Origins of Hypersonic Propulsion:A Personal History Thomas ... · Origins of Hypersonic...

The Kyushu Gypsy Squadron in KoreaPaul C. Fritz

Origins of Hypersonic Propulsion: A Personal HistoryThomas A. Heppenheimer

Bombing and the Air War on the Italian Front,1915-1918A.D. Harvey.

Lightning SavedJohn H. Cloe

4

14

40

34

COVER: Technicians look over this F–86E, called “Miss B.”

Departments:From the EditorBook ReviewsBooks ReceivedComing UpHistory MysteryLetters, News, Notices, and ReunionsIn Memoriam

3465254565763

FALL 2000 - Volume 47, Number 3

Monday, December 8, 1941, at Clark FieldAustin W. Stitt 28

2 AIR POWER History / FALL 2000

Contributing Members

The individuals and companies listed are contributingmembers of the Air Force Historical Foundation. TheFoundation Trustees and members are grateful for theirsupport and contributions to preserving, perpetuating,and publishing the history and traditions of Americanaviation.

BenefactorMrs. Ruth A. (Ira C.) Eaker Estate

PatronMaj. Gen. Ramsay Potts

SponsorsMaj. Gen. William LyonMaj. Gen. John S. PattonGeneral Rawlings Chapter, AFACol. Edward Rosenbaum, USAF (Ret)Gen. William Y. SmithTomlinson Family Foundation Inc.

DonorsMr. John F. DonahueEmerson ElectricRockwell InternationalQuesada FoundationGen. Bernard A. Schriever

SupportersThe Aerospace CorporationAllied-Signal Aerospace CorporationArthur Metcalf FoundationCSX CorporationBrig. Gen. Brian S. GundersonMaj. Gen. John P. HenebryGen. & Mrs. Robert T. HerresMaj. Gen. Harold E. HumfeldMcDonnell Douglas FoundationMaj. Gen. Kenneth P. MilesNorthrop-Grumman CorporationMr. William O’RourkeMr. James PartonMr. George PendeltonGen. Bryce Poe IIPratt & WhitneyGen. D. C. StrotherUnited TechnologiesCapt. William C. WardMaj. Gen. Richard A. Yudkin

Annual Contributing MembersANSERARX, Inc.ASTECH/MCI Manufacturing, Inc.Beech Aircraft CorporationBoeing Defense & Space GroupGeneral Electric CompanyInstrument Systems Corp.Litton IndustriesLockheed Martin Corp.The Mitre CorporationNorthrop CorporationVinell Corporation

Officers

PresidentGen. William Y. Smith, USAF (Ret)Vice-PresidentGen. John A. Shaud, USAF (Ret)Secretary-TreasurerMaj. Gen. John S. Patton, USAF (Ret)Executive Director Lt. Col. Maynard Y. Binge, USAF (Ret)

Advisors

Gen. Michael E. Ryan, USAFLt. Gen. Tad J. Oelstrom, USAFLt. Gen. Lance W. Lord, USAFBrig. Gen. Ronald T. Rand, USAFDr. Richard P. HallionCMSAF Frederick J. Finch, USAFSMSgt. Walt Grudzinskas, USAF

Trustees

Col. Kenneth J. Alnwick, USAF (Ret)Mr. F. Clifton Berry, Jr.Gen. Mark E. Bradley, USAF (Ret)Lt.Gen. Devol Brett, USAF (Ret)Lt.Gen. William E. Brown, USAF (Ret)Lt.Gen. Charles G. Cleveland, USAF (Ret)Lt.Gen. John Conaway, USAF (Ret)Gen. Bennie L. Davis, USAF (Ret)Brig.Gen. Michael DeArmond, USAF (Ret)Gen. Robert J. Dixon, USAF (Ret)Gen. Michael J. Dugan, USAF (Ret)Gen. Howell M. Estes, Jr., USAF (Ret)Lt.Gen. Abbott C. Greenleaf, USAF (Ret)Mr. John E. GreenwoodBrig.Gen. Brian S. Gunderson, USAF (Ret)Maj.Gen. John P. Henebry, USAF (Ret)Col. George A. Henry, Jr., USAF (Ret)Gen. Robert T. Herres, USAF (Ret)Dr. I. B. Holley, Jr.Maj.Gen. Jeanne M. Holm, USAF (Ret)Lt.Gen. Bradley C. Hosmer, USAF (Ret)Dr. R. Gordon HoxieBrig.Gen. Alfred F. Hurley, USAF (Ret)Brig.Gen. James A. Jaeger, USAF (Ret)Gen. David C. Jones, USAF (Ret)Maj. John Kreis, USAF (Ret)Lt.Col. Kathy La Sauce, USAF (Ret)Maj.Gen. Charles D. Link, USAF (Ret)Lt.Col. Donald S. Lopez, USAF (Ret)Hon. Hans MarkHon. John L. McLucasCol. Kenneth Moll, USAF (Ret)Gen. Thomas S. Moorman, Jr., USAF(Ret)Col. Helen E. O’Day, USAF (Ret)Hon. Verne OrrMaj.Gen. John S. Patton, USAF (Ret)Gen. Bryce Poe II, USAF (Ret)Maj.Gen. Ramsay D. Potts, USAF (Ret)Brig.Gen. Edward W. Rosenbaum, USAF (Ret)Gen. Bernard A. Schriever, USAF (Ret)Gen. John A. Shaud, USAF (Ret)Gen. Jacob E. Smart, USAF (Ret)Gen. William Y. Smith, USAF (Ret)Dr. George K. TanhamCol. Robert E. Vickers, Jr., USAF (Ret)MSgt. Charles J. Warth, USAF (Ret)Col. George R. Weinbrenner, USAF (Ret)Col. Sherman W. Wilkins, USAF (Ret)Maj.Gen. Richard A. Yudkin, USAF (Ret)

The Journal of Air and Space History(formerly Aerospace Historian)

Fall 2000 Volume 47 Number 3

PublisherBryce Poe II

Executive Assistantto the Publisher

Brian S. Gunderson

EditorJacob Neufeld

Technical EditorRobert F. Dorr

Book Review EditorMichael L. Grumelli

Layout and TypesettingRichard I. Wolf

AdvertisingMark D. Mandeles

CirculationRichard I. Wolf

Air Power History (ISSN 1044-016X) is produced in March, June, September,and December by the Air Force HistoricalFoundation.

Prospective contributors should consult theGUIDELINES FOR CONTRIBUTORS atthe back of this journal. Unsolicited manu-scripts will be returned only on specificrequest. The Editor cannot accept responsi-bility for any damage to or loss of the man-uscript. The Editor reserves the right toedit manuscripts and letters.

Address Letters to the Editor to:Air Power HistoryP.O. Box 10328Rockville, MD 20849-0328e-mail: [email protected]

Correspondence regarding missed issuesor changes of address should be addressedto the Business Office:

Air Power HistoryP.O. Box 151150Alexandria, Virginia 22315Telephone: (703) 923-0848Fax: (703) 923-0848e-mail: [email protected]

Copyright © 2000 by the Air ForceHistorical Foundation. All rights reserved.Periodicals postage paid at Lexington, VA24450 and additional mailing offices.

Postmaster: Please send change ofaddress to:

Air Power HistoryP.O. Box 151150Alexandria, Virginia 22315

The Air Force Historical Foundation

FOUNDATION WEB HOMEPAGE: http://home.earthlink.net/~afhfE-Mail: [email protected]

Air Force Historical Foundation1535 Command Drive – Suite A122Andrews AFB, MD 20762-7002

(301) 981-2139(301) 981-3574 Fax

PostScript Picture(APH.eps)

In this issue we begin with a poignant account of valor during the Korean War. Col. Paul C. Fritz,USAF (Ret.) relates his personal experiences as a member of the famed Kyushu Gypsy Squadron ofC–47s that was instrumental in the rescue of United Nations troops at the Chosin Reservoir. In thesecond article, also a personal account, aerospace historian Thomas A. Heppenheimer sheds brightnew light on the origins of hypersonic propulsion research. He begins with a description of the earlywork on scramjets, follows developments on the Air Force’s aerospace plane, on to the work of NASA’sLangley Research Center, and concludes with why the space plane became unsustainable. Next, Col.Austin W. Stitt, USAF (Ret.) recounts the infamous Japanese attack on Clark Field, the Philippines,on December 8, 1941. In a 1974 letter, Stitt provides his personal recollection of the historic event,placing the reader on the scene. The story should appeal to those who prefer the “you are there” typeof history, without the trappings of scholarly analysis or after-the-fact rationalization. In the fourtharticle, A. D. Harvey makes the case that the Italians’ aerial bombing—in their 1915-1918 war againstAustria-Hungary—had greater influence on the way air warfare theory developed than it did on theWestern Front. We expect that this thesis will generate considerable discussion. Finally, John Cloe,the 3d Wing historian, finishes the story of the P–38 restoration that Robert F. Dorr began in theWinter 1999 issue of Air Power History [Vol. 46, No. 4]. It details the hard work involved and showsthe Lightning fully restored in its new home at Elmendorf AFB, Alaska.

There are ten reviews of air power books—some new, some old. And there is a list of books received.Book review editor, Michael Grumelli, is actively soliciting new reviewers. If you feel qualified toreview one or more of the books listed—in this or prior issues, or have an appropriate book that wasnot listed—please contact Dr. Grumelli. See page 52.

In the departments section we include the usual categories of “The History Mystery,” letters, news,notices, and reunions. If you would like to express your views or advise readers of some upcomingevent, please write or e-mail the editors. See pages 2, 55, or 56.

We note with sadness the passing of Eugene M. Zuckert, Secretary of the Air Force during theKennedy administration. See pages 63-64.

Gen. W. Y. Smith, USAF (Ret.), president of the Air Force Historical Foundation, notes that theFoundation is now a beneficiary of the Combined Federal Campaign and asks that readers considermaking a donation by designating No. 2138. See the inside front cover for details. He also invitesmembers and trustees to attend the Foundation’s 46th annual meeting in the Pavilion Room ofAndrews AFB Officers’ Club for lunch at 1145 on September 21, 2000. To reserve a place, please callLt. Col. Binge at (301) 736-1959, or e-mail: [email protected] immediately.

AIR POWER History / FALL 2000 3

From the Editor

The submission of an article, book review, or other communication with the intention that it be pub-lished in this journal shall be construed as prima facie evidence that the contributor willingly trans-fers the copyright to Air Power History and the Air Force Historical Foundation, which will, however,freely grant authors the right to reprint their own works, if published in the authors’ own works. Inthe case of articles, upon acceptance, the author will be sent an agreement and an assignment of copy-right.

DisclaimerAir Power History and the Air Force Historical Foundation disclaim responsibility for statements,either of fact or of opinion, made by contributors.


The Kyushu Gypsy


Paul C. Fritz

Squadron in Korea

E arly on Sunday morning, June 25, 1950,North Korea’s Kim Il Sung unleashed hismilitary forces across the 38th parallel to

overwhelm and reunite South Korea and end thepeninsula’s division between the Communists andAllies since World War II. The United NationsSecurity Council approved an immediate armedintervention to stop the North Koreans. Howeverthe meager American occupation forces in Japantried, they achieved only limited success in slowingthe retreat southward. Airlift assistance fromAmerican forces at home was vital to sustain oper-ations on the Korean peninsula. The area thatsoon would be known as the “Pusan perimeter”had no air bases or facilities of consequence. And itsoon became obvious that the rugged, dependableC–47—which required minimal operational facili-ties, while carrying respectable loads—would beessential in this situation.

In-theater redeployment brought the 21stTroop Carrier Squadron (TCS), from Clark AirBase (AB), the Philippines, to Ashiya AB onKyushu Island, in Japan, where it was reequippedwith C–47s. The 21st gave up its four-engineC–54s to its sister squadrons, the 6th and 22d, allunits of the 374th Troop Carrier Group (TCG) atTachikawa AB, west of Tokyo.

For starters, eleven World War II vintage C–47swere removed from their “pea-patch” storage atNorton Air Force Base (AFB), California. Theywere fitted with fuselage fuel cells for 16-hours’endurance and issued to aircrews who arrived enmasse at Norton, after receiving 72-hours notice todepart their previous bases. I and another cap-tain—both with considerable World War II C–47troop-carrier experience—represented GoodfellowAFB, Texas.

My assigned aircrew consisted of a copilot and aflight engineer, who had no C–47 experience, butwere qualified in C–54s. The navigator had notnavigated “seriously” since World War II and hadnever used the LORAN over-water navigation sys-tem. The radio operator was fresh from that spe-cialty school. The skimpy skills available in thissituation confirmed the depths to which Americandefenses had sunk. But despite the crew’s lack ofC–47 background for the tasks that lay ahead,they strove to perform their functions effectivelyand cooperatively.

My C–47 had what appeared to be an eighth-inch layer of hardened dirt on the upper surfacesof the fuselage, wings, and empennage. Its tireswere severely checked from years of disuse. All

attempts to secure a “wash-job” and a set of newtires from the base personnel were met withshrugs of disinterest—despite my protests that thedirt reduced the plane’s airspeed, resulting inincreased fuel consumption, and possibility of tireblowouts at isolated bases en route to Japan.However, maintenance personnel had refurbishedthe engines carefully. Airmen at our departurebase, Fairfield-Suisun (later-Travis) AFB, reme-died the dirt and tire problems—we gained tenmiles per hour airspeed with a clean bird.

We took off just before dark on July 21, 1950,headed westward over the Golden Gate Bridge.Soon, this beautiful sight faded into fourteen hoursof inky blackness, en route to landing at HickamAFB, Hawaii. The next morning it was off toJohnston Island to refuel for the ten-hour flight toKwajalein Atoll, then westward to Guam, followedby the next day’s flight northward to TachikawaAB, Japan.

High above the western Pacific, my navigatorcame forward in the cockpit and announced, “IwoJima is ten minutes ahead.” I looked out and spot-ted a tiny spit of land just ahead. Mount Suribachi,famed in photograph and statue, was standingvigil over the site where more than 4,500 Marinelives were given up in payment for the island’sownership. I could not have known then that thoseMarines, who gave their all to save B–29 crewsreturning from missions over Japan, would be rec-ompensed man-for-man four months later by a fewC–47 Kyushu Gypsies at Chosin Reservoir inNorth Korea!

Pusan Perimeter Days

Our aircrews and aircraft were welcomedheartily for relieving the strain that had befallenthose stationed in the battle area. Our arrivalhelped the squadron to expand toward its normalstrength of forty C–47s. Later, United Nationscomplements, from Greece and Thailand, wouldraise the total to forty-nine C–47s.

South Korean air bases were extremely primi-tive. They had no weather services, navigational-aids, runway lights, or effective communicationsbetween bases in South Korea or to Japan. Mostairstrips were compacted rough dirt. The pilots’operational credo was: Go out, take a look, and dowhatever you believe you are pilot enough to han-dle. No one was chastised for turning back.Ironically, that blank-check made the pilots morecompetent and enhanced their judgment.


Colonel Paul C. Fritz, USAF (Ret.) began his thirty-year military career in the Minnesota NationalGuard in August 1939, and was commissioned at Infantry OCS in June 1942. Pilot wings broughthim to troop-carrier activities in the Pacific theater in World War II. During the Korean War he flewwith the 21st TCS, from July 1950 to October 1951, the subject of this article. He completed AirCommand and Staff School in 1956, and was then was assigned to the faculty. Next came commandof 11th TCS (C-119s) at Dreux AB, France, before serving as executive officer to the DeputyUSCINCEUR in Paris. Duty on Air Staff and PACAF followed in base/force programs. The soleUSAF officer inducted into the Infantry OCS Hall of Fame at Ft. Benning, Georgia, Colonel Fritzhas published numerous articles in military magazines.

(Overleaf) Hagaru-ri airstrip(looking north) during res-cue operation in December1950. C–119 overhead hasjust dropped supply para-chutes, as C–47 beginstakeoff and parked C–47 isbeing loaded. Hamlet isone-half mile to right, andChosin Reservoir isbeyond dike in the back-ground. (USMC photo fromDefense Audio-VisualAgency [DAVA].)

IT SOONBECAMEOBVIOUSTHAT THERUGGED,DEPENDABLEC–47 WOULD BEESSENTIAL IN THIS SITUATION

GO OUT,TAKE ALOOK, ANDDO WHAT-EVER YOUBELIEVE YOUARE PILOTENOUGH TOHANDLE

A typical aircrew’s day during the PusanPerimeter period was to ferry supplies or troopsfrom Ashiya AB to a South Korean base, then shut-tle around to other bases until dark with variousloads. When weather interfered, the pilots’ intrepid-ity came into play. This meant staying below theweather and flying up one the many valleys, usuallyfollowing railroad tracks. If the tracks went througha mountain tunnel and there was no open weather

above the tunnel’s mountain, the pilot would makea panic spiral climb up to open weather. He wouldthen return to the Sea of Japan to find a hole for aspiraling descent and return to Pusan to tryanother valley. While that type of flying was hardwork, it proved satisfying to deliver wounded sol-diers to a hospital in Japan—the pilots’ capabilitiesand desires to provide prompt evacuations oftenmeant the difference between life and death.


(Source: Robert F. Futrell,United States Air Force inKorea, 1950-53.)

WHENWEATHERINTERFERED,THE PILOTS’INTREPIDITYCAME INTOPLAY

THE PILOTS’CAPABILITIESAND DESIRESTO PROVIDEPROMPTEVACUA-TIONS OFTENMEANT THEDIFFERENCEBETWEENLIFE ANDDEATH

The desperate days of July and August 1950,soon began to ameliorate. Ground, sea, and airforces built up capabilities to counterattackagainst the Communists. In early September, the21st TCS moved from Ashiya AB to Brady AB,north of Fukuoka, to allow the deployment of the314th TCG, equipped with the new C–119s, toAshiya. In addition, Maj. Gen. William H. Tunner,the famed leader of the Berlin Airlift, establishedhis Combat Cargo Command headquarters atAshiya. At first, the general looked askance at ourGooney Birds and their capabilities, but before theyear was out, we would become his “darlings.”

An NCO griped about the pillar-to-post basingfor 21st TCS that was just beginning and declaredthat we were only a bunch of “Kyushu Gypsies.”Little did he know we would be relocated often infuture months, and that this nickname wouldbecome a “proud handle” that remains to this dayfor the squadron’s veterans.

On September 13, the 21st TCS sent some firstpilots back to Tachikawa AB to practice formationflying for paratroop drops. Then for nine days, wea-ther permitting, they practiced formations in theTokyo area. During this period, the breakout fromPusan Perimeter and the landing at Inchon oc-curred. The Allied offensives were making progress,and Seoul was recaptured after a major battle.

Meanwhile, alarmed at the collapse of NorthKorea’s army, China relocated about 500,000troops to Manchuria, just north of the Yalu River.China’s sensitivity to a threat from across the Yalustemmed from the 1930s. At that time Japan hadconstructed most of China’s manufacturing capa-bility in Manchuria, when the Japanese had occu-pied the province. That capability relied on cheap,plentiful electricity coming from Japanese-builtreservoirs (Chosin and Fusen) and associatedpower-plants in North Korea’s northeast moun-tains.

On October 15, 1950, General of the ArmyDouglas MacArthur, the United Nations Comman-der, met with President Harry S. Truman at WakeIsland. They decided to proceed quickly up theNorth Korean peninsula with paradrop of the187th Airborne Regimental Combat Team north ofPyongyang, supported by other ground units mov-ing northward. Two days later, the 21st TCS wasordered to bring all forty of its C–47s to flyablecondition, deploy to Kimpo Airport, at Seoul, andmake the paradrop the following day. C–119 unitsfrom Ashiya would drop artillery pieces, vehicles,and the balance of troops beyond the capacity ofthe forty C–47s.

The C–47s made routine airlift flights to Koreaon the October 19 and recovered at Kimpo, wherethe aircrews slept in their aircraft and ateC–rations. Dawn on the 20th arrived with rainshowers at Kimpo. General Tunner reconnoiteredthe drop zone and reported good weather; Kimpowould improve by noon. The 21st TCS “max-effort”paradrop at Sunchon was performed skillfully—anexample of expert pilots flying well-maintainedaircraft. Along with the parallel paradrop atSukchon by 71 C–119s, they combined to deliver301.2 tons of equipment and 2,860 paratroopers,while sustaining minimal casualties.

One of the paratroopers’ missions—to interceptprisoners of war (POWs) expected to be movednorth from Pyongyang—resulted in the discoveryof a trainload of POWs hidden in a tunnel.However, following the paradrop, the POWs werecold-bloodedly machine-gunned beside the train.Fifteen of the POWs faked death and survived tobe airlifted the next day from Pyongyang to hospi-tals in Japan.

Our paratroop drop was a highlight-event that fol-lowed the more diffident United Nations forces’movement across the 38th parallel into North


Vehicles loaded with casu-alties swarm to evacuationaircraft as Marine and Navyfighters patrol over thisHagaru-ri airstrip to sup-press any interference byChinese who occupy sur-rounding mountains.(USMC photo from DAVA.)

MAJ. GEN.WILLIAM H.TUNNER, THEFAMEDLEADER OFTHE BERLINAIRLIFT,ESTABLISHEDHIS COMBATCARGOCOMMANDHEADQUAR-TERS ATASHIYA

ALARMED AT THE COLLAPSEOF NORTHKOREA’SARMY, CHINARELOCATEDABOUT500,000TROOPS TOMANCHURIA,JUST NORTHOF THE YALU RIVER

Korea. Now, the world clearly knew the UnitedNations’ strategic intentions, especially the Chinese“lying in wait” just beyond the Yalu River. They nowwere energized to move secretly into North Korea.What was to be one of history’s most devilishly suc-cessful, major infiltrations was accomplished by ahalf-million Chinese troops while United Nationstroops cruised northward unaware of the well-hid-den enemies in all directions. Reconnaissance hadfailed to note the stealthy enemy forces, except for afew minor exposures.

Chosin Reservoir

With North Korea effectively defenseless,United Nations troops moved northward in rela-tive safety. Their objective was the Yalu River andseemingly nothing could hinder their progress.Heady success, pleasant weather, and prettyautumnal foliage created the expectation of goinghome for Christmas. There was little concern forthe severe North Korean winter aborning, nor forits demands for cold-weather clothing and equip-ment.

On the plains of western North Korea, the U.S.Eighth Army moved forward boldly. In the moun-tains of eastern North Korea, the U.S. X Corps,consisting of the 1st Marine Division and 7thInfantry Division, moved laboriously northward onunimproved mountain roads. Thanksgiving wasonly a few days ahead, when a miserable Siberiancold front began moving south to confront theAllied forces head-on. Ominously, the 500,000Chinese troops—380,000 arrayed against theEighth Army and 120,000 facing X Corps—werein-place, but unseen.

