Whirlwind - Barrett Tillman [89]
The pilots insisted that if there was a cloud in the Pacific, it sat on Iwo Jima. Ground heat and the presence of sulfur in the salt air made Iwo even more prone to cloud formation than other islands, often producing a ceiling of fifty feet. Consequently, Iwo received one of the early ground control approach (GCA) radars. It was established on the main runway of Airfield Number 1, presenting an instrument approach within 100 feet of Mount Suribachi’s northwest slope. “It takes a lot of good-weather practice approaches before you’ll trust the thing,” observed more than one pilot.
Flying single-engine fighters on 1,500-mile round-trips over a vast ocean with minimal navigation aids required a confidence born of experience. It was a task few pilots were experienced enough to attempt on their own. The standard P-51D had a magnetic and gyro compass plus a radio compass—the latter of limited range. Voice communication was available on one VHF four-channel radio, and that was all. “You lose your radio or dynamotor and you have to dead-reckon 600 nautical miles to a spot in the ocean less than four miles in diameter,” said Harry Crim. “Coming back, if your radio worked you could get a steer for the last hundred miles from radar, if it was working. That’s why you didn’t want to be alone.”
Fortunately, help was available. Six B-29 navigation planes in three pairs led about 100 Mustangs on each mission to a designated point off the Japanese coast, circling while the fighters flew inland. When the Mustangs began to return to the rendezvous point, the first pair of B-29s waited until about half had arrived, then set course for Iwo. The other two pair of bombers departed the coast at ten-minute intervals to allow latecomers to latch on to one navigation group or another. The last B-29 to depart transmitted Morse Code letters permitting stragglers to get their bearings. When on the correct heading the fighter pilot heard the letters U (..–) and D (–..) overlapping into a steady hum.
The bare statistics of what was involved in one VLR mission do not begin to tell the story. In round numbers, nearly 100 Mustangs, whose combined 1945 value was a little under $6 million, took off with 57,000 gallons of high-octane fuel and some 230,000 rounds of .50 caliber ammunition. The round-trip distance was equal to halfway across North America, from Los Angeles to Little Rock. Except for the time spent over Japan, the entire mission was flown above water. Seven-hour sorties were routine; eight hours were not unknown.
Unlike the procedure in Europe, VII Fighter Command Mustangs did not escort specific bomber formations but guarded a stream of B-29s as much as 200 miles long. One fighter group was assigned target cover near the bomb release point while another provided withdrawal support. Usually flying 2,000 feet above the bombers, the three covering squadrons flew two on one side of the bomber stream and one on the other, with four-plane flights about half a mile apart. The three squadrons were staggered line astern, flying in the same direction as the Superforts that were approaching the drop point. The most likely point of interception was near the beginning of the bomb run, so the escort concentrated there, ready to pounce.
Flak was the most frequently encountered resistance, but 90-degree course changes with slight altitude variation allowed the fighters to remain under antiaircraft fire for nearly an hour with little damage.
Enemy fighter opposition could be fierce and determined, but generally the Sunsetters had little respect for their opponents. The biggest problem was locating Japanese in the air, and actual engagements were rarer. In more than four months of combat the Mustangs clashed with Japanese only fifteen times. “Finding enemy aircraft was difficult,” Crim recalled. “They weren’t interested in tangling with us, and the only aggression I saw was when they thought they had us at a great disadvantage. Some of the pilots were skillful, but there weren’t enough of them to make much