Undoubtedly the most colorful and most well known of the Marine Corps' aces of late Solomons campaign was Gregory "Pappy" Boyington, commanding officer of VMF-214.
Stories of Pappy Boyington are legion, many founded in fact, including how he formed the legendary Black Sheep squadron, and how he served in China as a member of the American Volunteer Group, the famed Flying Tigers. He flew several missions during the defense of Burma, based in Rangoon. After Burma fell, he returned to Kunming, and flew from there until the Flying Tigers were incorporated into the USAAF. His autobiography includes many war stories from his experiences with the Flying Tigers, including:
the voyage across the Pacific, the AVG fliers' cover story of ministers
the Sultan of Johore's palace and wives
arrival in Rangoon, Claire Chennault and Harvey Greenlaw
Kunming and the three AVG squadrons
first combat in February 1942, back in Burma
Jim Adams and Bill Tweedy, the two older colonials, living a life of ease, and entertaining the American pilots
a mechanic offering General Stilwell a can of tomatoes, "Hey bub, you want some of these?"
the Allied retreat from Rangoon in March 1942 and the Flying Tigers' return to Kunming
his botched escort of Chiang Kai Chek
When he returned to the United States following the disbanding of AVG, Boyington claimed to have shot down six Japanese fighters, which would have made him one of the first American aces of the war. From AVG records, which were loosely kept, the most kills that can be confirmed is 3.5. He maintained until his death in 1988 that he did, in fact, have six kills, and the Marine Corps officially credits him with those kills. One of the web sites devoted to the Flying Tigers has an excellent discussion of Pappy Boyington's claims with the AVG. (As this site only includes the aces' service with United States' Armed Forces, Pappy's total is shown as 22, an undisputed number, whether he shot down 3.5, 6, or none while a Flying Tiger for the Chinese government. - SS)
Boyington finally secured command of VMF-222 for a combat tour, but did not see much action. It was not until he was ordered to form a new squadron, VMF-214, and move to the Solomons that his scores began to mount. VMF-214 was commissioned early in 1943 at Ewa on the island of Oahu in the Hawaiian Islands. In August of 1943, 27 young men under "Pappy" Boyington's leadership formed the original "Black Sheep" of VMF-214.
In the early part of World War II, from island to island in the South Pacific, there occasionally cropped up flyers who were unattached and who were separated from their squadrons by reason of illness or breakup of their organizations. They had been left out of it somehow in the shuffle and had no way to get back into the fight. Some were veteran combat pilots with several kills to their credit; others were pilots newly arrived from the United States as replacements. All were eager to join a squadron and see action against the Japanese, but their efforts were met with refusals and orders to sit and wait. This was the situation at Espiritu Santo, New Hebrides, when finally the persistent campaigning of Maj. Boyington and Maj. Stan Bailey (who was later named executive officer) was rewarded when wing headquarters gave them permission to form the stragglers into a squadron, with the understanding that they would have less than four weeks to mold themselves into a fully trained, completely coordinated Marine squadron. This was accomplished by flying every day and night with their eight Corsairs.
The "Black Sheep" fought their way to fame in just 84 days, piling up a record 197 planes destroyed or damaged, troop transports and supply ships sunk, and ground installations destroyed in addition to numerous other victories. They flew their first combat mission on September 16, 1943, escorting Dauntless dive bombers to Ballale, a small island west of Bougainville where the Japanese had a heavily fortified airstrip. They encountered heavy opposition from the enemy Zeros, and ‘‘Pappy’’ claimed five kills, his best single day total. In October VMF-214 moved up from their orginal base in the Russells to a more advanced location at Munda. From here they were closer to the next big objective -- the Jap bases on Bougainville. On one mission over Bougainville, according to Boyington’’s autobiography, the Japanese radioed him in English, asking him to report his position and so forth. Pappy played along, but stayed 5000 feet higher than he had told them, and when the Zeros came along, the Black Sheep blew twelve of them away. (The absolute veracity of Boyington’’s autobiography is not certain, but that’’s how he told the story.) One night with a quarter moon, he went up to try to deal with "Washing Machine Charlie," but without results.
During the intense period from November 1943 to early January 1944, Boyington destroyed 22 Japanese aircraft. By late December, it was clear that he was closing in on Eddie Rickenbacker’’s record of 26 victories, and the strain was starting to tell. On Jan. 3, 1944, Boyington was shot down in a large dogfight in which he claimed two enemy aircraft, and was captured.