On Thursday, November 23, the Allied troopsfeasted on a hearty Thanksgiving dinner. But, onMonday, November 27, the Chinese attacked—coming with shock effect from virtuallynowhere—to the tune of blaring bugles that ener-gized enemy forces in human-wave attacks. SomeUnited Nations divisions were virtually obliter-ated, while others such as 1st Marine Divisionsurvived thanks to the application of stringentdiscipline.

As the 1st Marine Division moved northwardfrom its landing at Wonsan, it encountered andbriefly battled a few enemy troops identified asChinese. At the time, however, the Chinese weredismissed as “volunteers.” Moreover, these fewenemy troops did not deter X-Corps from continu-ing to push north. One Marine regiment—underColonel “Chesty” Puller—later to become theMarine Corps’ most decorated hero—was deployedat Koto-ri, high in the mountains, 40 miles north ofHungnam. The remainder of the division movedanother 10 miles north to the hamlet of Hagaru-ri,at the southern tip of the Chosin Reservoir. Theythen detached one regiment 14 miles northwest toYudam-ni, west of the reservoir, and a second reg-iment on the eastern side of the reservoir. Soon,this latter regiment would also move to theYudam-ni area, and the 7th Division would thinly

deploy three infantry battalions and an artillerybattalion to the eastern side of the reservoir.

Headquarters, 1st Marine Division, and itsartillery and engineer units remained at Hagaru-ri. In addition to its mission of eventually advanc-ing further northward, a regiment at Yudam-niwas directed to send light forces westward toestablish contact with right-hand units of EighthArmy on the western plains. Fortunately, this forcemoving west from Yudam-ni had moved only ashort distance when the Chinese attacked, and theAmericans managed to recover from the ferocious,surprise attack.

As waves of Chinese tried to overrun theMarines, both sides sustained heavy casualties.Mountain cold, dipping down to minus 30°F,imposed a debilitating effect on all combatants. Inthe ensuing withdrawal from Yudam-ni to Hagaru-ri to consolidate their strength, the two Marineregiments demonstrated extraordinary prowess.

When the U.S. Army battalions, positioned eastof the reservoir, were hit by the Chinese onslaught,their scattered deployment foreordained overrun-ning of the units. The estimated casualties ratesfor the Army battalions were as high as 75 percent.Many of those who survived were walkingwounded who reached the frozen reservoir in dark-ness and proceeded to Hagaru-ri.

The British 41st Royal Marine CommandoBattalion, under Lt. Col. Douglas Drysdale, hadmade it northward to Koto-ri before the Chineseattack began. Along with other small Americanunits and personnel, they were ordered to rein-force Hagaru-ri. But only the lead elements of theconvoy made it to Hagaru-ri. The main body waswiped out along the mountain road. The entrap-ment of the Marine and Army forces at Hagaru-riand Koto-ri was complete.

Such was the situation on November 30, whenI, the assistant squadron operations officer of 21stTCS, answered the telephone at Itazuke AB. Gene-ral Tunner’s transport mission control directed usto send eleven C–47s to Yonpo airfield early the fol-lowing morning to evacuate wounded troops fromHagaru-ri. Our assignment was to last “for a weekor so,” and we were to maintain that level of in-commission C–47s there throughout the operation.To save valuable cabin space for casualties, nursesand corpsmen were not assigned to this mission,but worked aboard the C–54s from Yonpo toJapanese bases.

It piqued my interest and I put myself on thepilot list. That afternoon one of our pilots, who hadlanded at Hagaru-ri, briefed us on the locale andairstrip. The next morning, we took off early fromItazuke and headed up the east coast of Korea.Arriving at Yonpo, we loaded supplies for theMarines and again headed north, passing overKoto-ri with its short dirt airstrip that could han-dle only small, liaison-type aircraft. Beyondstretched a valley with a narrow, winding dirt roadthat led to Hagaru-ri. Behind a mountain, justshort of Hagaru-ri, remnants of Colonel Drysdale’sconvoy—snow-covered trucks, ambulances, and


AS WAVES OF CHINESETRIED TOOVERRUNTHEMARINES,BOTH SIDESSUSTAINEDHEAVY CASUALTIES

GENERALTUNNER’STRANSPORTMISSION CONTROLDIRECTED USTO SENDELEVENC–47S TOYONPO AIRFIELD

other vehicles—lay strewn about the trail likeheaps of children’s toys.

Hagaru-ri lay in a bowl formed by mountains inall directions, except on the north side, whichopened to the reservoir, a long narrow lake exten-ded northward. The hamlet and our newly hackedairstrip area were protected from excess water bya long east-west dike about twenty-five-feet high.The airstrip was oriented north-northwest tosouth-southeast, with the north end pushing rightup to the dike. These features dictated landingsnorth, with a guarantee of no over-shooting, andtakeoffs south.

A road grader smoothed the frozen dirt, whichhad a very slight rise toward the dike, adding avery minor advantage for landings and takeoffs.Significant blasting and bulldozing around theclock had brought the strip to its current status,but work continued for a day or two more tolengthen it to about 2,500 feet and clear a parkingarea for three C–47s. (Heavy equipment operatorsworking at night under flood lights were shot rou-tinely from their machines as they worked.)

The hamlet, about a half-mile east of theairstrip, was the site of Marine headquarters andwarming tents for the troops. The open areabetween the hamlet and airstrip became the dropzone for C–119s. Marine and Navy fighter aircraftdroned in lazy circles over the scene, ready topounce on any untoward enemy actions. However,enemy positions were nowhere to be seen—theyknew camouflage well, even in the snow-coveredmountains.

I called the radio jeep for landing clearance andset up a tight pattern that was necessarily overclose-in mountains infested with enemy. On finalapproach I noticed a small, scraggly tree growingjust left of the airstrip. A hump on the approachend was not discernible, but I hit it and got a goodbounce. I ate my chagrin and would find it usefulalso in a few days.

After parking, I learned that people can over-come unbelievable difficulties. To an ex-Minne-sotan and ex-infantryman/officer, this was a com-posite of a disaster and catastrophe. Severe coldgreeted us, with a horrible stench—a pungentcombination of vehicle exhausts, fired gunpowder,smoke from bonfires, and men’s bloody clothingover unwashed bodies.

The men huddled speechless in knots, their eyesvacant from witnessing untold horrors, unshavenfor days, and wearing blankets draped over theirshoulders. Many hobbled about with walking polesor canes fashioned from tree limbs. Some werebarefoot with bright-red or gangrene-blackenedfeet. One man who boarded my C–47 flipped awayall of his toes like rotten apples before gettingaboard. Not a word was spoken—a brief flicker intheir eyes was their thanks for our “magic–carpet”that would whisk them away to safety and medicalattention. Such was the reality at ChosinReservoir, a name that will live in history, along-side Valley Forge and Antietam, where brave menendured the worst of war.

We pilots did not need prodding for what layahead, our mission was simply to transport thesemen as fast as possible to Yonpo for emergencycare and then via C–54s on to hospitals in Japan.Unfortunately, we could operate only from dawn todusk. But we also recognized that we had a greatresponsibility in this undertaking because ourC–47s were the only aircraft that could operateinto the crude airstrip, yet carry significant loads.

Load size was important, and every pilot set hisown level of safety. Each soldier kept his rifle andammunition. This pleased me because if we wereforced to crash land, we could give a good accountof ourselves. The DC–3–the civilian version of theC–47–carried 19 to 21 passengers and had at least5,000 feet of runway. We had half the runway andlikely double the load weight. Our plane had 27bench seats, with safety belts in the cabin.However, no one objected to sitting on the floor forthe 30-minute hop.

I tested 30 passengers as my first load and itworked well enough to raise my standard to 35.After a few days, as we neared Hagaru-ri for thelast trip of the day, my flight engineer said,“Captain, we’ve been carrying the largest loads allthe time, but yesterday so-and-so took out 38. Let’sdo 40.” I responded that we were not trying to setany records, just to get the job done. When he per-sisted, I said, “OK, we’ll try 40, but I’m going tocount.”

Standing at the door as the trucks backed upwith their loads, I reached a count of 40—the cabinbulged. Two men left on the truck bed walked backto the front to sit on each side, glancing furtively atme, then away. They knew and I knew that thosefew feet of truck bed meant the difference betweenanother night in the war or possible safety andcare at Yonpo. I could not be that heartless andbeckoned, “OK, come on!” Reaching the cockpit, Ifound we also had our radio-repairman aboard.Including the crew, we had 46 souls aboard!

As I taxied out, my transport seemed to groan.I began the takeoff and we chugged noticeablyslower; gaining flying speed proved much morelaborious than normal. Without much conviction,the copilot chirped, “No sweat.” As the end of thestrip came closer and closer, I finally hit that “won-derful” hump. It catapulted us into the air to mushalong for a few seconds, but long enough to get thegear up, then our bird flew properly. We had madeit, but thirty-five would be our limit for the future.The flight engineer had all the bragging rights hewould get.

Shortly after a Hagaru-ri takeoff with a contin-gent of wounded troops, one of our pilots was hit byenemy ground fire. With the plane’s elevator con-trol cables severed, he quickly decided that theonly way to land was to use the elevator trim tabwheel, while his copilot controlled the power. Theirskillful landing attracted the attention of a TimeMagazine reporter, who included the unusual dis-play of airmanship in his article.

One morning we arrived over Hagaru-ri atsunup as a battle was in progress. Because our


SEVERECOLDGREETED US,WITH A HOR-RIBLESTENCH—A PUNGENTCOMBINA-TION OF VEHICLEEXHAUSTS,FIRED GUN-POWDER,SMOKE FROMBONFIRES,AND MEN’SBLOODYCLOTHING

CHOSINRESERVOIR,... WILL LIVEIN HISTORY,ALONGSIDEVALLEYFORGE ANDANTIETAM,WHEREBRAVE MENENDUREDTHE WORSTOF WAR

fighters were late arriving, we watched the grimbattle unfolding below. Tracers from rifles andmachineguns defined an elliptical front line pat-tern drawn around the eastern segment of thehamlet; it then came out and arced around theends of our airstrip. Supporting artillery spit theirloads with commanding belches of fire and smoke.But, the minute the fighters came into sight, theenemy fire ceased. Our troops, who had lain proneon the ground, stood up to wander back to thehamlet, perhaps for breakfast. Such was the defen-sive ground war in daylight with adequate directair support.

Another day a half-dozen C–47s arrived overHagaru-ri and found the entire bowl engulfed inthick smog up to about 500 feet. We droned arounduntil one pilot proposed to call out radar-controltype instructions from overhead if anyone waswilling to try a landing. I piped up, “Sure, I’ll tryit.” I dived down and got in position on the down-wind leg, then turned onto the base leg, descendinginto the bowl, with zero forward visibility. Soon mycontroller had me turn on final approach. I haddone it here many times—it was routine. He gaveme minor heading corrections and likely altitudeheights. I could see the ground straight below run-ning faster and faster as I descended, and contin-ued with an extra 10-mph airspeed in case Idecided to abort. I was getting close to committaltime, imposed by the well-known dike at the end ofthe airstrip. It convinced me to count off three sec-onds, then abort, if I was not ready to land: one,two, thr... Hey, there’s the scraggly tree in perfectposition outside my window. I eased back on thepower to kill the extra airspeed, then to no-throttleas the wheels kissed the deck. The usual heavytromps on the brakes got us stopped in time, butthe dike seemed to loom in front of us with moredisdain than ever. I glanced at my young copilot—he could not have seen the tree—his eyes were likesaucers as he stared at the dike. I had to make ajoke or two before he relaxed. We were getting ahead-start on the loads we could carry that day.

Several times we were peppered with enemyrifle fire as we flew the pattern for landings or tookoff and climbed up through the valley. One after-noon, I became particularly irate when I foundnew holes very near a main wing tank. I knew thatthe shots had come from a discernible knoll on thedownwind leg. I walked over to the radio jeep andtold the operator. He called down two fighters andeach dropped a napalm tank on the knoll. Blood-curdling screams rose up as the deadly liquidrolled downhill.

After that show of air superiority, I returned tomy C–47 and got aboard. As my eyes transitionedfrom bright sunlight to dim interior light, I eyedmy load: a significant number of men lay frozen asthey had fallen, with their extremities cast in alldirections and faces contorted statues of severepain. They were stacked and intertwined on eachside of the cabin, secured with ropes for flight. Iwould be flying an aerial hearse, but to do it withdignity I flew extra smoothly.

Late on the fifth day, as we flew down the valleytoward Hagaru-ri, we saw the troops breaking outfrom their entrapment. Single columns of menmoved down the spines of the ridges on each sideof the valley. Vehicles and larger groups of menwere on the valley road.

One more day and we would be finished atHagaru-ri. However, we would lose another C–47.I was making my final, late-afternoon flight whenI spotted the C–47 ahead of me in the traffic pat-tern seemingly losing fuel from the right inboardcell. We later discovered that a cylinder head onthe right engine had broken loose and all the oillost. Since there was no chance of repairing orreplacing the engine before nightfall on our finalday of operations, we arranged for a Marine lieu-tenant to blow up the plane with a hand grenadeor two before they departed. The six days of opera-tion there had cost us two C–47s, but we had savedthousands of lives with more to go.

The night of December 6 and morning of the 7thsaw significant snowfall in the area. The troopsfighting from the trap were without close air sup-port, and we could not land at Koto-ri until theDecember 8. Our aircrews welcomed the respite.We had been flying for six days straight frombefore dawn to after dusk, using every availableminute of daylight at Hagaru-ri to maximize therescue.

After lunch on December 7, word came that doc-tors at Koto-ri needed some special medicine, so Iflew up and paradropped it to them. I also got acloser look at our new destination. The airstrip hadbeen extended to about 2,000 feet. It now waspacked snow that could be plowed. However, land-ings were going to be very difficult because a hugeslag pile was located just off the south end. Thewind came down the valley from the north, so thatwould be our landing and takeoff direction. Thefinal half of the extended airstrip was out in no-man’s-land.

The next day we got to try our skills for landing,here even more difficult than at Hagaru-ri. Myprocedure was to virtually roll my tires on the slagpile, chop the power, and dive for the end of thestrip, but recovering at the last moment with aslight boost of power. The surface was very slip-pery, but I managed to stop in time. I noted a sin-gle-engine Navy torpedo bomber was being loadedwith a litter patient—what a poor “return for theinvestment” when we could carry nearly threedozen wounded per load, fewer if litters usurpedcabin space.

Some of our pilots preferred to approach bycoming around the side of the slag pile, then mak-ing a very low final turn to the airstrip. I tried itonce, but decided that over-the-top was better. Ona later landing there, a gust of crosswind hit me.My C–47 swerved to the left and only a blast of leftengine kept it from going beyond the pile of snowalong the airstrip. After parking, someone came upand pointed out that I had narrowly missed an oldwell-hole. I came close to ascribing a third C–47 tothe cause.


I EYED MYLOAD: A SIG-NIFICANTNUMBER OFMEN LAYFROZEN ASTHEY HADFALLEN, WITHTHEIREXTREMITIESCAST IN ALLDIRECTIONS

STACKEDAND INTER-TWINED ONEACH SIDEOF THECABIN,SECUREDWITH ROPESFOR FLIGHT. IWOULD BEFLYING ANAERIALHEARSE

For three days, we continued the evacuationfrom Koto-ri. The troops moved on through, butthere would be another dramatic airlift action, thistime by C–119s. A few miles south of Koto-ri, amajor electrical plant generated power usingChosin Reservoir water. A lone bridge had spannedthe deep gulch at the plant, and its loss wouldmean no vehicles could pass. The Chinese blew upthe bridge, and airlift again came to the rescue.Eight sections of steel bridging were rigged forparadrop and delivered by C–119s. Engineersinstalled the spans that permitted saving vastamounts of major ground force equipment.

Epilogue

Our C–47 aircrews waited at Yonpo for two daysuntil the ground troops were secure in theHungnam area for sealift to South Korea. Late onDecember 12, we returned to Itazuke and countedresults. We had flown evacuation flights for ninedays, rested on the snow day, and waited for twodays. Our eleven C–47s, with assistance fromthree Marine/Navy R4Ds had evacuated 4,689men from the two airstrips, and air-landed 273.9tons of cargo.

Time Magazine was especially generous with itscoverage of the Chosin Reservoir story. Its

December 18, 1950, issue honored General Tunnerwith his cover photo and story that emphasizedour airlift mercy-mission and the figurative andliteral aerial bridge that the C–47s and the C–119shad provided.

The first USAF Presidential (then-Distin-guished) Unit Citation, a combat-only award, waspresented to the 21st TCS, the 314th TCG (flyingC–119s), and 801st Medical Air EvacuationSquadron for the U.S. Air Force segment of theChosin Reservoir operation. Pilots on the 21st TCSmission received Distinguished Flying Crosses,copilots and flight engineers were awarded AirMedals.

The Marines at Chosin Reservoir sustained8,741 casualties, including 751 killed, died ofwounds or missing in action and presumed dead;2,891 wounded in action; and 5,099 non-battle vic-tims. U.S. Army unit after-action reports indicatedthat more than 2,600 casualties were suffered bythe force of some 3,500 men, with the majority clas-sified as missing in action. U.S. Navy airmen, RoyalMarine, and South Korean army losses were at var-ious lower levels. The USAF had no casualties.Enemy losses at Chosin Reservoir, substantiatedby enemy testimony, have been estimated officiallyas 37,500, with 25,000 killed and 12,500 wounded.

My respite at Itazuke lasted only a few daysbefore General Tunner sent us back to Hungnamto prepare a seaside airstrip atop a dike, in theevent that another airlift of casualties would berequired before the sealift was completed. OnDecember 16, my crew and I flew to Hungnam,where we found a road grader leveling the top of adike south of the city and perpendicular to the sea-coast. The inland end was adjacent to a sprawlingnitrate-gunpowder factory that our B-29s had lev-eled, except for a corner where the roof remained,and it became our “office and quarters.”

We could see Yonpo clearly and watched theC–119 airlift operation that salvaged equipmentassets in the area, while we “luxuriated at our pri-vate airstrip” as the ground troops embarked ontheir ships. Hungnam harbor was clogged with aflotilla of various military and civilian ships fromthe battleship USS Missouri on down. Troops andtheir equipment were evacuated to South Korea,along with 98,000 North Koreans, who “voted withtheir feet” to abandon Communism.

Finally on December 20, 1950, as the Hungnamdefense perimeter was being constricted, leavingmy airstrip out in no-man’s-land. We packed up,“turned off the lights” for the Air Force on theground in North Korea, and headed home toItazuke.

Chinese entry into the war in November andDecember 1950, caused severe setbacks for UnitedNations forces who were forced to retreat into thenorthern areas of South Korea. Defensive standsformed new front lines in the Seoul area andacross the peninsula. The reality was that UnitedNations forces had reduced their supply lines,while the North Koreans, with Chinese support,and limited transport capability faced longer logis-


FOR THREEDAYS, WECONTINUEDTHE EVACUA-TION FROMKOTO-RI

Chosin Reservoir

Yudam-ni

Hagaru-ri

Koto-ri

Hamhung

Hungnam

Yonpo K-27

tic routes in a region of ox-cart type roads. Thus,Chinese involvement had given the Communistslittle chance of success, but complicated and reen-ergized the war.

USAF deployment of its fighting and airliftforces required major revision. When Itazuke ABbecame a prized location, the 21st TCS once againdonned its gypsy garb and moved to Tachikawa forthe winter. Direct support of the war was muchextended, but continued at a lesser pace. In mid-April 1951, I established a forward operatingdetachment for the squadron at Kimpo. Weinstalled a tent camp on the west side of the air-drome, opposite the heavily-shelled civilian termi-nal on the east side. About fifteen in-commissionC–47s were kept with the detachment to satisfynorthern South Korea remote-area airlift require-ments. USAF bombers had post-holed the Kimporunway early in the war, so landings and takeoffswere made on a taxiway.

Communications was a major problem for thisKimpo-based operation. Combat Cargo Commandat Ashiya would attempt to telephone our dailyfrag-order for the next day’s airlift, but normallythe system failed. Another problem was the fluid-ity of the war. Many times we were directed toremote airstrips that had been retaken by theenemy. Fuming pilots would return with tales ofimpossible situations, where frag-orders “guaran-teed” the area was in friendly hands, but in factwas not.

As time passed, our tent camp was fitted outwith many amenities, including a shower, an elec-tric generator, and tent frames and floors. Afterthese improvements, it was only a matter of timeuntil someone claimed priority for basing there. In

this instance, it was a Royal Air Force squadron ofMeteor jets that needed to enter the war for com-bat testing. In August 1951, the RAF received ourfacility at Kimpo and we were reunited with oursquadron at Ashiya, having come full circle sinceour arrival in mid-1950.

With distinction and verve, the Kyushu Gypsysquadron had performed every mission giventhem, from the routine, non-glamorous daily move-ments of men and materiel to the brief momentsthat made headlines. In the performance of thesemissions, they were ably supported by that mar-velous and venerable flying machine known offi-cially as the C–47, but to all who flew her as the“Gooney Birds.” n


Sources

Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 23 (Chicago, Ill.:Encyclopedia Britannica, Inc., 1955).

Robert F. Futrell, The United States Air Force inKorea 1950-1953 (New York: Duell, Sloan andPearce, 1961).

Eric M. Hammel, Chosin (New York: TheVanguard Press, 1981).

Lynn Montrose and Nicholas Canzona. U.S.Marine Operations in Korea, 1950-1953, VolumeIII, The Chosin Reservoir Campaign (Washington,D.C.: Historical Branch, G-3, HQ, USMC;reprinted in Austin, Tex. by Brandy Able 1, 1987).

Time Magazine, December 18, 1950.

THE 21ST TCSONCE AGAINDONNED ITSGYPSY GARBAND MOVEDTOTACHIKAWAFOR THE WINTER

IN AUGUST1951, THERAFRECEIVEDOUR FACILITYAT KIMPOAND WEWEREREUNITEDWITH OURSQUADRONAT ASHIYA

TIMEMAGAZINEWAS ESPECIALLYGENEROUSWITH ITSCOVERAGEOF THECHOSINRESERVOIRSTORY


Origins of HypersonicPropulsion :

APersonalHistory


Thomas A. Heppenheimer

I t is not easy to be ahead of the times. For anumber of years, that stood to be the fate of asmall community of propulsion experts.1 They

had invented and nurtured the scramjet, anengine that they knew would offer a path to theultimate airplane—one with no practical limit onspeed or altitude. Such aircraft, indeed, couldsomeday fly from a runway to orbit.

