 operating in the skies of Western Europe against the German Air Force. This is 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. Here is the lightning, the P-38, master of the air and many theaters of war. The long-range and concentrated firepower of this great fighter counted in Western Europe, too. The Mustang, the P-51, longest-range fighter in the world. Speed, fast climb, quick dive, tight turn. A fighter pilot's dream. 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 cock bits, it placed its carefully chosen sons, trained to a fighting edge, trained as never before. Here is their report, catchers catch could by their own gun cameras in the instant of action and delivered in return for your toil and your treasure and your high hopes. This is a Thunderbolt base in East Anglia on the east coast of England. One of many such bases from which our fighter plane swarmed up into the far-read yonder of battle to the east. Their main job, although they struck many other blows, was to escort and protect our heavy four-engine bombers, the big friends against the Falk Wolf 190s, the ME-109s, and the enemy's rocket-loving twin-engines, Ju-88s, ME-210s, 410s, and others. To attack them whenever, wherever, and in whatever strength they appear, our direct challenge for control of the air. Trucks bring the pilots from the field to the squadron dispersal hut for intelligence interrogation after the mission. Coffee and sandwiches if they wanted. Little action today, just a routine escort. You saw 4 190s on the field. That's right, Kerry saw them too. I think it was this field, Jack, brother West. We made the 180 here and flew about two minutes on 340. Well, that's about 15 miles south of Hanover. We thought that field was knocked out. They seem like ordinary American boys, but look a little closer. Now they pile in a jeep and ride to Chaff. They have jeeps enough, but they like it this way. They kiddle a lot, high-spirited, and later they relax and enjoy the not-too-frequent sunlight. Unless some joker is present, and he usually is. They keep pretty fit, ready to stand anything up to seven hours in a single-seater in substratosphere, alert every second, and they keep their eye in. This fellow has 22 destroyed. Well, he may have if he keeps at it, and they won't be clay pigeons. The old swimming hole is the same in England as at home. They had a beautiful summer in England that day. Little aquatic practice won't hurt either. They may have to make a high dive with chute and become a channel swimmer almost any time. Of course, it gives their airborne pals a fine chance to practice low-flying a bit. The swimmers take no chances on this buzz job. Maybe they're learning not to get behind the eight ball here. Put the six in the corner, getting in shape for Wimbledon in a small way. Good shot. Keep your eye on the little white ball, Eddie. Keeping up with their crooning naturally may need that and the good old buy-and-buy. Everybody's favorite newspaper in this town. What goes on in New Guinea, China and Luzon? What's happening at home? Best of all is their comradeship. Fellows who are trusting one another with their lives in this teamwork war learn to be friends. Somewhere else in England and another day. From deep sweeps into enemy territory, a weather reconnaissance plane flies in. Its reports are cross-checked with many others, writing the destiny of today or tomorrow and atmospheric pressure lines. Fair in this theater means not impossible and weather is almost enemy number one. At 8th Air Force, General Doolittle discusses 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 strafe ground targets. How many do you want to peel off? Well, General, we're spreading over a pretty wide area there. I'd recommend very seriously to be able to all strafe into a minimum and go ahead and send that over to the 8th Fighter Command. The bomber plan, timing, altitudes, forces, course and targets have reached the combat operations room at headquarters 8th Fighter Command, Major General Kepner commanding. Now the general and his chief of staff, Brigadier General Griswold, come in to inspect and discuss the plan of escort. Colonel Burns' operations determines what group shall fly. Colonel James decides their disposition. Colonel Callaghan, intelligence, estimates where and when the enemy will intercept. It's an intricate, scientific plan based upon information from many sources and upon the route and location of the target. Then a field order goes out to the fighter wings and through them to the fighter groups and squadrons which they control. This command supports first and second bomber forces. 62nd Group P-47s will escort heavy bombers over enemy coast through target to limit of endurance. These observations will be reported over RT. The field order is received at the fighter base by the duty officer in group operations. He checks the field order for the group rendezvous time with the bombers. He calls maintenance armament and others. And in the still dark hours of the morning, a squadron intelligence officer shakes the pilots out of their deep sleep. Briefing at 6.30. Oh, um, why can't they fight the war at a reasonable hour? Look up over there. If you want any breakfast, there's a show on. Crews, meantime, are warming and priming the aircraft. The crews are a vital part of this show. Dune their kites to fighting pitch. Going places as always, long-range wing tanks are fitted. Now briefing and everybody present. The colonel comes in. These fellows are veterans of many missions. So he gives them the essentials without ceremony. Okay, boys, Dady was ready to escort 10 boxes of bombers, 36 ships to each wing. We're on the front end of the first task force, picking them up in the Mammaline area around the target, about 20 miles east of Mammaline. At which time, we will proceed up to the airfields north of the Frankfurt, where we will stray. Now today, I want to use the same system we used the other day. That is, dividing the field up into sections, one squadron only on the field at one time. When the ammunition is expanded from that squadron, you'll move up and let the other top-over squadron