The following is an excerpt from the book Baa Baa Black Sheep written by Colonel Boyington describing the encounter in which he set a record in bringing his total number of enemy fighters destroyed to 28.
It was before dawn on January 3, 1944, on Bougainville. I was having baked beans for breakfast at the edge of the airstrip the Seabees had built, after the Marines had taken a small chunk of land on the beach. As I ate the beans, I glanced over at row after row of white crosses, too far away and too dark to read the names. But I didn't have to, I knew that each cross marked the final resting place of some Marine who had gone as far as he was able in this mortal world of ours.
Before taking off everything seemed to be wrong that morning. My plane wasn't ready and I had to switch to another. At last minute the ground crew got my original plane in order and I scampered back into that. I was to lead a fighter sweep over Rabaul, meaning two hundred miles over enemy waters and territory again. We coasted over at about twenty thousand feet to Rabaul. A few hazy cloud banks were hanging around-not much different from a lot of other days. The fellow flying my wing was Captain George Ashmun, New York City. He had told me before the mission: "You go ahead and shoot all you want, Gramps. All I'll do is keep them off your tail."
This boy was another who wanted me to beat that record, and was offering to stick his neck way out in the bargain. I spotted a few planes coming through the loosely scattered clouds and signaled to the pilots in back of me: "Go down and get to work." George and I dove first. I poured a long burst into the first enemy plane that approached, and a fraction of a second later saw the Nip pilot catapult out and the plane itself break out into fire. George screamed out over the radio: "Gramps, you got a flamer!"
Then he and I went down lower into the fight after the rest of the enemy planes. We figured that the whole pack of our planes was going to follow us down, but the clouds must have obscured their view. Anyway, George and I were not paying too much attention, just figuring that the rest of the boys would be with us in a few seconds, as was usually the case. Finding approximately ten enemy planes, George and I commenced firing. What we saw coming from above we thought were our own planes-but they were not. We were being jumped by about twenty planes.
George and I scissored in the conventional Thach weave way, protecting each others blank spots, the rear ends of our fighters. In doing this I saw George shoot a burst into a plane and it turned away from us plunging downward, all on fire. A second later I did the same thing to another plane. But it was then that I saw George's plane start to throw smoke, and down he went in a half glide. I sensed something was horribly wrong with him. I screamed at him: "For God's sake, George, dive!"
Our planes could dive away from practically anything the Nips had out there at the time, except perhaps a Tony. But apparently George had never heard me or could do nothing about it if he had. He just kept going down in a half glide. Time and time again I screamed at him: "For God's sake, George, dive strait down!" But he didn't even flutter an aileron in answer to me.
I climbed in behind the Nip planes that were plugging at him on the way down to the water. There were so many of them I wasn't even bothering to use my electric gun sight consciously, but continued to seesaw back and forth on my rudder pedals, trying to spray them all in general, trying to get them off George to give him a chance to bail out or dive - or do something at least. But the same thing that was happening to him was now happening to me. I could feel the impact of enemy fire against my armor plate, behind my back, like hail on a tin roof. I could see the enemy shots progressing along my wing tips, making patterns.
George's plane burst into flames and a moment later crashed into the water. At that point there was nothing left for me to do. I had done everything I could. I decided to get the hell away from the Nips. I threw everything in the cockpit all the way forward - this means full speed ahead - and nosed my plane over to pick up extra speed until I was forced by water to level off. I had gone practically a half a mile at a speed of about four hundred knots, when all of a sudden my main gas tank went up in flames in front of my very eyes. The sensation was much the same as opening the door of a furnace and sticking one's head into the thing.
Though I was about a hundred feet off the water, I didn't have a chance of trying to gain altitude. I was fully aware that if I tried to gain altitude for a bail-out I would be fried in a few more seconds.
He landed in the water, badly injured. After being strafed by the Jap fighters, he struggled onto his raft until captured by a Jap submarine several hours later. They took him first to Rabaul, then to Truk (where he experienced one of the early carrier strikes), and eventually to a prison camp outside of Yokohama. His autobiography relates the frequent beatings, interrogations, and near starvation that he endured for the next 18 months. When he was repatriated, he found he had been awarded the Medal of Honor and the Navy Cross.