The concept held daunting technical difficulties,but for a few years the Air Force and the NationalAeronautics and Space Administration (NASA)took their ideas seriously, and these people flour-ished. Then, amid budget cutbacks, their projectswere cancelled and their efforts faded into obscu-rity. Still these specialists kept their hopes alive, asif they were keeping a flame that never quite diedout. Then during the mid-1980s their hopes blazedanew, as President Ronald Reagan launched theNational Aerospace Plane (NASP) program.

The leader of this community was AntonioFerri. During World War II, he was director of oneof Europe’s most advanced wind tunnels, a super-sonic facility at Guidonia, near Rome. In 1943, theNazis took over Italy. Ferri had received militarytraining, and left his research center to lead a forceof guerrillas that fought with considerable effec-tiveness. The Allied advance drove back theGermans; the Office of Strategic Services, prede-cessor to the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA),sent an agent to find Ferri and brought him to theUnited States in September 1944. Here, he quick-ly established himself as a leader in the infantfield of supersonic research.

Ferri lectured on this subject to other engineers,then collected his notes and wrote one of the firsttextbooks in this field, Elements of Aerodynamicsof Supersonic Flows (New York: Macmillan, 1949).He had already been on the faculty at theUniversity of Rome; now he returned to the acade-mic world. In 1951, he joined the BrooklynPolytechnic Institute, where he built up an aero-dynamics research laboratory. Soon he was con-sulting for major companies, drawing in so muchwork that his graduate students could not handlethe load. Ferri responded by setting up his owncompany, General Applied Science Labs (GASL).With financial backing from the Rockefeller family,GASL grew into an important center for researchin high-speed flight.2

Ferri was a formidable man. A former student,Robert Sanator, recalls that “you had to reallywant to be in that course, to learn from him. Hewas very fast. His mind was constantly moving,redefining the problem, and you had to be fast tokeep up with him.” Another ex-student—John

Erdos, now the president of GASL—adds that hewas “somewhat intimidating, until you got to knowhim. From the depth of his technical knowledge, hecould make you feel you knew nothing at all. If youhad been a student of his and later worked for him,you could never separate the professor-studentrelationship from your normal working relation-ship.” He always was Dr. Ferri to his old students,never Tony, even when they rose to become com-pany officials.

During the 1950s, Ferri’s work as a consultantbrought him into a close association with Alexan-der Kartveli, chief engineer at Republic Aviation.Kartveli was one of the nation’s leaders in aircraftdesign, having crafted the wartime P–47 fighter aswell as the F–84, one of the Air Force’s first jetfighters. When Kartveli began working with Ferri,his focus of attention was the proposed XF–103interceptor. It was designed to use a ramjet forpropulsion and to reach speeds of 2,500 mph(Mach 3.7) and altitudes of 75,000 feet.3

Louis Nucci, a longtime colleague of Ferri,recalls that Ferri and Kartveli “made good sparks.They were both Europeans and learned men; theyliked opera and history. They were friends.” Theycomplemented each other professionally, Kartvelistudying designs for new airplanes, Ferri empha-sizing the details of difficult problems in aerody-namics and propulsion. As they worked togetheron the XF–103 they fed off each other, each stimu-lating the other to think bolder thoughts. Amongthe boldest was a belief that Ferri first put forthand that Kartveli then supported with moredetailed studies: that there was no natural limit toaircraft speeds or performance.4

This meant that Air Force jets might fly withunrestricted speed and altitude to outrun or out-climb any foe. Better yet, it could bring the adventof spaceplanes, flying from a runway to orbit andoffering vast improvements over the use of rockets.Rockets carried liquid oxygen in a tank, whichadded weight. Yet all the while there was oxygenin the atmosphere, free for the taking. If it could betapped and used in advanced jet engines, thenspace flight might be accomplished with vehiclesresembling a supersonic airliner.5

The key was to be a new type of engine, anadvanced type of ramjet. Ramjets were the sim-plest engines in use, amounting to carefully-shaped ducts with fuel injectors. They rammedinto the air at high speed, compressing it; the airheated up from the burning fuel and expanded outthe back to give thrusts. This gave plausibility tothe fantastic speed of the proposed XF–103.Advanced ramjets were already in flight, powering


Thomas A. Heppenheimer is an author and aerospace historian. His recent books includeCountdown: A History of the Space Program (Wiley, 1997) and The Space Shuttle Decision (NASASP-4221, 1999). Dr. Heppenheimer is currently writing a history of hypersonics for NASA LangleyResearch Center. He received a PhD in aerospace engineering from the University of Michigan in1972, and is an Associate Fellow of the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics. His arti-cle, “The Navaho Program and the Main Line of American Liquid Rocketry,” appeared in theSummer 1997 [Vol. 44, No. 2] issue of Air Power History.

(Overleaf) The X–15, with adummy hypersonic engineon the lower fin. With Capt.William “Pete” Knight astest pilot, this flight set aspeed record of 4,250 mph(Mach 6.7) in 1967. (Photocourtesy of Boeing.)

FERRI, INSEPTEMBER1944, QUICKLYESTABLISHEDHIMSELF ASA LEADER INTHE INFANTFIELD OFSUPERSONICRESEARCH

ALEXANDERKARTVELI,CHIEF ENGINEER AT REPUBLICAVIATIONWAS ONE OFTHE NATION’SLEADERS INAIRCRAFTDESIGN

FERRI ANDKARTVELIMADE GOODSPARKS

the experimental X–7, an unmanned missile. Itreached 2,881 mph (Mach 4.31), setting a speedrecord for jet planes that stands to this day.6

To Ferri and Kartveli, however, even the ramjetwas not fast enough. The airflow had to slow downwithin its interior, dropping below the speed ofsound, to burn its fuel. As the air slowed down itheated up—and when the internal flow became toohot, it could not gain additional energy by burningfuel, for combustion no longer was feasible. Above4,000 mph, this internal heating set a speed limitfor ramjets. By contrast, it took 18,000 mph to getto orbit.

There was a way around this. Just as a slowerinternal airflow was hotter, so a faster flow wouldbe cooler. Such a flow would be supersonic; byburning fuel within it, a ramjet might reach farhigher speeds. Ferri, thus, proposed to fly to orbitby burning fuel in a supersonic internal airflowwithin a ramjet.7

This approach raised a host of difficult technicalissues, that Ferri did not solve. But, he assertedthat it was possible to address them, giving exam-ples of approaches that looked promising. Hepointed out the powerful advantages that suchengines would offer, attending international con-ferences and bringing these ideas to a wider tech-nical audience. His strong professional reputationensured that he would be taken seriously. He wenton to conduct experiments at GASL, seeking toprove his claims. His efforts helped to turn suchengines from an idea to an invention, that mightbe developed and made practical. In turn, his stud-ies gave strong encouragement to other propulsionspecialists.8

Near Los Angeles, the firm of Marquardt wasstrongly involved in ramjets, building test versionsthat were flying on the X–7. As early as 1957,when the launch of Sputnik brought urgentappeals for new rockets that could match thisachievement, some people at Marquardt alreadywere looking beyond rockets as they made calcula-tions on ramjet-powered boosters with supersonicinternal airflow. “We were claiming back in thosedays that we could get the cost down to a hundreddollars per pound by using airbreathers,” recallsArt Thomas, who directed this work. “We wereextremely excited and optimistic, that we werereally on the leading edge of something that wasgoing to be big.”

Within a Navy research center, the AppliedPhysics Laboratory of Johns Hopkins University, asmall group led by William Avery was also makingcalculations. They raised eyebrows, and interest,by asserting that a ramjet-powered craft of a typethey specified could produce useful thrust evenbeyond orbital velocity. One of Avery’s analysts,Fred Billig, spent weeks at his desk with a Fridenadding machine, as he struggled with his equa-tions in that pre-computer era.

Billig soon gave the new engine a name. “Weneed a snappy name,” said Avery, his boss. Billigsat down with a set of lettered tiles and came upwith SCRAM—Supersonic Combustion Ramjet—adesignation that reflected its reliance on burningfuel in a supersonic airflow. At Marquardt, otherpeople picked up this name and modified it intoscramjet.”9

Still another man was stirring the pot: WeldonWorth, technical director of the Aero Propulsion


The promise of the scram-jet. Calculations indicatedthat a hydrogen-fueledscramjet could operate wellabove Mach 6, while vastlyoutperforming a rocket.(Image courtesy of WilliamEscher.)

TO FERRIANDKARTVELI,HOWEVER,EVEN THERAMJET WASNOT FASTENOUGH

BILLIG SOONGAVE THENEW ENGINEA NAME ...SCRAM—SUPERSONICCOMBUSTIONRAMJET—ADESIGNATIONTHATREFLECTEDITS RELIANCEON BURNINGFUEL IN ASUPERSONICAIRFLOW

Laboratory at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base.He had sponsored Air Force work on ramjets afterthe war and he had launched the beginnings of AirForce studies of hypersonic propulsion as early as1957. Hypersonic flight represented the next stepbeyond the supersonic; it called for flight beyondMach 5, in a realm where problems due to aerody-namic heating stood in the forefront. In 1959,Worth invited specialists to give papers on hyper-sonic propulsion at the “Second USAF Symposiumon Advanced Propulsion Concepts,” held in Boston.This amounted to one of the first conferences inthis new field.10

Beginning about 1960, he built up a program ofbasic research called Aerospaceplane. It did notaim at anything so specific as a real airplane thatcould fly to orbit. Rather, it conducted design stud-ies and supported basic research in advancedpropulsion, seeking to build a base for the develop-ment of such aircraft in the distant future.Marquardt and GASL were heavily involved, as

were General Dynamics, Republic, North Ameri-can, Lockheed, and Douglas Aircraft.

Paper airplanes quickly emerged. Someadvanced thinkers called for inflight refueling atMach 6, with the spaceplanes flying close forma-tion while avoiding each others’ shock waves. Suchdesigns took shape at Douglas and at NorthAmerican, with the Douglas spaceplane mountinga deployable boom to a wingtip.11

At Republic, Kartveli’s group presented a con-cept that was virtually all scramjet. The enginewrapped around the entire vehicle, which hadauxiliary turbojets to provide an initial boost.Robert Sanator, one of Kartveli’s colleagues,recalls the excitement of the work: “This one hadeverything. There wasn’t a single thing in it thatwas off-the-shelf. Whatever problem there was inaerospace—propulsion, materials, cooling, aero-dynamics—Aerospaceplane had it. It was a life-time work and it had it all. I naturally jumpedright in.”


Experimental scramjettested at Marquardt in themid-1960s. (Photo courtesyof Marquardt.)

Aerospaceplane concept ofthe 1960s, studied atRepublic Aviation. (Photocourtesy of RobertSanator.)

BEGINNINGABOUT 1960,HE BUILT UPA PROGRAMOF BASICRESEARCHCALLEDAEROSPACE-PLANE

WHATEVERPROBLEMTHERE WASIN AERO-SPACE ...AEROSPACEPLANE HADIT. IT WAS ALIFETIMEWORK AND ITHAD IT ALL

Marquardt collaborated closely with GASL,merging for a time into a single company withFerri as vice-president. Art Thomas continued todirect the effort. As he recalls, “Ferri would swingby and would give me and my staff about fourtimes more work than we could accomplish. I com-plained about this to one of Ferri’s colleagues, whoreplied, ‘He knows that; he only expects you toaccomplish one-fourth of what he gives you. Yourproblem is to figure out which one-fourth does hewant.”’

The concepts proved too hot to keep underwraps. A steady stream of disclosures brought con-tinuing coverage in Aviation Week. At the LosAngeles Times, the aerospace editor Marvin Milesdeveloped his own sources, which led to bannerheadlines: “Lockheed Working on Plane Able to GoInto Orbit Alone”; “Huge Booster Not Needed byAir Force Space Plane.”12

Amid the hype about flight to orbit, substantivepropulsion research took place at introductory lev-els. A key area of activity focused on LACE, LiquidAir Cycle Engine, that was to power the spaceplaneconcepts of Lockheed and General Dynamics. TheLACE concept was developed at Marquardt; theindependent inventor Randall Rae held the basicpatents, though Marquardt’s Charles Lindley alsoclaimed to have been the inventor.

LACE was an airbreathing rocket, using airinstead of tanked liquid oxygen. The problem wasto get the air into the thrust chamber, which hadan internal pressure far too high for any combina-tion of inlet compression and turbocompression, asin a jet engine. Rocket engines overcame this byusing liquid propellants, with compact turbop-umps readily achieving the necessary high pres-sures. LACE sought to do this as well, using liquidhydrogen in a heat exchanger to liquefy incomingair. This liquid air then could be pumped to rocketpressures, like any other propellant.

In tests at Saugus, California, during 1960 and1961, Marquardt engineers successfully tested aLACE installation that used heat exchangers builtby the Garrett Corp. A film of these tests—shown

at a conference of the Institute of the AeronauticalSciences in 1961 and now a collector’s item—shows liquid air coming down in a torrent, asobserved through a porthole. In a succession oftests, Marquardt operated small rocket motorswith thrust up to 275 pounds for durations of morethan five minutes. Specific impulse, a key measureof performance, was in the range of 650 to 900 sec-onds. The latter value was more than twice that ofthe best conventional rocket engine of the day, thehydrogen-fueled RL-10 of Pratt & Whitney.13

The overall Aerospaceplane effort died duringFiscal Year 1964. In October 1963, the Air ForceScientific Advisory Board noted the program’s“erratic history,” stating that “today’s state-of-the-art is inadequate to support any real hardwaredevelopment, and the cost of any such undertakingwill be extremely large.” Two months later,Defense Secretary Robert S. McNamara cancelledthe manned Dyna-Soar program, for whichAerospaceplane had been widely viewed as a fol-low-on. In the wake of this cancellation, Congressand the Air Force declined to give further supportto Aerospaceplane.14

A separate effort, the Incremental Scramjet,continued for a time. It was a proposed flightengine that grew out of work at GASL, which hadbuilt small scramjets and tested them in wind tun-nels. GASL, led by Ferri, undertook to develop it.Marquardt was to add equipment for fuel supplyand control. Lockheed set out to build a smallhypersonic aircraft that would carry four suchengines. It was to ride atop a solid-fueled Castorrocket, that would boost it to a speed of 6,000 feetper second (ft/sec). Then, the scramjets were tokick in, adding an extra 600 ft/sec.

Lockheed built this small aircraft at its RyeCanyon facility, then flew it in a successful testflight—but without the scramjets. These engineswere still on the lab bench at GASL, where thebuilders were shooting for a thrust of 644 pounds.They got 517, 80 percent of what they wanted, butthey failed to deliver completed engines toMarquardt before the funds finally ran out. Yearslater, Art Thomas still was miffed at GASL forthis.15

Meanwhile, NASA pursued its own effort,which grew out of a proposal from North AmericanAviation to modify the X–15 for use with experi-mental hypersonic engines. This proposal won sup-port at NASA’s Flight Research Center, which waspart of Edwards AFB, and at NASA’s LangleyResearch Center, which had nurtured the X–15during its formative days. Kennedy Rubert, aLangley manager, arranged to have the first testengine designed as a scramjet. The program thatresulted, the Hypersonic Research Engine (HRE),got under way during 1964.16

The chief designer of the HRE was Tony duPont,a member of the famous duPont family in thechemical industry. He was a casual and easygoingman who had already shown a keen eye for thetechnologies of the future. As a student, as early as1954, he had applied for a patent on a wing made


NASA’s HypersonicResearch Engine in cut-away. It was to boost itsperformance above Mach 6by capturing all the airflowthat passed through itsoblique bow shock. (Imagecourtesy of John Becker.)

AMID THEHYPE ABOUTFLIGHT TOORBIT, SUBSTANTIVEPROPULSIONRESEARCHTOOK PLACEAT INTRODUC-TORY LEVELS

of composite materials. He flew as a copilot withPan American; he managed studies of Aero-spaceplane at Douglas Aircraft. However, Douglaswas building jet airliners and had little interest inadvanced technology. As he recalls, “They boot-legged the DC–9 mockup against my charge num-ber!”

He wanted to work on hardware, not merely onpaper studies. He found his chance when CliffordGarrett of Garrett AiResearch, who had a stronginterest in scramjets, recruited duPont to directhis own company’s efforts. Neither of these menhad ever built such an engine, and in seeking theHRE contract, they competed with three majorpropulsion firms: Marquardt, General Electric,and Pratt & Whitney. But duPont pulled it off, win-ning the selection.

He did it in part by avoiding some of his com-petitors’ mistakes. Marquardt lost points byproposing to use some of Ferri’s technical concepts.These were unfamiliar to NASA; they promised anexcessively complex engine, and Marquardt’s pro-posal looked like a rehash of what that companyalready had been doing for the Air Force. GeneralElectric (GE) lost in part because it submitted abudget and schedule that, in effect, warned of over-runs ahead—a candor for which GE was judged“unresponsive.” By contrast, duPont’s designpromised simplicity. He also won by being fast onhis feet.

At that time, the premier hypersonic ground-test facility was the Navy’s Ordnance AerophysicsLaboratory, in Daingerfield, Texas. It stood close tothe Lone Star Steel Company, which had a largeair-separation plant to provide oxygen for its steel-making. Often its air compressors were not neededfor this purpose, and the Navy took advantage byusing those compressors to run this wind tunnelwith a continuous hypersonic flow. By contrast,most other high-speed wind tunnels used com-pressed air from a tank, for run times of less thana minute. But the Daingerfield facility could runfor hours if necessary. It accommodated testengines up to two feet across, with these enginesburning fuel in flow velocities up to Mach 5.

NASA’s managers offered an opportunity to theHRE competitors. They could spend a month inDaingerfield testing hardware—if they could buildscramjet components on short notice. DuPontresponded by constructing a scale model of an

HRE combustor, in sixty days. This itself wasimportant because it suggested that the full-scalecombustor would be easy to build. His colleaguestook this model to Texas, where they obtained overfive hours of test data. This was unprecedented; asubsequent NASA effort, using tank-fed wind tun-nels, proceeded for nearly a decade and accumu-lated only about three hours of total run time.NASA’s source selection board was impressed bothby duPont’s initiative and by his massive quantityof data, and made its decision accordingly.17

This contract award came in mid-1966. By then,though, the scramjet was in serious trouble. TheVietnam War was escalating, squeezing funds forresearch. There was no clear need for an airplanethat could fly to orbit; rockets would do the job foras far into the future as anyone could see. EugeneFubini, the Pentagon’s director of research, hadalready cancelled Aerospaceplane. Now McNamaradecided that the Air Force would not continue tosupport research with the X–15.

That left the X–15 entirely in NASA’s hands.This agency, with budget problems of its own,responded by sharply cutting back its plannedschedule of flights. With this, the HRE effort had tochange direction as well. Rather than focus on aflying test engine, this program shifted emphasistoward versions that would undergo test only inwind tunnels.18

Still there was the opportunity to do one morething: to build a dummy HRE engine, with theproper size and shape but without fuel burning,and to mount it to the X–15 for a few of its fastestflights. Maj. William “Pete” Knight was the pilot onthe mission that set the speed record of 4,520 mph(Mach 6.7). “It was a very exhilarating flight,” herecalls. “T didn’t have much time to look out thewindow; the maximum altitude was 100,000 feet.The view from the altitude flights—250,000,300,000 feet—was much more impressive. But thiswas the culmination of a test pilot’s profession, interms of ‘this is the ultimate and I am one who hasbeen selected to do this.”’

Knight was flying full tilt into unexploredrealms, and he encountered an unusual form ofaerodynamic heating. Superhot air burnedthrough the lower fin that was supporting thedummy scramjet. “We burned the engine off,” hecontinues. “I was on my way back to Edwards AirForce Base; my concern was to get the airplane


Test flight of the X–15, witha dummy HypersonicResearch Engine on thelower fin. (Photo courtesyof Boeing.)

CLIFFORDGARRETT OFGARRETTAIRESEARCH,WHO HAD ASTRONGINTEREST INSCRAMJETS,RECRUITEDDUPONT

THE PREMIERHYPERSONICGROUND-TEST FACILITYWAS THENAVY’SORDNANCEAERO-PHYSICSLABORA-TORY, INDAINGER-FIELD, TEXAS

back in one piece. I didn’t know that I had lost theengine at all.”

It was symbolic of the rapidly diminishing for-tunes of the leaders who had pursued the scramjetin its time of promise: Ferri, Billig, Thomas, andduPont. They had hoped to be pioneers, inventorswho could open a new road into space. They all haddedicated their professional lives to this. But withthe demise of Aerospaceplane and the redirectionof the HRE into ground test, these visionariesfaced redirections of their own. They had to findother things to do, even as they tried to keep alivetheir vision of flight without limits.

Antonio Ferri was the first to face this. Aero-spaceplane had been GASL’s mainstay; when thatwas lost, he left the firm. New York Universityrecruited him, offering him an endowed professor-ship. He proceeded to build up a new supersonic-research lab, this one in the Bronx. But his newfacilities were far less extensive than those he hadused at GASL, and his opportunities were corre-spondingly reduced. Nucci declares that this “was

like having only half a body. Ferri’s love was to doexperiments.”19

For Marquardt’s Art Thomas it was worse. “Iwas chief engineer and assistant general manager,”he recalls. “I got laid off. We laid off two-thirds ofour people in one day.” No one else had a scramjetgroup that he could join, but he hoped for the next-best thing: conventional ramjets, powering high-speed missiles. “I went all over the country,” he con-tinues. “Everything had collapsed.” Solid-fuel rock-ets had taken their place. He had to settle for a jobworking with turbojets, at McDonnell Douglas inSt. Louis.

Fred Billig was able to go forward, but he hadless to start with. His research group had neverbeen a major participant in either the Aerospace-plane or HRE. The Navy kept him going; his spon-sors thought that someday they might wantscramjet-powered missiles, so they kept himaround. At times he had only enough money tosupport a handful of people in his group, but hekept plugging ahead.20

Tony duPont also did not give up. He proceededto invent a new type of scramjet, one that mighttake off from the ground under its own power.Takeoff was a real problem; the scramjet needed aboost to Mach 3 before it could begin to give thrust.This demanded auxiliary propulsion. For theAerospaceplane this had taken the form of turbo-jets, but these were heavy and represented deadweight when not in use.

