 This is an American air base in East Anglia, on the east coast of England, one of many such bases from which American fighter planes swarmed up into battle against the German air force. Planes known as the P-47, the Thunderbolt, a fast, tough, high-altitude fighter with a dive like its name, and an eight-gun blast in its wings. The Lightning, the P-38, master of the air in many theaters of war with its long range and concentrated firepower. The Mustang, the P-51, the longest-range fighter in the world. Speed, fast climb, quick dive, tight turn. Into these three great fighters America poured its genius, its millions of man-hours of labor, its faith in victory against the Luftwaffe, and in their single cockpits it placed these men. Relaxing now, but not for long. At headquarters, 8th Air Force, General Doolittle is discussing fighter protection. The 8th Fighter Command will give fighter cover, two targets, and back from the targets. It is desirable that we peel off as many fighters as possible to come down east of the roar, and straight ground targets. The bomber plan, timing, altitudes, strength, course, and targets reach the combat operations room at headquarters 8th Fighter Command, Major General Kepner commanding. A field order goes out. Sixty-second group P-47s will escort heavy bombers over enemy coast through target to limit of endurance. The machinery is set in motion. Now comes the briefing for the mission, and everybody present. These Thunderbolt pilots are veterans of many missions, so the Colonel gives them only the essentials. They are to escort the bombers to a target about 40 miles east of Mannheim, and then proceed to the strafing of air drones north of Frankfurt. They're given times of takeoff, rendezvous, escort, strafing. The pilots make notes on the backs or palms of their left hands. It warns them that they may expect considerable enemy opposition today. The Germans have brought in some 100 single-engine fighters. On the field, planes warm up. It's takeoff time for the Thunderbolts. At other bases, time to the escort schedule, the P-38s get underway, and it's still others. The long-range mustangs go to keep their rendezvous with the bombers someplace deep in Germany. Somewhere out there over enemy territory, near or far, in the long route as the bombers go out and come home, each of these formations will make rendezvous at a certain point on the exact minute. The Thunderbolts climb steadily over the channel into hostile skies. Next to rendezvous, and in the distance of the bombers, advanced formations of an armada perhaps a hundred miles long. The Thunderbolts maneuver for their escort position. Each pilot searches the sky, constantly watching for the main enemy attack, which may come near the coast or deep in Germany, or hit and run sneak attacks by the enemy's aerial snipers, and then at another rendezvous point comes a group of mustangs to relieve the Thunderbolts. The Thunderbolts break escort, they head for home, watching for every possible strafing target on the way. The mustangs far in the distance sweep the surrounding sky as they come in to take the places held by the Thunderbolts. One of the most important features of long-range fighter escort is this relay system. Because of the differences in bomber speeds and the need of much weaving, fighters used up their gas. Thus, the same group of fighters could remain with the bombers only 25 to 40 minutes out of a six or eight hour mission, going and coming. And a thousand fighters might be needed to keep anything from 40 to 100 on the job at all times. While the enemy could strike with 250 at any point he selected, our fighter groups had to relieve at rendezvous points all along the route. But on the German side, the Luftwaffe was forewarned an hour and a half in advance, even as our bombers gained altitude over England. This captured German film shows how quickly their 109s and Falk Wolf 190s got into action after a warning. They had plenty of time to mass their fighters at a chosen point of attack and to outnumber our escort at anything from two to one to ten to one. They were as grimly determined to stop our great daylight thrusts into their industrial heart as our bombers and fighters were resolved to press them home. Meanwhile, deep in Germany, the group of escorting mustangs watches every corner of the sky, weaving ahead, above, below and all around the bombers like a screen of destroyers protecting the main fleet. They don't have long to wait for another rendezvous. This time with the enemy, they get rid of their long range wing tanks before the fight and down they go for the kill. With a touch of a finger on the stick, a camera and eight machine guns are put into action. Small cameras set on the wings make the record. Too often, poor pictures due to gun vibration, but they let you see what happens in the instant of action as the pilot sees it. The enemy fighters are massing for an attack on our bombers, while our pilots watch every move of their varied tactics. The juries make a sneak attack on our bombers from behind. Gun camera film, captured from the enemy, reveals how they hammer out bombers with their 22 millimeters. A B-17 catches fire and goes down in flames. This one had half his tail shot off, but it's still going ahead. We lose another, but they can't stop us. Our fighters, often heavily outnumbered, engage the enemy all over the sky and this battle is only one of many, day after day, month after