<img src="http://sciforums.com/f19/s/attachment.php?s=&postid=65404">
Stories of Pappy Boyington are legion, many founded in fact, including how he formed the legendary Black Sheep squadron, and how he served in China as a member of the American Volunteer Group, the famed Flying Tigers. He flew several missions during the defense of Burma, based in Rangoon. After Burma fell, he returned to Kunming, and flew from there until the Flying Tigers were incorporated into the USAAF. His autobiography includes many war stories from his experiences with the Flying Tigers, including:
the voyage across the Pacific, the AVG fliers' cover story of ministers
the Sultan of Johore's palace and wives
arrival in Rangoon, Claire Chennault and Harvey Greenlaw
Kunming and the three AVG squadrons
first combat in February 1942, back in Burma
Jim Adams and Bill Tweedy, the two older colonials, living a life of ease, and entertaining the American pilots
a mechanic offering General Stilwell a can of tomatoes, "Hey bub, you want some of these?"
the Allied retreat from Rangoon in March 1942 and the Flying Tigers' return to Kunming
his botched escort of Chiang Kai Chek
When he returned to the United States following the disbanding of AVG, Boyington claimed to have shot down six Japanese fighters, which would have made him one of the first American aces of the war. From AVG records, which were loosely kept, the most kills that can be confirmed is 3.5. He maintained until his death in 1988 that he did, in fact, have six kills, and the Marine Corps officially credits him with those kills. One of the web sites devoted to the Flying Tigers has an excellent discussion of Pappy Boyington's claims with the AVG. (As this site only includes the aces' service with United States' Armed Forces, Pappy's total is shown as 22, an undisputed number, whether he shot down 3.5, 6, or none while a Flying Tiger for the Chinese government. - SS)
Boyington finally secured command of VMF-222 for a combat tour, but did not see much action. It was not until he was ordered to form a new squadron, VMF-214, and move to the Solomons that his scores began to mount. VMF-214 was commissioned early in 1943 at Ewa on the island of Oahu in the Hawaiian Islands. In August of 1943, 27 young men under "Pappy" Boyington's leadership formed the original "Black Sheep" of VMF-214.
In the early part of World War II, from island to island in the South Pacific, there occasionally cropped up flyers who were unattached and who were separated from their squadrons by reason of illness or breakup of their organizations. They had been left out of it somehow in the shuffle and had no way to get back into the fight. Some were veteran combat pilots with several kills to their credit; others were pilots newly arrived from the United States as replacements. All were eager to join a squadron and see action against the Japanese, but their efforts were met with refusals and orders to sit and wait. This was the situation at Espiritu Santo, New Hebrides, when finally the persistent campaigning of Maj. Boyington and Maj. Stan Bailey (who was later named executive officer) was rewarded when wing headquarters gave them permission to form the stragglers into a squadron, with the understanding that they would have less than four weeks to mold themselves into a fully trained, completely coordinated Marine squadron. This was accomplished by flying every day and night with their eight Corsairs.
The "Black Sheep" fought their way to fame in just 84 days, piling up a record 197 planes destroyed or damaged, troop transports and supply ships sunk, and ground installations destroyed in addition to numerous other victories. They flew their first combat mission on September 16, 1943, escorting Dauntless dive bombers to Ballale, a small island west of Bougainville where the Japanese had a heavily fortified airstrip. They encountered heavy opposition from the enemy Zeros, and ‘‘Pappy’’ claimed five kills, his best single day total. In October VMF-214 moved up from their orginal base in the Russells to a more advanced location at Munda. From here they were closer to the next big objective -- the Jap bases on Bougainville. On one mission over Bougainville, according to Boyington’’s autobiography, the Japanese radioed him in English, asking him to report his position and so forth. Pappy played along, but stayed 5000 feet higher than he had told them, and when the Zeros came along, the Black Sheep blew twelve of them away. (The absolute veracity of Boyington’’s autobiography is not certain, but that’’s how he told the story.) One night with a quarter moon, he went up to try to deal with "Washing Machine Charlie," but without results.
During the intense period from November 1943 to early January 1944, Boyington destroyed 22 Japanese aircraft. By late December, it was clear that he was closing in on Eddie Rickenbacker’’s record of 26 victories, and the strain was starting to tell. On Jan. 3, 1944, Boyington was shot down in a large dogfight in which he claimed two enemy aircraft, and was captured.