DuPont proposed to provide this initial boost bybuilding his engine as an “ejector scramjet.” Theejector was a small rocket thrust chamber setwithin the flow path of the main engine, with itsplume entraining additional airflow, to burn morefuel and increase the thrust. Ejector scramjetswere not new; they had been studied at Marquardtduring the mid-1960s. However, there are severalways to build such an engine, and duPont believedthat his approach offered superior performance.He patented his concept and set up his own con-sulting firm, hoping to win support from NASA orthe Air Force.21

He went forward with what came to hand. “Wedid whatever we could,” he recalls. “Some years Icould bring in consulting income.” At every turn,he promoted his scramjet that could take off fromthe ground. NASA’s John Becker, a longtime leaderin hypersonics, wrote that duPont “aggressivelypeddled this proposal throughout NASA, to thecongressional staffs, to the Nixon White Housestaff, and elsewhere. He was a skillful and brilliantsalesman and manipulator of arguments.”22

He did not get very far. By the late 1970s he wasreduced to building a small model of his engine,using wood and plexiglas. He tested it in a friend’sbackyard, using an air compressor that he boughtat Sears. By then he was becoming well known atthe Pentagon’s Defense Advanced Research Pro-jects Agency (DARPA), where he hoped to winfunding. He wanted to build a larger version of thisbackyard engine and to test it at GASL, but eventhis seemed out of reach.23


Cutaway view of the air-frame-integrated scramjetconcept of NASA-Langley.(Image courtesy of GarrettAiResearch.)

Concept of the airframe-integrated scramjet. Theaircraft forebody was toserve as part of the inlet.The afterbody, curvingupward, was to function asa nozzle. (Image courtesyof NASA.)

THE VIETNAMWAR WASESCALATING,SQUEEZINGFUNDS FORRESEARCH

Did these people ever doubt the value of theirwork? “Never,” says Billig. Nucci gives the sameanswer for Ferri: “Never. He always had faith.”These people had full confidence in the scramjet,but they had to overcome the doubts of others andfind backers who would give them new funding.From time to time a small opportunity appeared.Then, as Billig recalls, “we were highly competi-tive. Who was going to get the last bits of money?As money got tighter, competition got stronger. Ihope it was a friendly competition, but each of usthought he could do the job best.”

Amid this dark night of hypersonic research,one small candle still flickered. This was theHypersonic Propulsion Branch at NASA-Langley,which continued to conduct wind-tunnel experi-ments with the HRE. In the early 1970s even thiswork faded, but the Langley group did not give upthe scramjet. By then these researchers, led byJohn R. Henry, were busy with a new effort, smallin size but highly significant. Indeed, it amountedto reinventing this engine.

The HRE had featured podded designs, whichfollowed experience with podded ramjets on the Bo-marc antiaircraft missile. But at hypersonic speeds,such pods produced excessive drag and were hard tocool. The HRE had emphasized high values for spe-cific impulse and thrust coefficient—which itachieved by deleting any requirement for it to pro-duce more thrust than drag. Indeed, its net thrustproved to be close to zero, which led some NASA offi-cials to withdraw support for the HRE.

The new Langley program broke with poddedconfigurations by introducing an airframe-inte-grated scramjet. The aircraft forebody was to serveas part of the inlet, with the bow shock providinginitial compression of the airflow. To the rear of theengines, an upward-flaring fuselage was to act asa nozzle, allowing the exhaust to expand and toadd to the thrust. Henry, along with his successor

Robert A. Jones, arranged to build experimentalengines and to test them in wind tunnels at speedsas high as Mach 7. These engines were small, butthey were well suited for research.24

This new program brought Ferri back into thescramjet world. His GASL had merged with Mar-quardt, but a corporate reshuffle brought thereturn of GASL to its original owners, includingFerri, who came back in 1972 as its president.GASL had stayed alive doing whatever came tohand: pollution studies, coal-combustion studies,high-speed trains, low-drag wings. But Ferri wan-ted to lead the firm back into scramjets. He suc-ceeded in winning the NASA contract to designand fabricate the small new scramjets of Langley.It was not much, not after the high hopes of theAerospaceplane. But, at least Ferri and his long-time colleagues were once again doing the workthey loved. Ferri, nevertheless, did not enjoy it forlong. He died late in 1975, struck down by a heartattack at age sixty-three.25

Ferri, Billig, duPont, and Thomas had beenkeepers of the flame, nurturing and holding to theidea of the scramjet across a number of lean years.But after 1980, circumstances changed dramati-cally. Their flame blazed anew and became a pow-erful fire, as scramjets came again to the forefront.

An important reason lay in Air Force dissatis-faction with the space shuttle. It made its firstflight in April 1981, but it was a NASA launchvehicle, which meant that the Air Force did notcontrol it. Lt. Gen. Lawrence Skantze, commanderof the Air Force’s Aeronautical Systems Division atWright-Patterson AFB, Ohio, responded with stud-ies of potential replacements. These were rocket-powered craft known as Trans-Atmospheric Vehi-cles TAVs). The results did not please him, for theyshowed no easy way to improve on the shuttle.Later, when presented with the concept of thescramjet, he embraced it with open arms.26

The director of DARPA, Robert Cooper, also wasinterested in new ideas. He wanted to build exper-imental aircraft. One such effort was already underway: the X–29, with a highly innovative array ofwing designs, control systems, and advanced mate-rials. Cooper was open to suggestions regardingother such projects.27

In addition, the early 1980s were years ofPresident Reagan’s defense buildup. The Pentagonhad plenty of money, and was receptive to new pro-posals. Reagan himself became a strong booster ofspace projects. He showed this by taking the leadin launching the space-based Strategic DefenseInitiative. He also supported NASA’s plan for aspace station.28

The technical scene offered new opportunitiesas well. Scramjets had faced a serious obstacle indevelopmental testing, for whereas turbojets androckets could undergo static test in simple groundfacilities, scramjets demanded test in wind tun-nels. This brought difficulties, for even the largesthigh-speed tunnels, as at Daingerfield, generallycould accommodate only subscale models.

But the rise of supercomputers, running


Airframe-integrated scram-jet in a wind tunnel.Predicted test results werecalculated to adjust forlack of a fuselage forebodyand afterbody, whichwould have been too largeto include. (Photo courtesyof NASA.)

FERRI,BILLIG,DUPONT, ANDTHOMAS HADBEEN KEEPERS OFTHE FLAME,NURTURINGAND HOLDING TOTHE IDEA OFTHE SCRAMJETACROSS ANUMBER OFLEAN YEARS.

advanced programs for aerodynamic simulation,now offered a way out. Existing wind tunnelsmight test and validate the correctness of these“flow codes”—and these programs, running on thenew computers, could calculate solutions thatwould model the flows within an engine, to assess

the merits of a scramjet design. NASA’s AmesResearch Center was active in this area and wasbuilding up a specialized lab, the NumericalAerodynamic Simulator, that was preparing towork with Cray X-MP supercomputers.29

“Certainly the inlet flow [of a scramjet] is wellwithin today’s state of the art,” Victor Peterson,director of this Ames effort, told this writer in1983, “In the combustion section, you have to intro-duce equations to treat the chemical combustion.This expands the magnitude of the problem.”However, while flow in the combustion chamberwould still require test, such flows would be super-sonic rather than hypersonic. The pertinent windtunnels were larger and might accommodate com-bustors of full size. In addition, flow in nozzlescould also be calculated. “Patching together solu-tions is certainly feasible,” Peterson continued. “Docomputations where you can, do experiments to fillin where you can’t do the computations, then patchthe two together.”

Tests of the new Langley scramjets also showedpromise. There had been concern that at Mach 4, ascramjet would show “unstarts,” with flow in theinlet breaking down. Experimental results putsuch issues to rest. At Mach 7, the limit achievablewith the available facilities, it proved possible tomix and burn hydrogen fuel in a duct of moderatelength, without having the flame blow out. Thesefindings not only were important in themselves;they showed that it was possible to design andbuild scramjets that would perform as specified.30

DARPA had new work of its own, having sup-ported the development of new methods in powdermetallurgy known as “rapid solidification.” PhilParrish, who had managed this work, declared in1986 that “at DARPA we now view rapid solidifi-cation as an established technology, along withingot casting or drop forging.” Other research wasproducing thin structures of carbon-carbon com-posite, protected by coatings against oxidation.Such composites were very light in weight andshowed promise of withstanding temperatures ashigh as 3,500 Fahrenheit.31

In reviving the scramjet, General Skantze’sstudies proved critical, as he continued to seek anext-generation shuttle. He was particularly inter-ested in an airbreathing launch vehicle, but nosuitable engines existed, even on paper. DuPontthought that his engine might help, and learnedthat Tony Tether was the DARPA man who wasattending the pertinent meetings. DuPont metseveral times with Tether, who finally decided tosend him up to talk with the boss, Robert Cooper.Cooper listened to duPont and then asked one ofhis best aerodynamicists, Robert Williams, tocheck him out.

Williams was a longtime Navy expert in heli-copters. He also had a wide range of interests, par-ticularly in high-speed flight. He was interested inthe Outer Air Battle missile, a proposed tacticalweapon that might use a scramjet. This hadbrought him into discussions with Billig, who hadeducated him. As a result, Williams became known


(Below) Computationalfluid dynamics advancedstrongly across threedecades. Solid dots indi-cate increasing perfor-mance of central proces-sors. Hollow dots andsquares show that newmathematical methodsbrought similarly dramaticadvances in the perfor-mance of algorithms.(Image courtesy of VictorPeterson, NASA-Ames.)

Trans-Atmospheric Vehicleconcepts of 1984. (Imagecourtesy of Richard P.Hallion.)

within DARPA as the man to talk to if anyone wasinterested in scramjets.

He had his own hopes for airbreathing flight toorbit, but one he knew could tell him of an enginethat could do it. William Escher, a Marquardt manwho had nurtured ideas similar to duPont’s, recallsa lengthy phone conversation in which he wasunable to satisfy Williams’s hopes—a phone call inwhich Williams had become so engrossed that hemissed an airline connection. Williams now raisedthis issue with duPont.

He telephoned duPont and said, “I’ve got a veryambitious problem for you. If you think the air-plane can do this, perhaps we can promote a pro-gram. Cooper has asked me to check you out.” “Hegave me three days,” duPont recalls. “I stayed upall night; I was more and more intrigued with this.Finally, around 7:30 a.m., I called him back: “Okay,Bob, it’s not impossible. Now what?”

DuPont had spent that night making calcula-tions; Williams responded by giving him $30,000 toprepare a report. Soon Williams was talking withArt Thomas: “How’d you like to work on hydrogen-powered scramjets?” “Hydrogen!” Thomas replied.“You’ve got to be out of your mind! There’s no appli-cation!” “Well, I’m not so sure,” Williams answered.“I have a report....” It was duPont’s. This started asnowballing process, for duPont’s conclusions wereencouraging enough to permit Williams to go to hismanagement and break loose more funding, tosponsor more research.32

Late in 1983, Cooper convened a classified mee-ting in La Jolla, near San Diego, with a number ofspecialists spending several days discussing air-breathing flight to orbit. “I went into that meetingwith a high degree of skepticism,” Cooper recalls.

However, the technical presentations brought himaround: “For each major problem, there were threeor four plausible ways to deal with it. That’s extra-ordinary. Usually, it’s—’Well, we don’t knowexactly how we’ll do it, but we’ll do it.’ Or, ‘We havea way to do it, which may work.’ It was really a sur-prise to me; I couldn’t pick any obvious holes inwhat they had done. I could find no reason whythey couldn’t go forward.”

This brought an expanded program of studiesand analyses during 1984, a $5.5-million effortknown as Copper Canyon. Its conclusions ap-peared promising, and Cooper elected to seek fun-ding for a full-scale program. Williams spentmuch of 1985 giving briefings to senior federalofficials, working to win their support. One of themost important of these meetings came in July1985. Cooper accompanied Williams as they gavea presentation to General Skantze, who since1982 had headed the Air Force SystemsCommand (AFSC).33

They gave their talk within a darkened office,projecting viewgraphs on a pull-down screen. AsCooper recalls, “He took one look at our conceptand said, ‘Yeah, that’s what I meant. I inventedthat idea.”’ He certainly had not invented thescramjet, but he had come to understand that hewanted something like it—and here it was. “Hisenthusiasm came from the fact that this was all hehad anticipated,” Cooper continues. “He felt as ifhe owned it.” His support was vital, for he headedthe AFSC.

Skantze wanted more than viewgraphs; hewanted to see duPont’s engine on a test stand.Funds from Copper Canyon had allowed duPont tobuild a small version that was under test at GASL,


Conventional concept ofboost propulsion relied ona turbojet, which wouldrepresent dead weightabove 2000 mph. (Photocourtesy of NASA.)

WILLIAMSSPENT MUCHOF 1985 GIV-ING BRIEF-INGS TOSENIOR FEDERALOFFICIALS

SKANTZEWANTEDMORE THANVIEW-GRAPHS; HEWANTED TOSEEDUPONT’SENGINE ON ATEST STAND

and Skantze wanted to go there and watch. “Icalled in my motley crew of technologists,” saysWilliams. “We had a countdown for our engine run.A young technician got a little too excited and for-got to throw the igniter switch. Hydrogen pouredinto the engine. Then, realizing his mistake a littletoo late, he threw the igniter switch into a veryhydrogen-rich mixture inside the engine. Therewas a very strong detonation. The thrust gaugewent slamming off scale, amid a tremendous roarfrom the engine. I jumped about two feet in the air.The general remarked, ‘This engine sure doesdevelop thrust, doesn’t it!”’

With this, Williams adds, “the Air Force SystemsCommand began to move with the speed of a space-plane. In literally a week and a half, the entire AirForce senior command was briefed.” Later thatyear the Secretary of Defense, Casper Weinberger,granted a briefing. Members of Weinberger’s staffwere there, along with senior people from NASAand the military services. Williams brought a blue-and-white model of a spaceplane, with a needlenose and wings that resembled fins on a dart.

Weinberger had just returned from a meetingin Brussels, and still was weary from jet lag.Williams recalls that as he started the presenta-tion, “I was appalled to see that the Secretary wasvery tired. I grabbed the spaceplane model andslid it across the table, almost impaling him andsomewhat alarming his staff.” Williams certainlyhad no thoughts of harming Weinberger, however:“I was determined that he get a good look at themodel.”

“We finished our briefing,” Williams continues.“There was silence in the room. The Secretarysaid, ‘Interesting,’ and turned to his staff. Ofcourse, all the groundwork had been laid. All ofthe people there had been briefed, and we could gofor a yes-or-no decision. We had essentially totalunanimity around the table, and he decided thatthe program would proceed as a major DefenseDepartment initiative. With this, we movedimmediately to issue requests for proposal toindustry.”

Weinberger had the clout to make this commit-ment, for there was support at the White House aswell. Williams had met with Reagan’s science advi-sor, George Keyworth, who had responded withenthusiasm. When Reagan prepared his State ofthe Union message, which he delivered early in1986, Keyworth was among the presidentialappointees who contributed to it. In this address,Reagan declared that he personally supported thisnew program, which took the name of NationalAerospace Plane (NASP).34

It would be pleasant to state that with thisbroad base of endorsement, NASP went aheadwith strong budgets and solid success. It did nosuch thing, for from “Day One,” it had rested onoptimism. DuPont was the chief optimist, winningstrong support from Williams. Indeed, the mainpoint of the Copper Canyon studies had been tocome up with concepts and results that would vin-dicate duPont’s conclusions. Williams was quite

firm on that point; he committed himself toduPont’s ideas, and established them as the base-line. When other contractors responded withdoubts, Williams replied that if people workedhard enough, they could achieve duPont’s goals.35

Billig disagreed. He knew a great deal aboutinlets, which were to play an essential role. Ascramjet inlet was to capture the onrushing hyper-sonic airflow, compress it while slowing it, andchannel it to the combustor that burned the fuel.Billig had been studying such inlets since his dayswith the Friden calculator, back in the 1950s, andhe insisted that duPont’s claims for inlet efficiencywere out of reach. For this and for similar sins,Williams froze him out of the program, eventhough Billig was among the nation’s most knowl-edgeable scramjet specialists.36

Some of the nation’s best designers avoidedNASP entirely. Ben Rich had succeeded Clarence“Kelly” Johnson as the head of Lockheed’s SkunkWorks, and had attended the 1983 conference inLa Jolla. Even so, six years later he still was say-ing, “I’ve never seen a scramjet producing netthrust.” Scott Crossfield, who had ridden to gloryas a test pilot and had flown the X–15, met withJohnson and told him that he was working onNASP. The following discussion ensued:

Johnson: Separate yourself from that damnthing.Crossfield: Kelly, you told me that about theX–15.Johnson: Yes, seems like I did. That turned outpretty well, didn’t it?Crossfield: I remember when you said, all itwould do is prove the bravery of the pilot.Johnson: Yes, I did say that, didn’t I? I rememberthat meeting.

Yet, while Johnson did not press his criticism withCrossfield, who was an old friend, he remainedunconvinced.

From the start, NASP emphasized the develop-ment of technology for a new experimental air-plane, the X–30, that was to fly to orbit. Thisreflected political reality; such an airplane coulddraw broad support, whereas a mere engine pro-ject could not. It also reflected the wishes ofGeneral Skantze, who had set his eyes on TAV.

During the mid-1980s, with duPont riding high,Cooper envisioned the X–30 at around 50,000pounds, the weight of a fighter plane. But studiesat major aerospace firms found that overall per-formance would fall far short of duPont’s hopes.The vehicle would need far more fuel, making itconsiderably heavier and more costly.

This point was critical, for NASP had won sup-port on the basis of duPont’s estimates. Itspromise did not lie in the hope of winning successsomeday, after everyone had retired. Instead,Cooper had drawn on the work of Copper Canyonand had touted the idea of a spaceplane that couldbe ready in as little as three years. As time passed


WE HADESSENTIALLYTOTAL UNANIMITYAROUND THETABLE, THEPROGRAMWOULD PROCEED ASA MAJORDEFENSEDEPARTMENTINITIATIVE

REAGANDECLAREDTHAT HE PERSONALLYSUPPORTEDTHIS NEWPROGRAM,WHICH TOOKTHE NAME OFNATIONALAEROSPACEPLANE(NASP)

NASP EMPHA-SIZED THEDEVELOP-MENT OFTECHNOLOGYFOR A NEWEXPERI-MENTAL AIRPLANE,THE X–30,THAT WAS TOFLY TO ORBIT

and as further work gave support to the skeptics,NASP lost favor and its budget came underattack.38

Late in 1987, Williams became convinced thathe needed someone with clout to stave off furthercuts in his funding. He worked his way up thechain of command, but found no one who wouldhelp him. The reason was that Air Force SecretaryEdward Aldridge had endorsed the cuts and antic-ipated further budget reductions as well. In des-peration, Williams wrote a letter to Howard Baker,the White House Chief of Staff.

The letter never reached Reagan. Baker sent itinstead to the Pentagon, where it went to the newdirector of DARPA, Robert Duncan. Duncan knewinsubordination when he saw it, and quicklydecided that Williams was to be fired from his postas NASP program manager. This suited the AirForce; it was paying most of the cost of NASP, butthe program had been in the hands of DARPA.Program management now passed to RobertBarthelemy, an Air Force man who had recentlybeen named to head the NASP program office atWright-Patterson AFB. Barthelemy did not likeduPont, whose influence swiftly faded.

The coming of the Bush administration, earlyin 1989, launched a round of cutbacks in thedefense budget. The leading champions of hyper-sonics—Cooper, Skantze, and Williams—nowwere gone from government or greatly reduced ininfluence. NASP, nevertheless, continued to limpalong. But as design studies proceeded, theweight, cost, and time for development of the X–30all rose sharply.

When Williams met with Weinberger and slidhis model down the table, late in 1985, that modelhad a slender shape. This reflected the expectationthat the X–30 would need only a modest fuel sup-ply. However, that configuration, designed byduPont, lacked such basic features as landing gear,orbital maneuvering rockets, and flight safetyequipment. It also had no margin for error; it wasto reach orbit with its last drops of liquid hydro-gen. Inevitably, the demands of a valid aircraftdesign added weight.

In addition, as estimates of its performance fell

off, designers responded by making it fat with fuel.The configuration of 1990 called for a weight of asmuch as 300,000 pounds. Soon this also appearedoptimistic. Program officials considered that toreach orbit, the X–30 would need a loaded weightof at least 550,000 pounds.

The program cost and schedule expandedaccordingly. Estimates of 1986 had declared thatthe X–30 would cost $3.1 billion, with flight testsbeginning in 1993. When that year arrived, thecost estimate was five times greater, $15 billion ormore, and Air Force officials were hoping for firstflight in 2004. This represented a slip of elevenyears from the 1986 plan, put forth only sevenyears earlier.

The X–30 never got off the drawing board; itsdesigners built nothing larger than a fuel tank.Like the HRE effort, NASP itself went no furtherthan to test experimental scramjets in wind tun-nels. Nor did it last long. It withered away amidfurther budget cuts, with participants delivering“last rites” early in 1995.40

But, “hope springs eternal,” and the scramjetstill may see its day. It is a remarkable fact thatdespite decades of research, no scramjet has actu-ally flown under NASA or Pentagon auspices. Butthat is about to change. A new NASA programcalled Hyper-X is about to achieve the first testflight of a working engine in an experimental air-craft, the X–43.

The flight-test program is quite limited, callingfor two flights at Mach 7 and one at Mach 10. Thevehicle is only twelve feet long and will ride aPegasus rocket to the test speed. The scramjetengine then is to burn for only around seven sec-onds. Yet there is reason why these tests are to beboth brief and few: The scramjet communityalready holds high confidence that such enginescan be built to work as planned.

This confidence stands as a legacy of NASP. Itstems from close agreement between data takenfrom wind tunnels, and computational simula-tions. This reflects the quality of good mathemat-ical models that capture the details of hypersonicflows. The power of these computer programs,which calculate those details, enables NASA to


Anthony duPont’s ejectorscramjet concept installeda small rocket within theengine duct, to producethrust for takeoff. (Imagecourtesy of GASL.)

