided to put in for the 51 squadron citing the lack of missions in the F-80 and the apparent need for pilots to fly the F-51. However, the application was not submitted but delayed for a more appropriate time.

On the base itself within the confines of the base, there were Korean families living. I would make a habit of observing the families as they went about their dail