month. Mustangs, thunderbolts, lightnings against the enemy 109s in the Park Wolf 190s. Our fighters attack, attack, attack, two into ten, six into fifty. They block the enemy's mass assaults until our victory column soars at the rate of four to one. If a missed rendezvous or other misadventure, due usually to blinding weather, prevented fighter protection somewhere, the bombers suffered heavy losses. But no American fighter ever failed them because of enemy odds, however great. Never was a mission turned back by enemy action. Ever-increasing fleets of fortresses and liberators pressed onto their targets and dropped their loads. When the day arrived when a huge eight-there-force bomber mission with full fighter escort was flown to Berlin and back without a challenge by a single enemy fighter. But before that eventful day, the thunderbolts, lightnings and mustangs had another mission to perform. Our bomber and fighter losses were strikingly less than the enemies, but the home front sent us more bombers and fighters and more well-trained pilots and our fleets grew mightier by the month. However, the enemy's first-line operational strength was maintained also. The Great Air Battle of Europe was still undecided. In February 1944, there was a sudden change. Our fighters were ordered to range wider to seek the enemy in the air and on the ground instead of waiting for it and above all to follow him to his destruction. A gigantic fighter battle raged across the European skies with victories by our fighters alone of 60, 85, over 100 destroyed each day. The fight came down from almost invisible heights to the final decision, perhaps only a few feet above the ground. Enemy warplanes of every kind and in fantastic numbers were splashed all over the landscape of northwestern Germany and occupied Holland, Belgium, France. This was a crucial battle. Both sides were aware of the coming events with air domination itself at stake. Once again, a better cause, better planning and leadership, better equipment, and beyond everything else, the valor of our fighter pilots gave us victory. Only this time it was decisive. So many of the enemy's aircraft exploded over his own forest and housetops or were driven flaming wrecks into the ground. So many of his famous fighter leaders met death at the hands of our pilots. That is morale was shattered. His defense plan was smashed. Quickly our fighters seized their opportunity. Since the enemy did not come up to fight, down they went to blast his planes to pieces and burn them on his own air drones all over western Europe and in the very heart of Germany. It was the most savage and devastating fighter attack on record, returning from unchallenged escort duty and on many special missions. They burned his aircraft by hundreds from one airfield to another. Intense enemy flak, sheets of machine gun fire from flak towers and ground installations caused us heavy losses. Four times as many as the same number of fighters would sustain an aerial combat. But our fighters never flinched and by their courage, face destruction in single engine planes only a few feet above the ground and 500 miles from their bases until they had smashed the heavily concentrated frontline operational strength of the German Air Force forever. Now that the sky was ours, another great opportunity became ours too. The destruction of the enemy's transportation system that fed and supplied the great armies counted on to repel the Allied invasion forces. The enemy's roads and railroads were struck with the mighty force of air power. These were tense days, crucial days and both sides knew it. Our fighters freed by their bitterly won victory in the air became a dominant factor on the ground. They exploded locomotives by the thousands and burned freight cars in uncounted numbers. No train in daylight hours was safe. No target too small. Even a single railroad car. No marshaling yard, a haven. The enemy's desperately needed rail transport system was shattered all over the map. They attacked his barges, his oil tanks, towers, radio and radar stations. Trucks carrying ammunition and supplies. Staff cars carrying high German officials. This one might have been Rommel. Road traffic of every kind and description until enemy convoys could only move effectively at night. What did this mean to the German armies of the west? How did it count on invasion day in the battle of Normandy? The answer is history. Our Gallaud armies are driving ahead without having to keep one eye cocked over their shoulders. Their gun emplacements unobserved. Everywhere about the mighty battle was and is the flash of American fighters. The Germans see them deep in their own sky and cringe. Our men see them above the grim fight and cheer. There are remembered names in the mess halls. Major Gerald Johnson, a crack shot. Major Goodson, gallant fighter. Major Duane Beeson, great tactician. Captain Eugene O'Neill, one of the best. Major Don Gentilly ran up a flaming record. Colonel Don Blakesley, great leader of fourth group. Major Walker Mejurin, one of the first and best of the great aces. Major Bob Johnson and all his victories. Lieutenant Colonel Gepreski with a great career. And Colonel Hubert Sampke, famous commander of 56. A score of victories or more are the records of them all. Duncan, Schelling, Pretti and all our gallant fighter pilots who in the decisive hour smashed the Luftwaffe and gave us freedom of the air in Europe. Just as that freedom must now be gained in the Pacific.