DUNCANQUICKLYDECIDEDTHATWILLIAMSWAS TO BEFIRED FROMHIS POST ASNASP PROGRAMMANAGER

AS DESIGNSTUDIESPROCEEDED,THE WEIGHT,COST, ANDTIME FORDEVELOP-MENT OF THEX–30 ALLROSESHARPLY

THE X–30NEVER GOTOFF THEDRAWINGBOARD; ITSDESIGNERSBUILT NOTH-ING LARGERTHAN A FUELTANK

1. This paper draws extensively on personal interviewsconducted by the author between 1983 and 1989.Attributed quotes should be credited to these interviews,unless otherwise stated. Interviewees include: H. LeeBeach, Fred Billig, Robert Cooper, Scott Crossfield, TonyduPont, John Erdos, William Escher, George Keyworth,Col. William Knight, Ernest Mackley, Gen. Eric Nelson,Louis Nucci, Phil Parrish, Victor Peterson, Ben Rich,Robert Sanator, Art Thomas, and Robert Williams.2. Intvw, Louis Nucci. See also Antonio Ferri papers inBox 1002, Record Group 255, National Archives (NA),Philadelphia.3. Bill Gunston, Fighters of the Fifties (Osceola, Wisc:Specialty Press, 1981), pp. 184-85, 193-94.4. Intvws, Louis Nucci and Robert Sanator.5. Republic Aviation News, Sep. 9, 1960, pp. 1, 5.6. William H. Avery, “Twenty-Five Years of RamjetDevelopment,” Jet Propulsion, Nov. 1955, pp. 604-14; JayMiller, “The X-Planes, X-1 to X-29” (Marine on St. Croix,Minn.: Specialty Press, 1983), p. 72.7. “Here Comes the Flying Stovepipe.” Time, Nov. 26,1965, pp. 46, 51.8. Antonio Ferri, “Possible Directions of Future Researchin Air Breathing Engines,” in Combustion andPropulsion: Fourth AGARD Colloquium, April 4-8, 1960.New York: Pergamon Press, 1961, pp. 3-15. See alsoAntonio Ferri, “Review of Problems in Application ofSupersonic Combustion,” Lanchester Memorial Lecture,Journal of the Royal Aeronautical Society, Sep. 1964, pp.575-97; also Antonio Ferri, “Review of ScramjetPropulsion Technology,” Journal of Aircraft (AIAA), Jan.-Feb. 1968, pp. 3-10.9. Intvws, Art Thomas and Fred Billig.10.Richard P. Hallion, “The Hypersonic Revolution,” 3vols, Bolling AFB, D.C.: Air Force History and MuseumsProgram. Vol. 2, p. 751.11.Ibid., p. 949, T. A. Heppenheimer, “HypersonicTechnologies and the National Aerospace Plane.”Arlington, Va.: Pasha Publications, 1990, p. 15.12.Engineering drawings courtesy Louis Nucci; LosAngeles Times: Nov. 3, 1960, p. 3A; Jan. 15, 1961, p. 113.Aviation Week: Oct. 31, 1960, p. 26; May 8, 1961, p. 119;May 22, 1961, p. 14; June 19, 1961, pp. 54-62; Nov. 6, 1961,pp. 59-61. Film and other data courtesy William Escher.14.Hallion, “Hypersonic Revolution,” Vol. 2, pp. 951-52.15.“Scramjet Flight Test Program,” Van Nuys, Ca.:Marquardt, Sep. 1965; Hallion, “Hypersonic Revolution,”Vol. 2, pp. VI-xvii to VI-xx; data from Louis Nucci; Intvwwith Art Thomas.16.Hallion, “Hypersonic Revolution,” Vol. 2, pp. 756-65.17.Ibid., pp. 765-78; Intvws, Tony duPont.18.Hallion, “Hypersonic Revolution,” Vol. 2, pp. 778-96.19.Intvw, Louis Nucci.20.Intvw, Fred Billig.21.T.A. Heppenheimer, “Hypersonic Technologies and theNational Aerospace Plane,” pp. 166-69; U. S. Patent

3,690,102, Sep. 12, 1972; Intvws, Tony duPont.22.Hallion, “Hypersonic Revolution,” Vol. 2, p. 825.23.Intvws, Tony duPont.24.John V. Becker, “Prospects for Actively CooledHypersonic Transports.” Astronautics & Aeronautics,Aug. 1971, pp. 32-39; J. R. Henry and G. Y. Anderson,“Design Considerations for the Airframe-IntegratedScramjet,” NASA TM X-2895, Dec. 1973; Hallion,“Hypersonic Revolution, Vol. 2, pp. 765-70.25.Intvw, Louis Nucci.26.Intvw, Robert Cooper. See also Hallion, “HypersonicRevolution,” Vol. 2, pp. 1336-46; Vol. 3, pp. 20-22.27.Intvw, Robert Cooper. See also Miller, “X-Planes.” pp.17579.28.Statements by President Reagan: Mar. 23, 1983 andJan. 25, 1984.29.Intvw, Victor Peterson. See also Gina Bari Kolata,“Who Will Build the Next Supercomputer?” Science, Jan.16, 1981, pp. 268-69; Randolph A. Graves,“Computational Fluid Dynamics: The ComingRevolution.” Astronautics & Aeronautics, Mar. 1982, pp.20-28.30.Intvws, Ernest Mackley and H. Lee Beach. See alsoRobert A. Jones and Paul W. Huber, “Toward ScramjetAircraft.” Astronautics & Aeronautics, Feb. 1978, pp. 38-48.31.Intvw, Phil Parrish.32.Intvws, Robert Williams, Tony duPont, Art Thomas,and William Escher.33.Intvws, Robert Cooper and Robert Williams. See alsoHallion, “Hypersonic Revolution,” Vol. 2, pp. 1361-63; Vol.3, p. 29.34.Intvws, Robert Williams, Gen. Eric Nelson, andGeorge Keyworth. Statement by Pres. Reagan, Feb. 4,1986.35.Hallion, “Hypersonic Revolution,” Vol. 3, pp. 22-31.36.Intvws with Fred Billig.37.Intvw, Scott Crossfield. A reviewer of this paper notesthat when NASP began, Johnson was severely ill withAlzheimer’s and could not have spoken lucidly. Withinthis interview Crossfield was working from memory andmay have confused a discussion of NASP with one thatdealt with an earlier concept, such as TAV. Even so, thisanecdote would illustrate Johnson’s attitude toward ad-vanced post-shuttle programs in general.38.Hallion, “Hypersonic Revolution,” Vol. 3, pp. 3-4, 22,25-26, 30, 85; Astronautics & Aeronautics, Jun. 1984, p. 1.39.Intvw, Robert Williams; Hallion, “HypersonicRevolution”: Vol. 2, pp. 1364, 1379-80; Vol. 3, pp. 84-86,155-56.40.Hallion, “Hypersonic Revolution,,”Vol. 3, pp. 7, 29, 199,316; T. A. Heppenheimer, “Hypersonic Technologies.”Arlington, Va: Pasha Publications, 1993, pp. 19-23.41.“Dryden and the Hyper-X Program,” NASA Facts, FS-1998-12-040DFRC; Hallion, “Hypersonic Revolution,”Vol.2, pp. VI-xxviii, VI-xxix.


learn much from only a few flights of the X–43.Those flights are to supply experimental datathat will be compared with the computed results,and NASA’s researchers anticipate good agree-ment.41

The scramjet, and its promise of airbreathingflight to orbit, stands today as an unresolved issuefor the new century. Despite decades of research,even a successful X–43 will not demonstrate cred-ibly that anything like the X–30 can be built todayin an attractive form, inexpensive and modest in

size. Significantly, a decade of NASP-sponsoredwork in key areas—materials, computational fluiddynamics, and engine design—showed that aspeople learned more, the prospects for an X–30grew weaker rather than stronger.

The concept of the scramjet remains alive,ready to entice a new generation. However, theexperience of NASP suggests that even if the X–43meets its goals, it may be a long time before thescramjet truly sees its day—if that day everarrives. n

NOTES

THE SCRAM-JET STANDSTODAY AS ANUNRESOLVEDISSUE FORTHE NEWCENTURY


Monday, December 8, 1941,at Clark Field


Austin W. Stitt

I t is hard to remember for sure, but this is theway one second lieutenant bombardier fromthe 19th Bomb Group remembers it. I was a

small town boy from Frewsburg, N.Y. (ChautauquaCounty). I graduated from high school at age six-teen in 1933. I went for two years to HobartCollege, Geneva, N.Y. Then, no more money. I hadto go into the CCC [Civilian Conservation Corps].Any interest I might have had in the Army dissi-pated there.

In the fall of 1936, I went to the University ofMichigan and spent a year and a half in AnnArbor, with more time used making a living andplaying than in studying. For the first six monthsof 1938, I hitch-hiked all over the country. WhenHitler went into Austria, I was in New Orleansand tried to become a flying cadet, but at therecruiting office I was advised my vision wasn’tgood enough, so I went my merry way toward SanFrancisco.

In the fall of 1938, I went to Michigan State,where ROTC [Reserve Officer Training Corps] wasmandatory, since the college is a land grant school.I refused to take ROTC—primarily from my CCCexperience—by telling them I was a conscientiousobjector.

Then came October 1940 and registering for thedraft. I was working only part-time and not evenbothering to go to school. The draft board told methat I was just the type of young man they werelooking for. The next morning I applied at therecruiting office in Lansing for the Flying Cadets.They found that my eyes were perfect and, so, inDecember 1940 I was in Glenview, Illinois, going toflying school. I washed out there and was immedi-ately sent to bombardier training at Lowry Field,Colorado, in the first service test class of officerbombardiers. As soon as we finished, we were sentright out to regular bomb groups as cadets. I wentto March Field, California, to the 30th BombSquadron, under Maj. David Gibbs. We were atAlbuquerque Army Air Base in September.

On September 15, 1941, I was commissioned. Atthe same time that Major Gibbs pinned the secondlieutenant bars on my uniform he gave me theword that we were moving to Clark Field. I was tobe the transportation officer for the ground eche-lon, but would fly over with him.

Now to the war and that first day. The groundechelon left Albuquerque on September 27, 1941.My wife and I were married the same day. We putour many friends on the train and started our hon-eymoon.

In mid-October, the air echelon leftAlbuquerque. We landed at Hamilton Field andthere, I believe, we were briefed by GeneralLincoln. He stood on the stairway in base opera-tions and told us that we were probably going to

war and would be crossing Japanese held terri-tory with “hot” guns. He intimated that in hisopinion war was inevitable and that the Spring of1942 was the probable time. His last words were,“Good shooting.” In Hawaii, we were given practi-cally the same briefing by an admiral; it mighthave been Admiral Short. I honestly don’t know. Iwanted to get back to the poker game at the cluband, besides, the general at Hamilton had said itall.

Now to Clark and the time immediately pre-ceding December 8. General Brereton came out toClark Field sometime in late November, or earlyDecember, and said practically the same thingsthe Hamilton Field general and the Pearl Harboradmiral had said. Brereton did say that warappeared inevitable and that the 7th Bomb Groupwas coming over and would be stationed onMindanao in the immediate future. Our mostpressing need was early warning and more radar,in his opinion. Particularly, because of the lack ofearly warning, he advised us that our alert pos-ture had to be of the highest degree. He expectedall of us to be airborne in about ten minutes fromthe sounding of the alert. We were to wear hel-mets, gas masks, and side arms at all times. Wewere to dig slit trenches near all buildings andtents. He came out bluntly and predicted April forwar, but said it certainly might come much earlier.

Saturday December 6, I was in charge of a groupof enlisted men digging the last few trenches in thesquadron area. Saturday evening I was in MajorGibbs’ quarters, with “Shorty” Wheless, Ray Cox,Jim Connally, Bill Menaugh, and Lt. [RaymondGehrig?] Gary. Connally and Gibbs were arguinghigh level strategy. Major Gibbs holding the viewthat if he were the Japanese, he would strike now—that very week-end—since the American, British,Chinese, and Dutch attitude left no room for com-promise. Jim Connally said that the Japanesewould back down;America was too strong. I wantedthem to quit talking and play poker. Poker pre-vailed.

Sunday, I flew as a bombardier on a reconnais-sance flight up to Formosa. We went North untilwe could clearly identify the island, then turnedback South over the China Sea. A heavy squall linecovered most of the sea, so our recon report wasonly of the weather. Our quarters were some Swalihuts in the back of the officers club. Right afterlanding and debriefing, Sunday evening, I went tomy quarters and listened to Don Bell, a radio com-mentator from Manila. He said it looked like peacewould prevail in the Pacific immediately, since thegreat Japanese ambassador was now talking withMr. [Cordell] Hull and President Roosevelt. I wentto bed, sleeping sounding, thinking Major Gibbswas wrong.

At 5:30 or 6:00 am, Lt. George Markovich camerunning through our quarters saying that PearlHarbor had been attacked and that at long last wewould help the Russians—he was of Russiandescent.

Our operations officer got us the word as soon


Note: On April 6, 1974, Col. Austin W. Stitt,USAF(Ret) wrote this letter, in longhand on yel-low legal pad paper, to aviation writer SkyBeaven. Mrs. Beaven passed it on to Air PowerHistory to enrich the historical record.

I WASHEDOUT THEREAND WASIMMEDIATELYSENT TOBOMBARDIERTRAINING ATLOWRYFIELD,COLORADO

(Overleaf) Clark Field, in1939.

BRERETONDID SAYTHAT WARAPPEAREDINEVITABLEAND THATTHE 7THBOMBGROUP WASCOMINGOVER

SUNDAY, IFLEW AS ABOMBARDIERON A RECON-NAISSANCEFLIGHT UP TOFORMOSA

as possible. It seems to me it was at about 7:00 or7:30 am that all the aircraft that had camouflagepainting were to take off, holding to the immediatesouth of the field, until Colonel Eubanks could getbetter instructions. The two planes that were notcamouflaged would be painted immediately. Gibbs’aircraft, No. 075, was not camouflaged. I was toldto take the 075 ground crew plus some other peo-ple and paint it now. We had it in the cornerhangar and were at it, probably at about 8:00 am,with spray guns and brushes. Everyone reallywent at it in a hurry. We were about done at 11:30and I then went over to the club for lunch. I ateand started back across the field at about 12:10. Iwalked back with Lieutenant Berkowitz, a naviga-tor, and Lt. Woodrow Holbrook, a communicationsofficer; we were all “comedians.” P–40s were land-ing and taking off, B–17s were landing, dust wasflying all over. We put on our gas masks, made

faces at each other, horsed around, and generallyplayed the fools that we were. It was about 12:25when we got back to the hangar. I knew I was sup-posed to be at the hangar. I was in charge of thatpainting crew, but I wanted to hear the latest newsand rumors, so I left the hangar and went to theoperations tent with Berkowitz at about 12:30. OnManila radio, Mr. Bell again, was just saying thatthere was no news from Clark Field and that therehad been none all morning, so quite possibly Clarkwas under attack. Lt. Jim Colouri or Lt. RayTeborek was looking up at the sky. Berkowitz wasstanding beside me. The man looking up in the skysaid, “What a beautiful navy formation, two Vees oftwenty-seven each.” I looked up and I knew it wastoo late. The bombs were already well on their way.I ran as fast as I could, with Berkowitz behind me,toward the big ditch between the tent and thehangar.

As I ran the few steps, I saw a fire truck and anambulance parked beside the hangar. Two order-lies were jumping out of the ambulance, one oneach side. A fireman had his hand on the firesiren—a hand crank type—on the fire truck andwas starting to crank. I jumped in the ditch, just asthe bombs were hitting. An Army PFC and Ihugged each other as the earth trembled anddebris fell. A leg came in on us, I think it belongedto Berkowitz, but I didn’t know. It was a bloodymess.

The bombing lasted just a short time. I had seenthe formation, so I knew that was all there was toit. I jumped up, full of a terrible [guilty] conscience,since I had not been at my duty station, in thehangar with 075. I ran past the two vehicles. Thetwo orderlies appeared to be dead lying next to thefire truck, with one dead man still holding thesiren crank.

In the hangar, a fire was burning in the back,holes in the roof with ammunition in boxes wereburning and exploding, 075 seemed okay. Ray Coxcame running up. He and I threw ladders, paintcans, pails, and compressors every which way. Ijumped in and never having started a B–17 before,I tried to start all four engines at once. It can’t hap-pen, but actually two engines caught and wererunning when Ray got in and released the brakes,and we taxied out of the building. There werebomb craters all around, so we had to stop just out-side. What I thought were P–40s were flying allover the place. Then I saw their red ball insignia.Ray and I jumped out of the airplane. He ran oneway and I ran back toward the tents.

The next stupid thing I did—a la the movies—Igot a box of ammo and a machine gun from theammo tent and went back to the ditch. I had man-aged to get a .50 caliber and a .30 caliber guns. Ithrew them down in disgust. What went throughmy mind was that we were caught with our pantsdown. Gibbs was right and I am a vet just like theold GAR [Grand Army of the Republic] Civil Warboys.

About then I saw a nearby B–17 that looked ingood shape, but had some smoke coming from the


World War II map of thePhilippine Islands

cockpit. A truck was nearby that had a tiny fireextinguisher. I grabbed this little extinguisher,turned it on and was scared that the aircraft gaso-line would blow up. I threw that little insignifi-cant extinguisher in the cockpit window and ranas fast as I could toward the mountains. This gotme out on the airfield past the tents. I saw ananti-aircraft installation, so I jumped in that.There were two soldiers there, one dead and theother poor fellow was trying to work his big gun,but it was jammed. He and I worked on that gunfor an eternity, probably thirty seconds. Then hedecided the breech was completely broken andcould not be fixed. The gun was well dug in withthe sand bags around the edge, but it also was fullof ammunition. I was so scared and stupid, Ijumped out of there and headed further outtoward the center of the field.

It finally dawned on me that I was right in themiddle of the shooting, the Japanese fighters werestrafing, doing 180° turns, and coming back throughagain. It appeared they were just doing a patternlike knitting, north to south and south to north, kick-ing their rudders back and forth to spray everythingin sight. I jumped in some tall grass, lay on my back,and futily fired the two clips of .45 ammo I had formy side arm. Then, I finally had enough sense topray and it ended.

I went back to the tent. Everything everywhereseemed on fire and dead. A bunch of us were run-ning around helter-skelter. I found WoodyHolbrook. A doctor had a truck and was getting thewounded aboard. We helped him until he was

loaded and started off in the direction ofStotsenberg.

Woody suggested we go to group headquartersand find out what we were supposed to do. He andI started out that way. Just outside the headquar-ters, I spotted Lt. Frank Bender—I hadn’t knownhe was anywhere near the Philippines. He was afraternity brother of mine at Hobart and a partic-ular friend. In fact, his cards and letters, tellinghow great it was at Randolph and Kelly, were themain reason I had wanted to go in the Air Corps.After much back slapping and carrying on, I tookBender, his buddy, and Woody Holbrook over to ourSwali hut, where I had a fifth of Johnny WalkerRed Label.

We had to go back of the club to get to my hut.The kitchen of the club had been hit just as theFilipinos were eating their lunch. Many were deadand wounded. I saw one leg, obviously a femaleFilipino lying in the dust, then I knew that I had-n’t seen Berkowitz since the beginning and thatthe amputated leg in the ditch with the PFC andme was poor George’s leg.

The four of us drank the nearly full fifth ofscotch in about five minutes. Bender said he hadjust gotten in with the 27th, but their planesweren’t there. We all, at the same time, got theknowledge that we were truly lost. His airplanesweren’t even in the area, probably at sea; ours hadbeen destroyed.

Woody said he was going to his hut and get hisvaluables. Bender and his friend said they weregoing to find a way to get back to Manila and they


I WAS RIGHTIN THE MIDDLE OFTHE SHOOT-ING, THEJAPANESEFIGHTERSWERESTRAFING,DOING 180°TURNS, ANDCOMINGBACKTHROUGHAGAIN

Clark Field in an earlier era,around 1929, looking muchlike a summer encamp-ment.

left. I decided I wanted to die in good clothes and ifI didn’t die I would need good shoes. I changed tomy best pants and shirt and put on a brand newpair of shoes that I had had made at Ft.Stotensberg. I left the hut and headed towardgroup headquarters.

At headquarters, no one knew anything. Onecaptain told me to report to Lt. Sig Young on theflight line. I never found Sig. I think he actuallywas on Mindinao with the 93d Squadron andMajor Combs. I did find Ray Cox and Holbrook.Ray said he was told by Gibbs to salvage parts. Bynow it was nearing sunset, Ray told us to take offaway from the flight line and possible night bomb-ing and come back to him to come dawn.

Woody and I went in the direction of Stotens-berg and sat along the edge of the road listening tothe tanks and Army units pulling out withoutlights going off to do battle, maybe to win the war.We hoped, but deep in our hearts we felt nothingbut abject defeat. We knew the Japanese had theair battle already won. Clark Field was dead andso probably was Nichols and the Army would be ofno consequence without aircraft. We slept by theside of that main road leading out of Ft.Stotensberg.

When dawn broke, it brought chaos, but by thenWoody and I had hooked ourselves into Cox’s armyand we had a job to do. We had no effective warn-ing of Japanese raids. Each job that two men nor-mally would do, took six of us. A lieutenant incharge—me—a non-com, two watchers, and twomen to do the work. The four of us non-workerswould watch the four quadrants of the sky for theJapanese, while the remaining two would work.

It was easy. It kept your mind off your troubles.Ray got his orders from Gibbs; there were all des-perate things. “Salvage all aircraft instruments,keep them in the tent until we have a safe place tohide them.” “Salvage engines and put them close tothe railroad tracks, so they can be moved quickly.”“Try and keep the airfield operational, with orwithout the cooperation of the engineers.” Ray’sorders to me were always simple: “Austin go takefive guys and pull all the instruments that are anygood off 067 and bring them back to here.” Withsomething to do, no matter how futile, you cankeep from being scared and worried. Those firstfew days passed, from then on it’s a long story.

What were the beginnings? How could it havehappened?

Jealousies between the countries—A-B-C-D(American, British, Chinese, and Dutch). Jealou-sies between the Filipino and the Americans.Jealousies between the Army and the Navy.Jealousies between the Army ground and Army airelements. In Washington, interdepartmentalrivalry—too much empire building and organiza-tional loyalty (above loyalty to our cause) all of theabove really doomed us to poor intelligence.

What went on down in Manila on Mondaymorning, I doubt anyone knows. I can best describethe whole thing to you by reminding you of the dayJFK [President Kennedy] was shot. The two situa-

tions were very much alike, if you can rememberhow you felt then, you will know how a second lieu-tenant bombardier felt at 4:00 pm, on Monday,December 8, 1941, at Clark Field.

The breakdown in intelligence, communica-tions, command relationships, morale, even foodwas complete and unique: but that horrible pall ofdefeat and abject sorrow in both Kennedy’s assas-sination and the December 8th fiasco were themost remembered feelings.

At the time you couldn’t blame anyone, buteveryone has to have someone to blame, to vent hisfrustrations on someone or something. Today inXenia, Ohio, the people are really upset with theweather service’s communication of their warning.

I now feel that the scapegoat for the particularClark Field fiasco was General MacArthur and hisstaff for not laying on an immediate retaliatoryraid against Formosa. To wait for an attack on thePhilippines, after Hawaii had already beenattacked, was criminal.

Beyond that, and probably much more impor-tant in the long run, I blame the interservice andinterdepartmental rivalries that kept us from hav-ing a centralized intelligence effort that possiblycould have kept President Roosevelt honestlyinformed.

The whole thing was too much an Army-Navyfootball game.

Lt. Roy Cox was killed in Java. Lt. Holbrookwas taken prisoner on Mindanao and was killedwhen the Americans sank a prison ship late in thewar. Major Gibbs was lost in a B–18 en route toMindanao from Clark early in the war. He had leftorders for me to come down by the following B–18the next night. We made it. Lt. Bender was thepilot. I was picked up as a member of the 93rdBomb Squadron and flew with the Earl Tash crewthrough the Java campaign and on into Australia.Bender was, for a long time, in the jungles of NewGuinea in late 1942. He had had to bail out. Heretired in 1965 or 1966 at Bergstrom AFB as thewing commander there and is doing something inthe Houston area for John Connally, the politi-cian.