The following is an excerpt from the book Baa Baa Black Sheep written by Colonel Boyington describing the encounter in which he set a record in bringing his total number of enemy fighters destroyed to 28.
It was before dawn on January 3, 1944, on Bougainville. I was having baked beans for breakfast at the edge of the airstrip the Seabees had built, after the Marines had taken a small chunk of land on the beach. As I ate the beans, I glanced over at row after row of white crosses, too far away and too dark to read the names. But I didn't have to, I knew that each cross marked the final resting place of some Marine who had gone as far as he was able in this mortal world of ours.
Before taking off everything seemed to be wrong that morning. My plane wasn't ready and I had to switch to another. At last minute the ground crew got my original plane in order and I scampered back into that. I was to lead a fighter sweep over Rabaul, meaning two hundred miles over enemy waters and territory again. We coasted over at about twenty thousand feet to Rabaul. A few hazy cloud banks were hanging around-not much different from a lot of other days. The fellow flying my wing was Captain George Ashmun, New York City. He had told me before the mission: "You go ahead and shoot all you want, Gramps. All I'll do is keep them off your tail."
This boy was another who wanted me to beat that record, and was offering to stick his neck way out in the bargain. I spotted a few planes coming through the loosely scattered clouds and signaled to the pilots in back of me: "Go down and get to work." George and I dove first. I poured a long burst into the first enemy plane that approached, and a fraction of a second later saw the Nip pilot catapult out and the plane itself break out into fire. George screamed out over the radio: "Gramps, you got a flamer!"
Then he and I went down lower into the fight after the rest of the enemy planes. We figured that the whole pack of our planes was going to follow us down, but the clouds must have obscured their view. Anyway, George and I were not paying too much attention, just figuring that the rest of the boys would be with us in a few seconds, as was usually the case. Finding approximately ten enemy planes, George and I commenced firing. What we saw coming from above we thought were our own planes-but they were not. We were being jumped by about twenty planes.
George and I scissored in the conventional Thach weave way, protecting each others blank spots, the rear ends of our fighters. In doing this I saw George shoot a burst into a plane and it turned away from us plunging downward, all on fire. A second later I did the same thing to another plane. But it was then that I saw George's plane start to throw smoke, and down he went in a half glide. I sensed something was horribly wrong with him. I screamed at him: "For God's sake, George, dive!"
Our planes could dive away from practically anything the Nips had out there at the time, except perhaps a Tony. But apparently George had never heard me or could do nothing about it if he had. He just kept going down in a half glide. Time and time again I screamed at him: "For God's sake, George, dive strait down!" But he didn't even flutter an aileron in answer to me.
I climbed in behind the Nip planes that were plugging at him on the way down to the water. There were so many of them I wasn't even bothering to use my electric gun sight consciously, but continued to seesaw back and forth on my rudder pedals, trying to spray them all in general, trying to get them off George to give him a chance to bail out or dive - or do something at least. But the same thing that was happening to him was now happening to me. I could feel the impact of enemy fire against my armor plate, behind my back, like hail on a tin roof. I could see the enemy shots progressing along my wing tips, making patterns.
George's plane burst into flames and a moment later crashed into the water. At that point there was nothing left for me to do. I had done everything I could. I decided to get the hell away from the Nips. I threw everything in the cockpit all the way forward - this means full speed ahead - and nosed my plane over to pick up extra speed until I was forced by water to level off. I had gone practically a half a mile at a speed of about four hundred knots, when all of a sudden my main gas tank went up in flames in front of my very eyes. The sensation was much the same as opening the door of a furnace and sticking one's head into the thing.
Though I was about a hundred feet off the water, I didn't have a chance of trying to gain altitude. I was fully aware that if I tried to gain altitude for a bail-out I would be fried in a few more seconds.
He landed in the water, badly injured. After being strafed by the Jap fighters, he struggled onto his raft until captured by a Jap submarine several hours later. They took him first to Rabaul, then to Truk (where he experienced one of the early carrier strikes), and eventually to a prison camp outside of Yokohama. His autobiography relates the frequent beatings, interrogations, and near starvation that he endured for the next 18 months. When he was repatriated, he found he had been awarded the Medal of Honor and the Navy Cross.
<img src="http://sciforums.com/f19/s/attachment.php?s=&postid=65404">