This is absolutely the first time I have evertried to put this in black and white—the way itwas that day for me.

Fred Crimmins was down at the next hangarand had a bad experience. He had to have a steelplate put in his head and I heard somewhere thathe died, not many years ago.

I saw Berkowitz in Sydney, Australia, in Marchor April 1942. He was in a bad way with his leg offat the hip, but I heard he got well and was activeas a navigator instructor at Monroe, Louisiana,during most of the war.

In Edmunds’ book, They Fought With What TheyHad, on pages 183 and 184, he tells about themorning mission we flew across the Japanese fleetat Lingayin Gulf. Mr. Edmunds has it just the wayit was. I think he got that information from ArtHoffman, who was our navigator in Tash’s airplaneand was looking over my shoulder as we bombed.n


CLARK FIELDWAS DEADAND SOPROBABLYWASNICHOLS ANDTHE ARMYWOULD BEOF NO CON-SEQUENCEWITHOUT AIRCRAFT

WITH SOME-THING TO DO,NO MATTERHOW FUTILE,YOU CANKEEP FROMBEINGSCARED ANDWORRIED

I BLAME THEINTERSER-VICE ANDINTERDE-PARTMENTALRIVALRIESTHAT KEPTUS FROMHAVING ACENTRALIZEDINTELLI-GENCEEFFORT


Bombing and the Italian Front,1915-1918


A. D. Harvey

Air War on the

During the First World War, air operationswere on a much smaller scale on the Italianfront than in France and Flanders. Italian

fighter pilots claimed to have shot down fewerthan one-tenth the number of enemy aircraft offi-cially credited to German fighter pilots operatingover the Western front.1 Nevertheless, the air warover the Isonzo and the Adriatic had several fea-tures that suggest the desirability of revising stan-dard accounts of the evolution of air warfare thatare based on the experiences of the British RoyalFlying Corps and the German Luftstreitkräfte far-ther north, particularly with regard to the use ofbombing aircraft.

In 1911, the Italians had been the first nation toemploy aircraft in warfare, during the course oftheir invasion of Libya— then part of the OttomanEmpire. On November 1, 1911, Lt. Giulio Gavottidropped four bombs, each weighing two kilograms,on Turkish positions at Ain Zara and Tagiura.2Subsequent bombing attacks were denounced bythe Ottoman government as contravening theGeneva Convention. In 1913, the Italian army’saviation battalion was placed under the commandof a staff officer named Giulio Douhet, who hassome claim to have been the only senior officer ofthe First World War era to have any real visionconcerning the application of air power. Douhetmade sure that the Italian government placed anorder for several examples of the giant trimotorbomber designed by aviation pioneer GiovanniCaproni.

When war broke out in August 1914, Italy, atthat time joined in a defensive alliance withGermany and Austria-Hungary, remained neutraland Douhet began writing commentaries on thewar for the Turin newspaper La Gazetta delPopolo. He read with interest press reports of thefirst bombing raids by single German aircraft,warning on December 12, 1914:

Against the enemy that moves on the surface it issufficient for safety to be in the rear of the battleline; against the enemy that is master of space thereis no safety except for moles. Everything which is tothe rear of the army and which makes it live isthreatened and exposed; supply convoys, trains,railway stations, magazines, workshops, arsenals,everything.3

Douhet and his colleagues seem to have beenless interested in the first air-to-air combats. Bythe time Italy abandoned its prewar alliance anddeclared war on Austria-Hungary on May 23,1915, several German aircraft had already beenshot down by British and French two-seaters, inwhich the observer was armed with a machinegun,and the French pilot Roland Garros had notable

success in a single-seater Morane monoplaneequipped with a machinegun fixed to fire throughthe arc of the propeller.4 During the first sixmonths of the Italo-Austrian conflict, however,both sides confined themselves mainly to usingunarmed planes on reconnaissance missions,partly because the additional weight of a machine-gun and ammunition was found to be disadvanta-geous when flying over mountainous terrain.However, the Austro-Hungarians communicatedtheir resentment for their former ally by bombingAncona and Venice with naval flying boats duringthe first days of the war. In addition on October 24,1915, four Austro-Hungarian aircraft raidedVenice. Though causing no loss of life or limb, theraiders destroyed an important fresco by the eigh-teenth-century artist Tiepolo in the church ofSanta Maria degli Scalzi. 5 The Italians, for theirpart, began using their Caproni trimotors to bombAustrian aerodromes, roads, and railways inAugust 1915, but quickly found that a three-engined aeroplane was at least three times likelierto be grounded by mechanical problems than a sin-gle-engined aeroplane.6

Meanwhile, the Germans had developed a sin-gle-seater fighter, the Fokker Eindecker, armedwith a machinegun—later two machineguns—equipped with interrupter gear to enable the pilotto fire through the arc of his propeller without hit-ting it. (Garros had frequently hit his own pro-peller, but had it fitted with steel plates to deflectthe bullets, which as it turned out was not anentirely practical idea.) Flying the Fokker Ein-decker, Germany’s first fighter aces, Max Immel-


Since completing his PhD at Cambridge, England, A. D. Harvey has taught at universities in Italy,France, and Germany. He is the author of Collision of Empires: Britain in Three World Wars,1793–1945 (1992), A Muse of Fire: Literature, Art and War (1998), and articles on air warfare inthe Journal of Contemporary History and War in History.

(Overleaf) Nieuport aircraftassigned to the AmericanExpeditionary Force (AEF)await action in France.

(Right) Airpower theoristGiulio Douhet in the 1920s.

THE AIR WAROVER THEISONZO ANDTHE ADRIATICHAD SEVERALFEATURESTHAT SUGGESTTHE DESIR-ABILITY OFREVISINGSTANDARDACCOUNTSOF THE EVO-LUTION OFAIR WAR-FARE

GIULIODOUHET, HASSOME CLAIMTO HAVEBEEN THEONLY SENIOROFFICER OFTHE FIRSTWORLD WARERA TO HAVEANY REALVISION CON-CERNING THEAPPLICATIONOF AIRPOWER

mann and Oswald Boelcke, began to make theirreputations on the Western Front during the sec-ond half of 1915, and a small number of thesemachines were passed on to the Austro-Hungarians. On February 18, 1916, ten Capronitrimotors with the commander of the aviation bat-talion, Lt. Col. Alfredo Barbieri, among the crew,set out from Aviano to bomb Ljubljana. Three ofthe planes turned back with engine failure; theothers were intercepted by Austro-HungarianFokkers, one of them flown by Capt. JindichKostrba, afterwards creator of the Czech air force.In a series of attacks lasting fifteen minutes,Kostrba fired all 500 rounds of his ammunition atthe Caproni carrying Barbieri. Barbieri was killedalong with one of the pilots; the other pilot, inter-

mittently blinded by blood flowing from a scalpwound, succeeded in bringing his aeroplane andhis dead companions back to an Italian airfield.Kostrba had time to refuel and intercept the sur-viving Capronis on their way back from Ljubljanaand helped shoot down one of them over Austrianterritory.7

The Italians did not get their own back untilApril 1916, when Francesco Baracca, aboard aFrench-built Nieuport, shot down an Austro-Hungarian Aviatik that had just bombed a railwayline.8 This was the first successful interception byan Italian pilot. Thus, one sees that whereas inFrance and Flanders the first aircraft to beattacked and shot down by other aircraft had allbeen on reconnaissance or artillery spotting mis-sions, on the Italian front the first interceptions byeither side were of bombing planes. In fact, three ofthe first four aerial victories claimed by FrancescoBaracca, subsequently Italy’s leading fighter ace,were over bombers, whereas it is questionablewhether Germany’s Baron von Richthofen orFrance’s Georges Guynemer or Britain’s AlbertBall and James McCudden ever shot down abomber at all.9

Although the Austro-Hungarians only had sin-gle-engined bombing aircraft, their air raids onItalian targets were often more spectacular ineffect than the Italian attacks. On February 14,1916, for example, ten aircraft—each armed witheighty kilograms of bombs—flew from a base nearTrento to attack Milan. This was fifteen monthsbefore the first raid on a town in Britain byGerman heavier-than-air machines flying as agroup, though of course the Germans had alreadyattacked London with airships. Orientating them-selves by means of Milan’s “white shimmering”cathedral (as the Austro-Hungarian commanderdescribed it) two of the attacking aircraft unloadedtheir bombs in the general direction of a power sta-


Airplane designer GiovanniCaproni in the early 1930s.

The Morane.

ALTHOUGHTHE AUSTRO-HUNGARIANSONLY HADSINGLE-ENGINEDBOMBINGAIRCRAFT,THEIR AIRRAIDS ONITALIAN TAR-GETS WEREOFTEN MORESPECTACU-LAR INEFFECT THANTHE ITALIANATTACKS

tion, killing twelve people and injuring seventy.The other eight aircraft apparently became lostand scattered their bombs between Monza andBergamo.10 On July 13, ten Austro-Hungarian air-craft dropped about 100 small bombs on Paduaand managed to kill the army major commandingthe city’s air defenses.11

On August 9, 1916, seventeen Austro-Hungarian aircraft bombed Venice, killing sevencivilians and sank a British submarine docked atthe Arsenal—probably the first submarine ever tobe sunk by bombing from the air. Seven weekslater Austro-Hungarian flying boats sank a Frenchsubmarine, the Foucault, while it was actuallyunder way at sea. This seems to have been the sec-ond submarine ever to have been sunk by bomb-ing.12

On November 11, 1916, a single Austro-Hungarian bomb killed ninety-three civilians shel-tering in a casemate in the old fortifications ofPadua. It was the worst incident involving civil-ians taking shelter from an air raid during theentire course of the First World War, althoughthere had been an even greater death toll the pre-vious June when a French reprisal raid onKarlsruhe had destroyed a circus during a mati-nee, along with most of the children in the audi-ence.13

Altogether, more than 400 Italian civilians werekilled in Austro-Hungarian air raids on towns innorthern Italy; another sixteen were killed bybombs dropped on Naples by a German long rangeZeppelin operating from Yambol, Bulgaria, on thenight of March 10, 1918.14 These figures may becompared with the 1,414 civilians killed byGerman air raids on England, the 746 killed byBritish and French air raids on industrial centersin western Germany, and the 104 Belgian citizenswho died as a result of the Royal Flying Corps andlater the Royal Air Force’s efforts to knock out theGerman U-boat pens at Bruges.15

The number of civilians killed by Italian airraids is not known. Giulio Douhet had been pro-moted away from the aviation battalion to becomechief of staff of an infantry division in February1915, but had not ceased to press his ideas regard-

ing the use of aircraft as a strategic weapon. In amemo written a few months after Italy entered thewar he argued:

Modern armies represent the armored shieldbehind which the nations at war work to preparethe means appropriate to feed the war: the powerfulaeroplane is able to pass over such armor andstrike at the nation itself in its centers of productionand along the lines of supply running from thecountry to the army.16

He advocated that an entire air army of 500Caproni trimotors be maintained at the front.Unfortunately Douhet’s superiors were much lessinterested in his memoranda than in the fact thathe was sending copies to politicians in Rome, andin October 1916 he was court-martialled and sen-tenced to one year’s confinement in a militaryfortress. Whatever enthusiasm his successor,Alfredo Barbieri, may have felt for Douhet’s ideascame to an abrupt end in combat over Aisovizza,when Jindrich Kostrba intercepted Barbieri’sCaproni en route for Ljubljana and killed him.After that the Caproni was used mainly forshorter-range missions against road and railwaytargets immediately behind the front line, andagainst Austro-Hungarian naval bases on theAdriatic coast. Other important strategic targetsthat were theoretically within the Caproni’s range,such as the railway and armaments factories atZagreb and the steelworks at Graz, were leftundisturbed. In fact, although the Caproni trimo-tor was built in larger numbers than the BritishHandley-Page 0/400 bomber or the German GothaGIV and GV—in larger numbers indeed, than anyother multi-engine type until the 1930s. By nomeans an entirely satisfactory combat plane, theCaproni was so slow and unwieldy that the Austro-Hungarian naval ace Godfrey Banfield took a lead-ing part in shooting down at least five Capronis,while piloting flying boats of exactly the sameunaerodynamic configuration as the SupermarineWalrus flying boats used by the RAF for air-searescue during the World War II.17 In the end, thelongest-ranged bombing mission carried out by


The German Gotha.

GIULIODOUHET HADBEEN PROMOTEDBUT HAD NOTCEASED TOPRESS HISIDEASREGARDINGTHE USE OFAIRCRAFT ASA STRATEGICWEAPON

DOUHET’SSUPERIORSWERE MUCHLESS INTER-ESTED IN HISMEMORANDATHAN IN THEFACT THATHE WASSENDINGCOPIES TOPOLITICIANSIN ROME ...HE WASCOURT-MAR-TIALLED ANDSENTENCEDTO ONEYEAR’S CON-FINEMENT INA MILITARYFORTRESS

1. Italian airmen claimed 530 aerial victories com-pared to 7,425 claimed by the Germans, whoadmitted to the loss of 6,830 aircraft. RosarioAbate, Storia della Aeronautica Italiana (Milan,1974), p. 115; Erich von Hoeppner, DeutschlandsKrieg in der Luft (Leipzig, 1921), p. 174, notes 1and 2.2. Abate, Storia della Aeronautica Italiana, p. 84.3. La Gazetta del Popolo, Dec. 12, 1914, reprintedin Giulio Douhet, Le Profizie di Cassandra: rac-colta di scritti (Genoa, 1931), p. 244.4. See L. A. Strange, Recollections of an Airman(London, 1933), pp. 74-78 and Jacques Mortane,Carré d’As (Paris, 1934), pp. 8-11 for British andFrench attacks on German aircraft in Oct. andNov. 1914; Jacques Quellennec ed. Roland Garros,Mémoires (Paris, 1966), 254 foll. for the develop-ment and use of a Morane carrying a machinegunfiring through the arc of a propeller fitted withdeflector plates.5. Peter Schupita, Die k.u.k. Seeflieger: Chronikund Dokumentation der österreichisch– ungari-schen Marineluftwaffe 1911-1918 (Coblenz, 1983),pp. 169-70 for raids by Austro-Hungarian navalflying boats; Andrea Moschetti, I Danni aiMonumenti e alle opere d’arte delle venezie: nellaguerra mondiale MCMXV-MCMXVIII (Venice,1932), p. 47 for the Oct. 24, 1915 raid. A completelist of Austro-Hungarian raids on Venice is givenin Giovanni Scarabello, Il Martirio di Venezie:durante la grande guerra e l’opera di difesa dellamarina Italiana, 2 vols., (Venice, 1933), pp. 1, 59.6. Luigi Contini, L’Aviazione Italiana in Guerra(Milan, 1934), p. 48.7. Ibid., p. 58 and Martin O’Connor, Air Aces of theAustro-Hungarian Empire, 1914-1918 (Mesa,1986), p. 110.8. Vincenzo Manca, L’idea meravigliosa diFrancesco Baracca (Roma, 1989), pp. 172-77.9. Detailed lists of the aircraft shot down by lead-ing fighter aces are now available in a series ofbooks published by Grub Street London during the1990s: Christopher Shores, Norman Franks andRussell Guest, Above the Trenches; NormanFranks, Frank W. Bailey and Russell Guest, Above

the Lines; Norman Franks, Russell Guest andGregory Alegi, Above the War Fronts; and NormanFranks and Frank W. Bailey, Over the Front.10. For a personal account of this raid see EugenSteiner-Göltl Edler von Auring, “Österreichisch-ungarische Fliegen beim Angriff” in Georg PaulNeumann ed. In der Luft unbesiegt: Erlebnisse imWeltkrieg: erzählt von Luftkämpfern (Munich,1923), pp. 50-56; see also Corriere della Sera, Feb.15, 1916, 1d; Times, Feb. 15, 1916, 8d and Feb. 23,1916, 7d; and Riccardo Cavigioli, L’AviazioneAustro-Ungarica sulla fronte Italiana 1915-1918(Milan, 1934), p. 74.11. Guido Solito, Padova nella Guerra (1915-1918)(Padua, 1933), pp. 199-201.12. Public Record Office, Kew, London AIR1/2282/204/73/2 Harold C. Swan to J. H. TowseyAug. 10, 1916; Schupita, k.u.k. Seeflieger, p. 192.13. Solito, Padova, pp. 228-9 and fn. 1, cf.Heidelberger Tageblatt, Jun. 24, 1916, 1c. The vic-tims of the Karlsruhe tragedy were buried in agroup of individually marked graves that are stillto be seen in the town’s principal cemetery.14. Corriere della Sera, Mar. 12, 1918, 1a, c.fDouglas H. Robinson, The Zeppelin in Combat: AHistory of the German Naval Airship Division,1912-1918, p. 29515. Walter Raleigh and H. A. Jones, The War in theAir, 7 vols, (Oxford, 1922-1934) V 153, VI 152,Public Record Office AIR 1/678/21/13/213716. Giulio Douhet, Diario Critico di Guerra, 2vols., (Turin, 1921), II, pp. 20-21.17. Abate, Storia della Aeronautica Italiana, p.107; Jean Marie Gustave Pédoya, La Commissionde l’Armée pendant la grande guerre (Paris, 1921),p. 164n.; A. R. Kingsford, Night Raiders of the Air(London, [1930]), p. 129.18. Contini, L’Aviazione Italiana, pp. 151-52.19. Abate, Storia della Aeronautica Italiana, p.106, cf. Raymond H. Fredette, The First Battle ofBritain, 1917-1918: The Birth of the Royal AirForce (London, 1966).20. O’Connor, Air Aces of the Austro-HungarianEmpire, p. 180 reproduces part of Hefty’s wind-screen.


NOTES

Italian aviators during the First World War, areturn flight of nearly 320 miles across the Alps tobomb the railway station and shoot up the mar-shalling yard at Innsbruck on February 28, 1918,employed four single-engined Ansaldo SVA 5s.18

The same type was also used for the ten-planemission to drop propaganda leaflets on Vienna onAugust 9, 1918. The one record set by Caproniswas for the largest single air raid, on the night ofAugust 2, 1917, when thirty-six trimotorsattacked Pola (now Pula in Croatia); but thisrecord lasted only until the following May, whenforty-three German bombers, some of them four-engined Zeppelin-Staakens, struck at London.19

It is possible, however, that one of the morethan 800 Caproni trimotors built inadvertentlyachieved a historic first that subsequent eventscould only make more noteworthy. In June 1918, aHungarian pilot, Frigyes Hefty, having shot downa Caproni over Il Montello, scratched the wordsCaproni (auf Il Montello), and the date 17.vi 1918,on the windscreen of his Albatros DIII.Subsequent victories were marked in the sameway.20 Hefty seems to have been the first fighterpilot of any nationality to have marked his “score”on his aeroplane. This custom, though universalduring the Second World War—even the Japaneseadopted it—is not recorded before 1918. n

HEFTY [WAS]THE FIRSTFIGHTERPILOT OF ANYNATIONALITYTO HAVEMARKED HIS“SCORE” ONHIS AERO-PLANE


LightningSaved


John H. Cloe

Lockheed built 9,925 P–38 Lightnings at itsBurbank, California, plant and ConsolidatedVultee another 113 in Nashville, Tennessee,

under license.1 Today, approximately twenty-twoaircraft remain in museums or private ownership.Only four are early model P–38s. The remainderare –38Js and Ls, many of those acquired as sur-plus from the War Assets Administration for$1,500.00 apiece following World War II and usedfor aerial mapping. Very few of the survivingLightnings flew in combat.2

Of these P–38s, only one G model exists. Thefact that it survived can be credited to the fore-sight, tenacity, and vision of a few individuals.Otherwise, it would have remained on Attu Islandin the western Aleutians, where it went down onNew Year’s Day 1945. Ted Spencer of Anchorage,Alaska, managed to have P–38G-10-LO, serialnumber 42-13400, listed on the National Registerof Historic Places in 1979. It was the first of nineairplanes nation-wide to be included on the list.The list provided it federal protection, further rein-forced by the fact that is was located in a NationalWildlife Refuge and National Historic District.3

Capt. Steve Morrisette became interested inrecovering the P–38 while he was assigned toElmendorf AFB, Alaska, as a maintenance officer.

He approached Don Delk and Ed Lamm, twosenior civilian aircraft maintenance superinten-dents with seventy years of experience betweenthem. They visited the crash site in July 1991, andbecame convinced that they could restore theP–38.4 The approval process, however, took untilearly 1998, when Lt. Gen. David McCloud, whohad just assumed command of the AlaskanCommand, learned of it from his historian. Hisimmediate response was “go get it.”5

This set in motion a considerable amount ofpaperwork, including a memorandum of agree-ment between the United States Air Force, U.S.Fish and Wildlife Service, National Park Service,State Historic Preservation Officer, and theAdvisory Council on Historic Preservation specify-ing the conditions for recovering and restoring theP–38. On May 27, 1998, the Advisory Councilapproved the relocation of the P–38 from AttuIsland to Elmendorf AFB.6

Further steps involved requesting a special landuse permit from the Fish and Wildlife Service, fil-ing an environmental assessment, coordinatingwith an Alaska Native group, establishing a taxexempt non-profit foundation to pay restorationcosts, and obtaining Air Force approval for the pro-ject. The Deputy Assistant Secretary of the Air


John Haile Cloe is the historian for the 3d Wing, Alaskan Command, and Eleventh Air Force. Mr.Cloe graduated from the Virginia Military Institute in 1963 and was commissioned an Infantry offi-cer in the U.S. Army Reserves. He served on active duty for ten years with two tours of duty inVietnam. He separated as a major in 1973 and became an Air Force civilian historian. Mr. Cloe con-tinued his military affiliation and retired from the Reserves in 1991 as a colonel. He is a graduateof the Army Command and General Staff College, Air War College, and Army War College. He is theauthor of several Air Force related articles and two books: Top Cover for America: The Air Force inAlaska and The Aleutian Warriors: A History of the Eleventh Air Force and Fleet Air Wing Four.He has won numerous awards for excellence in writing official histories. Mr. Cloe is active in theEpiscopal Church and climbs mountains as a hobby.

(Overleaf) The P–38G,recovered from Attu Islandin June 1999, wasrepainted in its originalmarkings and rolled out ofthe paint barn on May 1,2000. (USAF photo cour-tesy of TSgt Terry L.Blevins.)

With over 70 years of main-tenance experiencebetween them, Don Delk(left), and Ed Lamm (right),accomplished the impossi-ble. (USAF photo courtesyof TSgt Terry L. Blevins.)

LOCKHEEDBUILT 9,925P–38LIGHTNINGS... ANDCONSOLIDA-TED VULTEEANOTHER 113... TWENTY-TWO AIR-CRAFTREMAIN INMUSEUMS ORPRIVATEOWNERSHIP

Force for Environment, Safety, and OccupationHealth, who also oversaw historic preservation,approved the project on June 2, 1999.7

The next day, the 210th Rescue Squadron,Alaska Air National Guard (ANG), launched twoHH–60 Pave Hawk helicopters and an HC–130from Kulis Air National Guard Base in support ofthe recovery operations. Don Delk and Ed Lammled the effort, resulting in the retrieval of a one ofa kind World War II fighter aircraft. Both hadplanned in detail how they would disassemble theP–38 in the field and prepare it for shipment fromthe U.S. Coast Guard LORAN station on Attu forshipment back to Elmendorf AFB. They focused onkeeping to a minimum the number of personnel onthe recovery team, limiting further damage to theLightning, and making certain that archeologicaland historical documentation standards wereobserved.8

Their leadership resulted in a flawless recoveryoperation, hampered only by the harsh Aleutianweather. The recovery demonstrated the commit-ment of a combined effort by federal, state, andmilitary agencies to the goal of recovering a his-toric object. The joint military-civilian effort wasconducted under adverse conditions, with no per-sonal injuries or loss of equipment, and at mini-mum expense. It also demonstrated the ability ofthe Alaska ANG to deploy its forces with minimalsupport, over long distances, and under adverseweather and environmental conditions.9

Following the recovery, Delk and Lamm, whohad retired from Air Force civil service, immedi-ately began restoration work. Thanks to the sup-port of Brig. Gen. Scott Gration, Commander, 3dWing, space had been set aside in an underusedhangar. Don Delk credits General Gration as the

driving force behind the successful recovery andrestoration. Some of those involved with the pro-ject felt that when General McCloud died on July26, 1998, in the crash of his private aircraft, theP–38 project had died with him.

Fortunately, General Gration shared his prede-cessor’s vision and sense of heritage and was will-ing to take a risk on a seemingly dubious project.He envisioned the recovery and restoration of theP–38G as a memorial to General McCloud, andplanned to display it near the 3d Wing headquar-ters building.

Prior to the June 1999 recovery, Lamm andDelk completed the restoration of two P–38 outerwings and the horizontal stabilizer they hadobtained from a dump on Amchitka Island, in theAleutians, in 1993. The parts were needed in therestoration of the P–38G. Shortly after the crash, asalvage party had removed all usable parts from itincluding the outer wings, and the horizontal sta-bilizer had been badly damaged in the crashitself.10

The experience proved beneficial since itallowed time to gain knowledge and organize therestoration effort. They also arranged to acquireothers missing parts with funds raised by theMcCloud Foundation, the non-profit which hadbeen formed to fund the restoration effort.11

Following the recovery, the restoration teamorganized the various components and began workby taking them apart, checking and treating themfor corrosion. The process involved the efforts ofabout twenty-four part time volunteers, whoworked between several hours and several weekson the project. A core of six full time volunteers,with more than 240 years of combined mainte-nance experience, performed the bulk of the work.


Corrosion control person-nel from the 3d EquipmentMaintenance Squadron,under the leadership ofSSgt Eric Bower, paintedand marked the P–38G.(USAF photo courtesy ofTSgt Terry L. Blevins.)

THE RECOVERYDEMON-STRATED THECOMMITMENTOF A COMBINEDEFFORT BYFEDERAL,STATE, ANDMILITARYAGENCIES TOTHE GOAL OFRECOVERINGA HISTORICOBJECT

BRIG. GEN.SCOTTGRATION,COMMANDER,3D WING, SETASIDE ANUNDERUSEDHANGAR

THEPROCESSINVOLVEDTHE EFFORTSOF ABOUTTWENTY-FOUR PARTTIME VOLUNTEERS

Three of the volunteers, William J. Hudock,Earnest L. Mitchell, and David Pratt, had workedin aircraft maintenance approximately forty yearseach before retiring. Don Delk estimated that itrequired approximately 12,000 hours to completethe project.12

The volunteers tacked the project by reassem-bling the components. Each volunteer was respon-sible for a specific component. Some of the workhad to be sent elsewhere for completion, becausethe P–38 facility lacked the necessary equipmentand expertise. The 3d Equipment MaintenanceSquadron’s metal technology shop restored thelanding gear and completed more minor restora-tion projects. The squadron’s corrosion controlshop applied primer paint.13

By late January, the volunteers had bolted andriveted together the center wing section, thebooms, and the tail section. On February 14, theybolted on the outer wings. After months of work onthe components, the P–38 had taken shape. Theengines were installed on February 24. By April 5,work had progressed to the point where the P–38could be raised for the installation of the landinggear and propellers.14

The volunteers celebrated the completion oftheir work on April 15, with a party in HangarFour where the restoration had taken place.Fittingly, the old wooden hangar, built in late 1940,the first hangar on Elmendorf AFB, was also thesite of the of the P–38 restoration. The followingMonday, the Lightning was towed to the corrosioncontrol facility, better know as the paint barn,where it was painted and marked in a P–38Gflown by the 54th Fighter Squadron.15

The newly painted P–38 was towed back toHangar Four on May 1, where it was stored until


Earnest L. Mitchell, one ofthe six full time volunteers,bolts the right engine to itsmount.

William J. Hudok, one ofthe volunteers, works on aprop spinner.

completion of the McCloud Memorial ground work.The dedication of the memorial on July 26, withMrs. Ann McCloud in attendance culminated

1. Warren M. Bodie, The Lookheed P-38 Lightning,the Definitive Story of Lockheed’s P-38 Fighter,Widewing Publishers, GA, 1991, p. 2502. A. Kevin Grantham, P-Screamers, The History ofthe Surviving Lockheed P-38 Lightnings, PictorialHistories Publishing Company, Inc., Mt, 1994; listupdated by John H. Cloe from research of periodicalsand Internet.3. Notification, National Register of Historic Places,“Entries in the National Register State Alaska, Jul 26,1979, with attached nomination form, Temnac P-38GLightning (SN 13400); E mail Paul Lusignac, Historian,National Register of Historic Places to John H. Cloe,Historian, 3 WG, Elmendorf AFB, AK, “AviationResources,” Apr 7, 2000.4. Oral History Interview, John H. Cloe with DonDelk, 13 Apr 2000.5. Point Paper, Office of History, Eleventh Air Force,


years of effort to save and preserve for future gen-erations a piece of Alaska’s military aviation her-itage. n

“Recovery of P-38G from Attu,” 1 Feb 1998.6. Memo, Advisory Council on Historic Preservationto Office of History, Eleventh Air Force, “Memorandumof Agreement for the Removal and Restoration of a P-38G-10-LO Lightning Fighter Aircraft (42-13400) fromAttu Islands Unit, Alaska,” 27 May 1998 with attachedMOA.7. Staff Summary Sheet, Director of AF Museum toSAF/MIQ, “Transfer of P-38,” 14 May 1999, with fourattachments.8. Delk Interview, 13 Apr 2000.9. Ibid.10. Ibid.11. Ibid.12. Ibid.13. Ibid.14. Ibid.15. Ibid.

NOTES

Ed Lamm (left), andEarnest L. Mitchell (right),direct the left engine instal-lation on its mount.

The P–38G, freshlyrepainted, rolls down theapron past its more mod-ern counterparts. (USAFphoto courtesy of TSgtTerry L. Blevins.)


Irish Men and Women in the SecondWorld War. By Richard Doherty. Dublin,Ireland: Four Courts Press, 1999. Photo-graphs. Notes. Bibliography. Index. Pp. 319.$35.00 ISBN 1-85182-441-3

The great alliance that defeatedGermany in World War II did not includeIreland. Despite their country’s official neu-trality, many Irish fought for Britain.Doherty calculates that over 130,000Irishmen served in Britain’s armed forces,with many more Irish expatriates serving inthe forces of other Commonwealth nations.

Irish Men and Women in the SecondWorld War is the first of a planned two-vol-ume set. The book is arranged in chapterscollecting the heroic deeds of those in simi-lar positions: infantrymen, seamen, airmen,chaplains, and doctors. The bulk of the bookis taken up with anecdotes illustrating thecourage of Irishmen serving in these fields.Those who were honored with the VictoriaCross (VC) always merit mention, but thevolume also describes the bravery of manyothers.

Many Irishmen served with distinctionin the Royal Air Force. Flying OfficerDonald Garland was awarded the first VCof the war after the Irishman lost his lifebombing a bridge that was facilitatingGermany’s 1940 advance into France. Inanother “he had to be Irish” anecdote,Doherty tells of Wing Commander TonyLovell who felt obligated to go to confessionevery time he shot down an enemy plane.After Rome fell to the Allies in 1944, Lovellhad an audience with Pope Pius XII, andthen spent his leave at a retreat in aDominican monastery. His piety apparentlydid not impede his effectiveness as aSpitfire pilot; Lovell shot down 21 enemyaircraft.

This volume belies its title in that itdeals almost entirely with men. Women inthe war were largely limited to roles that donot easily lend themselves to tales of valor.Still, Irish women served the Allies in tradi-tional jobs like nursing and clerical posi-tions. Despite the lack of combat action, thechapter devoted to the exploits of Irishwomen is compelling. Irish women renderedimportant clerical services for British code-breaking organizations, and Irish nursesbore their share of hardships. Irish womenwere war widows, of course, and Dohertytouches on that suffering, as well.

The author cites numerous sources andcarefully details when and why he departsfrom other published histories. He clearlyloves his work and takes pride in gettingthe facts just right.

Irish Men and Women offers enough his-torical tidbits to keep general students ofhistory engaged, and the story of the Irishalways fascinates. The dauntless courage of

men fighting for a just cause in the face ofhopeless circumstances cannot help but bestirring. This book is a must for military his-tory students of Irish descent, and a solidread for anyone.

Gary D. Brown (B.Sc., Central MissouriState University; J.D., University of Nebra-ska; LL.M., Cambridge University) is amajor in the United States Air Force. He isthe staff judge advocate of the 422d Air BaseSquadron, RAF Croughton, England.

A Tour of the Arnhem Battlefields, 17-26September 1944. By John Waddy. Barns-ley, Yorkshire, UK: Leo Cooper, 1999. Maps.Photographs. Appendices. Glossary. Biblio-graphy. Pp. 224. $24.95 ISBN: 0-85052-571-3

This is a work that takes you on a tourthrough the Arnhem area of OperationMarket Garden. It also includes historicalanalysis and exposition. Surprisingly, thebook’s high level of detail, in fact, obstructsits purpose, since it presents far too muchinformation for one to read while actuallytouring the battlefields. What makes thisbook readable and somewhat enjoyable arethe numerous first-hand accounts of theaction, as remembered by the participants.Unfortunately, these personal accounts,except for those of a couple of Dutch civil-ians, are limited to Allied military person-nel. The reader would have been much bet-ter served if the author had includedaccounts from German soldiers as well.

The book’s organization and purely nar-rative approach makes it difficult to followthe flow of the operation in this area. Let meexplain. The Arnhem battlefields are sur-rounded by approximately fifty touristobservation platforms. The author describesthe operation by moving from observationplatform to observation platform. However,by relying solely on a narrative format toexplain the specific action at each placewithin the greater scheme of the battle, it iseasy to become both disoriented and con-fused. The publisher could have easily cor-rected this deficiency by providing a map, ofreasonable size, depicting the location ofeach of the observation platforms. Had thisbeen done, the book’s utility as a historicalreference or short case study would havebeen greatly improved. As a result, the workhas very little to offer the reader who wasnot there in person. The author’s decision toconcentrate on the British and Polish por-tion of the operation, leaving the Americaneffort for another time and another work,was wise.

On balance, this book is not as effectiveas it could have been either as a guide orhistorical reference work. Works on air-borne operations hold a special appeal forme—perhaps because both my uncle, whomade a combat jump during the Americanportion of Market Garden, and I are para-troopers. Nonetheless, the shortcomings ofthe book overcame even my keen interest inthe study of this aspect of military history.

Dr. Don MacCuish, Lt. Col., USAR (Ret.),Professor, Air Command and Staff College,Maxwell AFB, Alabama.

Air Force Roles and Missions: A His-tory. By Warren A. Trest. Washington, D.C.:Air Force History and Museums Program,1998.

Do roles and missions matter, now that“jointness” has become the norm through-out the services? Warren A. Trest, a veteranof thirty years in the Air Force history pro-gram, thinks they do and in this modest, yetcarefully researched and lucidly writtenmonograph, he makes a convincing casethat the services—the Air Force in particu-lar—need to continue paying close atten-tion. Simply put, roles and missions, or“functions” as they are sometimes called,can make or break a service. Budget sharesrise and fall on functional assignments, so itis hardly surprising that over the yearssome of the most bitter and intense inter-service quarrels have revolved around rolesand missions assignments. As long as thereare separate services, each with its ownethos and interests to protect, there will becompetition over roles and missions.

While Trest’s account covers familiarground, it is a story worth retelling and hisbook brings it all together better than any Iknow. The treatment of the interwar periodis especially illuminating, not only inexploring the origins of the post-World WarII roles and missions battles between theAir Force and the Navy, but also in explain-ing the Air Force’s unique institutionaldevelopment, which made those conflicts allthe more unavoidable. As Trest demon-strates, the rise of bombardment aviationand the strategic air role effectively recastAir Force doctrine, pulled it further and fur-ther from its Army roots, and reinforced theneed for treating air power as a separateservice. World War II confirmed thesetrends, so that by 1945 an air componentbuilt around strategic bombardment was awell established coequal part of the defenseestablishment.

The differences that surfaced betweenthe Air Force and the Navy after World War

Book Reviews

u u u u u uu u u u u u


II might still have been manageable had itnot been for one thing—the atomic bomb.Without the bomb, although the Air Forcewould undoubtedly have achieved the inde-pendent status it had long sought, its insti-tutional position might well have remainedthat of an Army step-child. With the bomb,Trest shows, it had an inherent advantageover its immediate competitor, the Navy, forstaking out a claim as the country’s newfirst line of defense. The tight budget poli-cies practiced by President Harry S.Truman in the late 1940s and emerging ten-sions with the Soviet Union added weight tothe Air Force’s argument that it shouldcarry the major burden of national defense.That the Navy refused to give up without afight is understandable, but it proved ratherfutile in the face of limited resources, strongpublic and congressional support for strate-gic air power, and the mesmerizing image ofthe atomic bomb, still an Air Force monop-oly, as the ultimate weapon.

The roles and missions battles that fol-lowed those in the wake of World War IIwere less celebrated but still exceedinglydivisive. Although the infusion of fundsbrought on by the Korean War helped reduceinterservice competition, problems nonethe-less arose between the Air Force and theArmy over the allocation of responsibilities

for tactical aviation. Later in the 1950s, itwas the missile controversy that causedmuch of the trouble. President Dwight D.Eisenhower expected the 1958 defense reor-ganization to lessen the grounds for inter-service rivalry by creating a more closelyunified defense establishment, with a moreeffective joint command. But as strategicmissiles replaced long-range bombers and asconventional forces came back into fashionin the 1960s, the Air Force found itself tak-ing a renewed interest in tactical aviation,which in turn led to a resumption of AirForce-Army feuds over the status of airmobility and assault forces. Trest suggeststhat as a result in Vietnam the UnitedStates wound up fighting a ground war forwhich it was largely unprepared, whilesquandering its most important and effec-tive military asset—air power. Add frictionover roles and missions to the long list ofwhat went wrong in Southeast Asia.

After Vietnam, as Trest points out, theservices seemed to find less to bicker about,even though pressure from Congress grewsteadily for a more definitive clarification ofservice functions. Some of the most contro-versial issues were those between the AirForce and the Marine Corps over close airsupport, but compared with the roles andmissions struggles of the late 1940s, this

was “pretty small beer.” Interservice agree-ments, including a comprehensive accord in1982 between the Air Force and the Navy onjoint maritime operations and the 1984“thirty-one initiatives” between the AirForce and the Army, seemed to signal amaturity and readiness on the part of theservices to resolve roles and missions prob-lems on their own. Congress, however, want-ed reassurance and in enacting theGoldwater-Nichols legislation in 1986 itrequired the Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff(JCS) to submit an in-depth report on rolesand missions every three years.

Whether such requirements will be ofmuch use in sorting out future functionalassignments remains to be seen. Clearly, asOperation Desert Storm demonstrated in1991, there is still room for closer coordina-tion of air assets. The end of the Cold Warbrought predictable organizational changesand a scramble among the services to posi-tion themselves against impending budgetcuts. But despite some initial skirmishing,the expected roles and missions battleshave failed to materialize, largely becausethere has yet to occur any fundamentalreallocation of resources such as that thatfollowed World War II. This situation maychange if peacekeeping, drug-interdiction,and similar missions continue to displace

Smithsonian Press Ad


warfighting functions. However, for the timebeing the guidelines laid down over the pastfifty years seem to be holding.

Trest deserves a lot of credit for takingon a difficult subject and treating it with ahigh degree of objectivity. Surprisingly, in awork of this complexity, the textual flawswere remarkably few, though I suspect thatAdmiral William A. Owens, who served asVice Chairman of the JCS from 1994 to1996, will be surprised to find himself ele-vated to the rank of Chairman. Still, I findthe book basically sound and reliable. Werethis study done from the Navy perspective,it would doubtless present a different pic-ture and draw different conclusions. But Iseriously doubt whether the treatmentwould be any more even-handed. The AirForce history program should be commend-ed for publishing this book. Let us hope thatwe see more such monographs in the future.

Steven L. Rearden, Washington, D.C.

The Quest: Haywood Hansell andAmerican Strategic Bombing in WorldWar II. By Charles Griffith. Maxwell AFB,Ala.: Air University Press, 1999. Pp. 238.$16.00 ISBN: 1-58566-069-8

Charles Griffith’s biography of HaywoodHansell helps fill a gap in the existing liter-ature on U.S. strategic bombing in WorldWar II. General Hansell participated inmost of the major United States Army AirForces (USAAF) planning efforts for bothEurope as well as Asia, commanding bothB–17s against Germany and B–29s overJapan. As a prewar instructor at the AirCorps Tactical School, and one of the archi-tects of interwar Air Corps doctrine, Hansellentered the conflict with very specific ideasabout the role of air power in warfare andan uncommonly strong commitment to AirCorps doctrine. All these features make hiscareer an interesting window on the WorldWar II AAF.

General Hansell lived for forty-threeyears after the end of the war and continuedto take an enormous interest in air power,lecturing often and providing encourage-ment to students of air power history. Hewas also “a gentleman” and an intellectualwho made a positive impression on theenormous number of people he met. It is,therefore, not surprising that historianshave treated him kindly. He did his best toinfluence their writing by publishing threedifferent memoirs about World War II.Unfortunately, Griffith follows Hansell’sline too closely and echoes the general’s ownassessment of his career.

Griffith’s thesis is that General Hansell“sacrificed his career over the concept ofdaylight precision bombing, resulting in hisbeing replaced as commander of the XXIBomber Command in January 1945, but the

book shows that this was in fact not thecase. The evidence Griffith provides demon-strates, instead, that Hansell was widelyregarded as, at best, a mediocre commander.In Europe, when Lt. Gen. Ira Eaker had tochoose a new commander for the VIIIBomber Command, he passed over Hansell(one of Eaker’s wing commanders) becausehe felt Hansell was not up to the task. WhenGen. “Hap” Arnold considered givingHansell the XXI Bomber Command in theMarianas, Hansell’s closest friends on theAir Staff begged Arnold not to do it becausethey felt he was not the man for the job.After taking command of the XXI BomberCommand, Hansell impressed no one, andhis subordinates, superiors, and evenCongressmen, tried to get Arnold to firehim. And yet, in the face of all this pressure,Arnold did not replace Hansell.

However, when the time came to consoli-date B–29 operations in Asia, Arnold hand-ed over command to Maj. Gen. Curtis E.LeMay, the commander of XX BomberCommand. Arnold essentially merged twosmall forces into one large force and put thesenior more experienced of the two previousindependent commanders in charge, withthe junior brigadier general as deputy.Hansell quit in a huff and declined to serveunder a man who outranked him and wasuniversally recognized as a terrific com-mander.

It may have made Hansell feel better tothink his commitment to precision bombingwas important in his losing command, andit may help Griffith create an atmosphere ofmoral drama around a particularly impor-tant moment in Hansell’s life, but the factssimply do not support this view. However,the choice between area and precisionbombing played no important role in eitherthe decision to consolidate B–29 operationsor putting LeMay in command. In fact, thechoice between LeMay and Hansell was inno way a choice between area and precisionbombing because both men did both types ofbombing.

The real problem with Griffith’s work isnot that its thesis is unproven. Many valu-able books reach erroneous conclusions. Theproblem is more his selective use of sources.He ignores material most damaging to hiscase. Yet, he does leave in more than enoughcontradictory evidence to refute himself andthe critical reader will not be taken in.Moreover, Griffith ignores some of the mostinteresting questions. For example, believ-ing that Hansell was fired drives Griffithtoward questions about why and thus toother people’s perceptions of Hansell.Recognizing that Hansell quit would havefocussed attention on the general’s owncharacter and motives for quitting whichGriffith ignores. Griffith also accepts at facevalue Hansell’s self-serving rationalizationsfor why he chose not to serve under LeMay,and goes no further. Most interestingly,when Hansell quit in January 1945, thelargest air war in the history of the world

was raging over several continents. Hansellhad his pick of assignments anywhere inthe world but he chose to quit, requesting atraining unit in the southwestern U.S. at atime when training was being curtailed inanticipation of the end of the war. Griffithfails to explain why Hansell picked thisassignment.

Griffith’s thesis leads him astray inother ways as well. He is anxious to believethat the AAF did not do any area bombingin Europe, but that is simply not true. Theofficial histories of the USAAF in World WarII by Wesley Craven and James Cateacknowledge extensive area bombing inthat theater. More importantly, the subse-quent work of historians like Richard G.Davis and Hayes Parks have put this issueto rest by demonstrating the heavy and sus-tained nature of USAAF area bombing ofGermany. Again, Griffith sheds no light onHansell’s understanding of this importantissue.

In spite of its weaknesses, The Quest iswell researched and the only biography wehave of Haywood Hansell. It is a usefuladdition to the three memoirs Hansellwrote himself. Like Hansell’s own work, itportrays Hansell’s performance as a com-mander in a favorable light, but bothHansell and Griffith include enough infor-mation to allow the reader to draw conclu-sions different from the authors’.

Tom Searle, Airpower Research Institute,Maxwell AFB, Alabama.

Crimson Sky: The Air Battle for Korea.By John Bruning, Jr. Dulles, Va.: Brassey’s,1999. Map. Photographs. Bibliography. Glos-sary. Index. Pp. 231. $24.95 ISBN 1-57488-158-2

Crimson Sky is the latest book to hit thestreet in anticipation of the fiftieth anniver-sary of the Korean War. It is a very read-able, anecdotal account of the air war inKorea and covers a wide range of subjects—U.S. Air Force and Navy, propeller and jet,fighters and bombers. Its treatment ofnotable missions, such as the Namsi air-field, Hwachon dam, and actions such asTom Hudner’s, that earned him the Medalof Honor, and the loss of the top Americanace (at that time), George Davis, are welldone. Especially interesting was the cover-age of the B–26 intruders, night fighting,and the Po–2 night heckler flights. Bruningalso does a good job in fleshing out thedetails of what happened to a number ofAmerican pilots who were shot down.

This book is intended for the generalreader and enthusiast, not the student orscholar. That is, the author stresses read-ability above all else. There are dubiousquotations, and the text implies much widerand deeper sources than indicated by either

u u u u u u

u u u u u u


the sparse footnotes or limited (twenty-four-item) bibliography. For example, Bruningapparently makes use of Russian materials,but provides no precise indication of theirsources, in either footnote or bibliography.Certainly, this is not an analytical studyand there is also a clear lack of balance.Some aspects are covered in too muchdetail. For example, the Namsi raid getsthirty-seven pages of coverage. There isprobably too much context—the author cov-ers the ground war too extensively. On theother hand, other aspects, such as the use ofhelicopters and Marine aviation, are barelymentioned.

Crimson Sky is notable for its broad cov-erage and easy prose. It will appeal to thosewho desire a readable overview of the airwar and the view from the cockpit. It doesdeliver some new material, thanks to theuse of interviews. More serious readers,however, should look elsewhere for an ana-lytical, detailed, documented study of theair war in Korea.

Kenneth P. Werrell, Airpower ResearchInstitute, Air University, Maxwell AFB,Alabama.

Restoring Museum Aircraft. By RobertMikesh. Shrewsbury, England: Airlife Pub-lishing, 1997. Illustrations. Notes. Appen-dices. Bibliography. Glossary. Index. Pp. 218.£39.95 ISBN: 1-85310-875-8

This beautiful volume is a treasurehouse of information for anyone restoringan old aircraft, for modelers, or for thosewho are just interested in what it takes topreserve the nation’s aeronautical heritagefor future generations. As former SeniorAeronautical Curator of the National Airand Space Museum (NASM), the author hasmany years of first-hand knowledge of thephilosophy and procedures that should befollowed if the technology, materials, crafts-manship, and historical attributes of theseoften rare and significant artifacts are to besaved. Note, however, that this book coversstatic museum aircraft, not ones which willagain take to the air (there is a vast differ-ence in the two approaches).

Mr. Mikesh opens with two chapters onthe philosophical underpinnings of therestoration business: how does the aircraftfit in with the museum’s mission, how far doyou go with the work, curatorial guidelines,price versus value, and other related topics.The next chapter deals with what to do

before and during the teardown. Unques-tionably, documentation is the key to theentire process, whether through pho-tographs, log books, or marking restoredparts. Much of the historical essence of anartifact can be saved through proper docu-mentation.

The remaining chapters deal with theprocesses involved. Mr. Mikesh includeschapters on wood-and-fabric aircraft, metalaircraft, engines, tires, and colors and mark-ings. Through all of these, he uses as exam-ples a superb array of aircraft that havebeen restored at the Paul E. Garber Facilityof NASM as well as other museums aroundthe world. The reader will find a great dealof information on the World War I AlbatrossD.Va; 1912’s Benoist Type XII (one of thefirst tractor propulsion designs in the U.S.)World War II’s Arado Ar 234, Focke-Wulf Fw190F, North American P–51C Mustang;Kawanishi “George,” and Nakajima “Ir-ving”; Roscoe Turner’s Boeing 247D; andmany other aircraft now on display.

Despite the amount of coverage given tosome of the aircraft and the proceduresused, this book is not a complete “how-to” doa restoration manual—that would take vol-umes of historical documents, FAA regula-tions and guides, manufacturer’s productu u u u u u

AU Press Ad


specifications, chemical handbooks, andother materials. However, what it does pro-vide is an overview of the skills, products,and tools required, and a no-nonsenseapproach that must be taken to do theserestorations right.

The book is printed on high-quality glosspaper. Its nearly 325 photos (most in color)and many diagrams and drawings arereproduced with exceptional clarity anddetail. The casual reader could learn a sub-stantial amount about restoration just read-ing the photo captions alone. In fact, formodelers, the photo collection itself is worththe price of the book. But read it in detail.The stories behind these efforts are fasci-nating. Mikesh has done the preservationof aeronautical history a great servicethrough this book.

Col. Scott A. Willey, USAF (Ret), Docent,NASM’s Garber Facility

A Cold War Legacy: A Tribute toStrategic Air Command, 1946-1992. ByAlwyn T. Lloyd. Missoula, Mont.: Pictorial

Histories Publishing Company, Inc., 1999.Tables. Illustrations. Photographs. Maps.Appendices. Bibliography. Index. Pp. 714.$55.00 ISBN: 1-57510-052-5.

When I received this book for review, Iwas impressed with its large format andlength (714 pages), and its heft (some fivepounds). This is definitely not a book to readholding on your lap. I was also impressedwith the selection of photos, including a nicecolor section at the front of the book, and thequality of the paper used. A large number ofappendices listing the SAC commanders,aircraft and missiles, bases, various compe-titions, and so on, round out this massivevolume.

Unfortunately, the initial favorableimpression quickly turned to frustrationand disappointment because the book is sopoorly organized—it gives the appearanceof being a “cut and paste” job. Items havebeen taken from various sources anddropped into the text seemingly at random.Moreover, these items have not been editedfor content, grammar, or tense. In fact, verylittle, if any, editing has been done. Typosabound; sentences run together or make lit-tle sense because they have been truncated;stories begin only to be abruptly halted

without any resolution to the stories; air-craft no longer in service, such as the B–50,the B–47, and the B–58 are described as ifthey are still operational.

Although covering all aspects of SAC,from aircraft and units assigned, to exercis-es, to combat operations, to more esotericsubjects, like the RBS trains, the overalleffect is of jumble and disorganization.Wings and groups and squadrons come andgo, described at length but breaking up anynarrative flow. The author also recountsnumerous accidents throughout the book.While some are described in detail, most arenot. Nor does the author offer a rationale forchoosing the ones he did. SAC had far moreaccidents than are found here, includingsome of far more interest. The lack of edit-ing is also evident in many of these descrip-tions. For example, a B–58 accident is relat-ed (page 475) in which a crew member dieswhile ejecting. Two paragraphs later, thesame accident is retold. This time all of thecrew escapes! Which account is correct?

There are other errors or evidence thatthe manuscript was not closely edited beforepublication. For example, in the SAC com-manders appendix (page 671), Gen. LarryD. Welch somehow retires in 1986, insteadof going on to become the Air Force chief of

AMU Ad

u u u u u u


staff. Finally, far too much minutiae isincluded in the book. The times of day, hav-ing nothing to do with an accident or anexercise, are routinely mentioned as xxxxHours. Two films concerning SAC, “BombersB–52” and “A Gathering of Eagles,” are men-tioned prominently, including their runningtimes. The latter even receives a criticalreview by the author. Included is a longdescription of a symposium held at OffuttAFB and an even longer piece on SAC’srelations with civic leaders, neither eventmerits the space devoted to it. Sadly, despitethe size of this book, it is not the tribute thatSAC’s memory deserves.

William T. Y’Blood, Air Force HistorySupport Office

Innovation and the Development ofFlight. Ed. by Roger D. Lanius. CollegeStation: Texas A & M University, 1999. Pho-tographs. Illustrations. Index. Pp. 400.$44.95 ISBN 0-89096-876-4

Innovation and the Development ofFlight is a collection of twelve essays on var-ious aspects of aviation history. Written byseveral well-known aviation historians,including Tom Crouch, Robin Higham,William Leary, and Stephen McFarland,and clearly some other very capable schol-ars, each selection provides a detailed lookat a narrow and neglected element of avia-tion history. These subjects are quitediverse, covering both civilian and military,airliners and aerospace planes, engines andfuel, avionics and airfields. With one excep-tion, they are all extensively documented.

Due to the broad range of the topics,even more than is usually found in most col-lected works, the appeal of these essays willlargely depend on the reader’s interests andbackground. Regardless, the book’s twostrongest points are its high order of schol-arship and the novelty of its subjects—mostof these topics have been neglected. This col-lection also has a lofty goal. The editor,NASA historian Roger Lanius, writes thatInnovation and the Development of Flightattempts to present a “new” type of aviationhistory, one that is not dominated by the air-craft, but that relates “the subject to thelarger issues of society, politics, and cul-ture….” In his words: ”This ‘New AviationHistory’ moves beyond a fetish for the arti-fact to emphasize the broader role of the air-plane and, more importantly, the wholetechnological system….”

While this objective is a welcome initia-tive, its execution is flawed. As a groupthese essays lack focus. Although the indi-vidual pieces are in general interesting andin some cases stimulating, there is no over-all cohesion. Second, despite the editor’sassertion that these pieces are on twelve

major topics, certainly there are a numberof equally and more important topics thatare not included in this collection. Itappears the editor gave the contributors nomore direction than to write scholarly stud-ies on aviation subjects that either have notbeen covered or to approach them in a dif-ferent manner. And that is what he got.Third, all but two of the twelve essays areon topics that occurred in the thirty-yearperiod following the end of World War I.Admittedly this is an interesting and impor-tant era, yet it covers only three of aviation’salmost ten decades of powered flight.Finally, only two essays are on strictly non-American topics. On its face, such a narrowchronological and geographic view is sus-pect. The result is a diverse collection ofdetailed explorations of heretofore littleknown aspects of aviation history. Whilemost are well done, many could have beenshorter, some are quite technical, severalare very narrow, and a few certainly couldhave been written more clearly. At least onewas previously published.

This valiant effort to break the domina-tion of aircraft studies in the field of avia-tion history reveals more the pitfalls thanthe promise of this approach. Some in factmay contend that what this collectionrequires is some unifying theme, and sug-gest that the “artifact” itself—the aircraft—could effectively provide that. Another pos-sible organizing tool would have been ashorter chronological period. Clearly thereis a lot more to aviation than the aircraft,but it should not be forgotten that theseother aspects are only useful in their contri-bution toward making aviation more effec-tive. That being said, hopefully these essayswill provide the raw material that will allowothers to synthesize and write such aneffort. In short, for all its flaws, Innovationand the Development of Flight is a worthyinitial step to exploit the power and poten-tial of the “new aviation history.”

Kenneth P. Werrell, Airpower ResearchInstitute, Air University, Maxwell AFB,Alabama.

Over Lord: General Pete Quesada andthe Triumph of Tactical Air Power inWorld War II. By Thomas AlexanderHughes. New York: The Free Press, 1995.Maps. Photographs. Notes. Bibliography.Index. Pp. ix, 380. $28.00. ISBN: 0-02-915351-4

Dr. Hughes has done air power history agreat service in providing an overdue anddetailed look into one of the lesser studiedareas of World War II, tactical air power. Hisexhaustive research into primarily originalmaterial produced an excellent portrayal ofone of the architects of air power, General

Elwood R. Quesada—a truly interesting airpioneer. Hughes avoids long digressions intothe general’s upbringing and personal life toconcentrate on his professional develop-ment and wartime role. Unfortunately, theeffort suffers from several flaws.

Sloppy writing and an apparent lack oftechnical knowledge are evident through-out: “To facilitate [D-Day] identification,ground crews painted white stripes onP–38, P–47, and P–51 fighters.” Actually,they were white and black stripes and wereon all Allied aircraft except heavy bombers.“Radar operators, their eyes glued to a bankof oscilloscopes...” Unless they were testingtheir equipment, they were not looking atoscilloscopes. “...the fuselage was merely acanvas tarp tacked tautly to a woodenframe.” Canvas was never used on aircraft,and fabric was not tacked. “Sopwith SE-5”;P–47s firing 50mm ammunition; “masteringthe Army’s first all-steel monoplanes;” aCurtiss Condor complete with...pressurizedfuselage”; “Operation QUEEN in November1994;” “poor aerial-combat characteristics ofthe P–47s” (try explaining this to membersof the 4th and 56th Fighter Groups); “Whenhe arrived in France in October 1943...,” andmany more. A random typo may be forgiv-able, but such plentiful and basic errors asthese throw into question the accuracy ofother material despite the interminable useof footnotes at the end of nearly every para-graph.

The second shortcoming is the author’sforays into analysis. In his preface he sayshe attempts to recover the lost memory of“Quesada’s tactical innovations” and addinsight to modern-day debates on air policyin the Department of Defense. He accom-plishes the former by reporting expertlyfrom his vast research. But, in the latter, hefalls short. First, IX TAC was not the onlycommand working tactical air, nor wasEurope the only theater in which theseproblems had to be addressed. Second, Dr.Hughes himself seems confused over thedifferences between tactical air power, closeair support, and interdiction, often usingthe terms interchangeably. And, while hepontificates on the Army Air Forces’s lean-ings toward strategic missions at theexpense of the ground troops, he shows alack of fundamental understanding of theroles of air superiority and strategic bomb-ing in keeping enemy air power off thebacks of army forward and support forcesand in reducing availability of enemy mili-tary power in general.

For a great—and balanced—biographyof General Quesada and history of IXTactical Air Command, this is the book toread; but, for insight into the developmentof the Air Force and tactical air power, othersources will serve the reader better.

Col. Scott A. Willey, USAF (Ret) Docent,NASM’s Garber Facility.

u u u u u u

u u u u u u

u u u u u u

Morton, Desmond. A Military History of Canada:From Champlain to Kosovo. Toronto, Canada:McClelland & Stewart, 1999. [4th ed., 1st pub-lished 1985] Maps. Photographs. Notes.Appendices. Bibliography. Index. Pp. xiii, 338.$18.95 Paperback ISBN: 0-7710-6514=0

Moten, Matthew. The Delafield Commission andthe American Military Profession, College Station:Texas A&M University Press, 2000. Map.Illustrations. Photographs. Notes. Bibliography.Index. Pp. xvii, 267. $47.95 ISBN: 0-89096-925-6

Trest, Warren A. Air Commando One: Heinie Ader-holt and America’s Secret Air Wars. Washington,D.C. and London: Smithsonian Institution Press,2000. Maps. Photographs. Notes. Glossary.Bibliography. Index. Pp. xi, 322 $27.95 ISBN: 1-56098-807-X

Wainstock, Dennis D. Truman, MacArthur, and theKorean War. No. 176 in series, Contributions inMilitary Studies. Westport, Ct. and London:Greenwood Press, 1999. Maps. Notes. Photo-graphs. Bibliography. Index. Pp. xxiii, 193. $55.00ISBN: 0-313-30837-3

Warnock, A. Timothy. The USAF in Korea: AChronology, 1950–1953. Washington, D.C.: AirForce History and Museums Program, 2000.Photographs. Pp. 100.

Zellmer, David. The Spectator: A World War IIBomber Pilot’s Journal of the Artist as Warrior.Westport, Ct. and London; Praeger, 1999. Map.Photographs. Pp. xvii, 128. $29.95 ISBN: 0-275-96286-5


Besson, Jacques. Dogfight: A Documentary Film.VHS video, Paris, France: Camera 16, 2000. [BobIzzard, P–47 pilot, 371st FG, 9AF, World War II,rare color footage. 56 minutes.]

Doherty, Richard and David Truesdale. IrishWinners of the Victoria Cross. Dublin, Ireland:Four Courts Press, 2000. Photographs. Notes.Appendices. Notes. Bibliography. Index. Pp. 272.$40.00 ISBN-85182-491-X

Donnelly, Michael, with Denise Donnelly. Falcon’sCry: A Desert Storm Memoir. Westport, Ct. andLondon: Praeger, 1998. Photographs. Glossary.Appendix. Pp. x, 251. $27.95 ISBN: 0-275-96462-0

Dunmore, Spencer. In Great Waters: The Epic Storyof the Battle of the Atlantic, 1939–45. Toronto,Canada: McClelland & Stewart, 1999. Photo-graphs. Notes. Appendix. Bibliography. Index. Pp.xiii, 342. $24.95 ISBN: 0-7710-2929-2

Goldstein, Jonathan, ed. China and Israel: A FiftyYear Retrospective. Westport, Ct. and London:Praeger, 1999. Notes. Bibliography. Index. Pp.xxxiii, 215. $65.00 ISBN: 0-275-96306-3

Kaufman, Burton I. The Korean Conflict. In series,Guides to Historic Events of the Twentieth Century.Westport, Ct. and London: Greenwood Press, 1999.Maps. Notes. Photographs. Appendices. Glossary.Bibliography. Index. Pp. xxiii, 193. $39.95 ISBN: 0-313-29909-9

Leary, William. Anywhere, Anything, Any Time:Combat Cargo in the Korean War. Washington,D.C.: Air Force History and Museums Program,2000. Photographs. Pp. 36

PROSPECTIVE REVIEWERS

Anyone who believes he or she is qualified tosubstantively assess one of the new books listedabove is invited to apply for a gratis copy of thebook. The prospective reviewer should contact:

Dr. Michael L. GrumelliACSC/DES225 Chennault CircleMaxwell AFB, AL 36112Tel. (334) 953-3060e-mail:[email protected]

Books Received

Recently Published by

Available from theGovernment Printing Office

Phone (202) 512-1800Fax (202) 512-2250Web: http://www.gpo.gov


SPECIAL OFFER:AMERICAN ASTRONAUTICAL SOCIETY

(AAS) BOOKS ON THE HISTORY OFROCKETRY AND ASTRONAUTICS

AAS History Series (Write for a complete catalog):

Volume 1, Two Hundred Years of Flight in America: A Bicentennial

Survey, E.M. Emme, ed., 326p., 3rd printing, hard cover $25 $17.50; soft

cover $25 $12.50.

Volume 2, Twenty-Five Years of the American Astronautical Society:

Historical Reflections and Projections, 1954-1979, E.M. Emme, ed.,

248p., hard cover $25 $12.50; soft cover $15 $7.50.

Volume 3, Between Sputnik and the Shuttle: New Perspectives on

American Astronautics, 1957-1980, F.C. Durant III, ed., 350p., hard cover

$40 $20.00; soft cover $30 $15.00.

Volume 4, The Endless Space Frontier: A History of the House

Committee on Science & Astronautics, 1959-1978, by K. Hechler,

abridged and ed. by A.E. Eastman, 460p., hard cover $45 $22.50.

Volume 5, Science Fiction and Space Futures, E.M. Emme, ed., 278p.,

hard cover $35 $17.50; soft cover $25 $12.50.

Volume 6, First Steps Toward Space (1st and 2nd IAA History

Symposia), F.C. Durant III and G.S. James, eds., 318p., hard cover $45

$22.50; soft cover $35 $17.50.

Volume 7, Parts I & 11, History of Rocketry & Astronautics (3rd-6th

IAA History Symposia), R.C. Hall, ed., Part I, 250p, Part II, 502p., sold

as set, hard cover $100 $50.00; soft cover $80 $40.00.

Volume 8, History of Rocketry and Astronautics (7th and 8th IAA

History Symposia), K.R. Lattu, ed., 368p., hard cover $50 $25.00; soft

cover $35 $17.50.

Volume 9, History of Rocketry and Astronautics (9th-11th IAA History

Symposia), F.I. Ordway III, ed., 330p., hard cover $50 $25.00; soft cover

$35 $17.50.

Volume 10, History of Rocketry and Astronautics (12th-14th IAA History

Symposia), A.I. Skoog, ed., 318p., hard cover $50 $25.00; soft cover $40

$20.00.


History Symposia), R.D. Launius, ed., 236p., hard cover $60 $30.00; soft

cover $40 $20.00.

Volume 12, History of Rocketry and Astronautics (17th IAA History

Symposium), J.L. Sloop, ed., 252p., hard cover $60 $30.00; soft cover

$40 $20.00.

Volume 13, History of Liquid Rocket Engine Development in the United

States 1955-1980, S.E. Doyle, ed., 176p., hard cover $50 25.00; soft

cover $35 $17.50.


History Symposia), T.D. Crouch and A.M. Spencer, eds., 222p., hard

cover $50 $25.00; soft cover $35 $17.50.

Volume 15, History of Rocketry and Astronautics (20th and 21st IAA

History Symposia), L.H. Cornett, Jr., ed., 452p., hard cover $60 $30.00;

soft cover $40 $20.00.

Volume 16, Out from Behind the Eight-Ball: A History of Project Echo,

by D.C. Elder, 176p., hard cover $50 $25.00; soft cover $30 $15.00.

Volume 17, History of Rocketry and Astronautics (22nd and 23rd IAA

History Symposia), J. Becklake, ed., 480p., hard cover $60 $30.00; soft

cover $40 $20.00.

Volume 18, Organizing the Use of Space: Historical Perspectives on a

Persistent Issue, R.D. Launius, ed., 232p., hard cover $60 $30.00; soft

cover $40 $20.00.


Symposium), J.D. Hunley, ed., 318p., hard cover $60 $30.00; soft cover

$40 $20.00.


Symposium), J.D. Hunley, ed., 344p., hard cover $60 $30.00; soft cover

$40 $20.00.


Symposium), Philippe Jung, ed., 368p., hard cover $60 $30.00; soft cover

$40 $20.00.


Symposia), Philippe Jung, ed., 418p., hard cover $60 $30.00; soft cover

$40 $20.00.

Special Price for Complete Set (Volumes 1-22): Hard Cover $475.00

plus $20.00 postage and handling (U.S.) Soft Cover $345.00 plus $20.00

postage and handling (U.S.).

Postage and HandlingPlease add $5.00 for the first book ordered and $l.00 for each additional

book ordered (U.S.), $8.00 for the first book ordered and $3.00 for each

additional books ordered (non-U.S.).

Ordering Information:

All orders from individuals must be prepaid by check or money order in

U.S. funds. Visa and Mastercard accepted. California residents should add

sales tax.

Order from Univelt, Inc., P.O. Box 28130,San Diego CA 92198

Phone: (760) 746-4005; Fax: (760) 746-3139

Recently Published by

Available from theGovernment Printing Office

Phone (202) 512-1800Fax (202) 512-2250Web: http://www.gpo.gov

Origins of Hypersonic Propulsion:A Personal History Thomas ... · Origins of Hypersonic...

Documents

Transcript of Origins of Hypersonic Propulsion:A Personal History Thomas ... · Origins of Hypersonic...