come down and stray. Okay, boys, we'll start engines at 850, takeoff, 858-906, rendezvous with the big friends, 1104, escort until 1124, strafe until 1216. The pilots make notes on the back or palm of their left hands. No chance of losing that little memo in a moment of excitement or not much chance. Any more questions? Intelligence. Intelligence takes over. Gentlemen, you may state the considerable enemy opposition today. The Germans have brought in some 100 single-engine pilots chiefly 109s, some 190s, to stop the American drive across the Rhine. Watch your flight at the Rhine River and Mannheim, and particularly in the Frankfurt area. Now after you break that score, there are four air drones which we've marked in red pens. You're free to straight those air drones, but watch out for the flight. There are probably about 30 guns on each airfield. Send a flight down to silence the guns before you attempt to hit the planes on two. Then time check. A minute is a long time for an air fighter. In 10 seconds, the time will be exactly 06-58. Surprised? These fellows know what's at stake. Each man takes his emergency kit and empties his pockets. A scrap of paper might tell a big story to enemy intelligence if he has to bail out. Last but not least, each pilot picks up his chute and rubber dinghy on the way out. 20 minutes before takeoff time, trucks bring the pilots to their planes. The group leader gives his own flight special instructions. Techniques are proven and fairly standard, but they're rugged individualists, these fighter boys, and each leader has a few ideas of his own. All right, let's get aboard. Helmet is not only for warmth, it holds radio earphones too. Oxygen mask contains the mic. No hands to spare on this one man kite. Here this pilot will fly and fight in the icy sub-stratosphere or dusting the treetops of Germany for anything from four to seven hours. Oh my aching bank. Expert takeoffs and landings are a point of pride with every squadron. It's time to the escort schedule the P-38s get underway, which mustangs to keep their rendezvous with the big friends some place deep in Germany. Somewhere out there over enemy territory, near or far on the long route as the bombers go out and come home, each of these fighter formations will make rendezvous with them at a certain point on the exact minute. These thunderbolts climb steadily over the channel in a de-hostile air. They keep fairly close together to prevent wandering and to save gas. That all-important item for the long-range escort fighter. He can't borrow a couple of coupons over Frankfurt or Cologne. Now they open up into battle formation, fairly line abreast. Each pair, leader and wingman, never willingly separated, is a combat element. Four planes are a flight, eight a section, 16 a squadron, three squadrons a group, all working together because it's teamwork every second or die, just as simple as that. Close to rendezvous now and then the distance are the bombers. Advanced formations are the perhaps 100 mile long or moderate. The thunderbolts maneuver for the 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 a hit and run sneak attack by the enemy's aerial snipers. These black darts are not friendly, if it's long-range wing tanks before the flight. Then down they go. The sneak attackers try to run for it now, but the thunderbolts are on them. With the touch of the finger on the stick, a camera and eight machine guns are put into action. Small cameras set on the wings make the wrecking. Four pictures due to gun vibration. But you see it when it happened, as the pilot saw it. Piercing incendiary, 50-caliber ammunition makes a flash when it strikes and how it strikes. Farmers ready with their own guns for anything that slips through didn't need them this time. All over now, just a skirmish, part of the escort routine. The flight reforms and climbs the reganets position with the rest of the squadron. In the distance coming in to relieve the thunderbolts is a group of mustangs. 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. Next to the belly or wing tank, which double the fighter range, one feature of long-range fighter escort was the relay system. Because of differences in bomber and fighter speeds and the need of much weaving, fighters used up their time and distance almost twice as fast as the bombers. 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 one another at rendezvous points all along the route, like this. Simple in diagram, but difficult in the limitless, often weather-blinded spaces of the enemy air. It took planning, leadership, and most of all, it took individual fighting skill and courage to match the enemy's tactical advantages. Forewarned an hour and a half by his radars, our bombers gained altitude over England. He had plenty of time to mass his fighters at his chosen point of attack and to outnumber our escort at anything from two to one to ten to one. This captured film shows how quickly the 109s and the Falk Wolf 190s got into action. They were as grimly determined to stop these great daylight thrusts into their industrial heart as our bombers and fighters were resolved to press them home to the hilt, destroyers protecting the main fleet. A group of escorting mustangs watches every corner of the sky. They don't have long to wait. Ceaseless training plus battle experience taught them to recognize the enemy almost by instinct. Where they are, how they act. First hostile aircraft is spotted. The enemy fighters are massing for an attack on the bombers while our pilots watch every move of their varied tactics. The mustangs drop wing tanks and plunge into the fighter. They dive through the fortress's formation as a favorite. So fast sometimes, and so many, our fighters cannot head all of them off. The Huns make a sneak attack on our bombers from behind. Some of them get in close as this captured enemy gun camera film shows and hammer our bombers with their 20 millimeters. It's punishing, but they shall pay. The mustangs are in the thick of it and the battle ranges all over the sky as other formations join in. Flaves and sometimes inflict great damage before they're driven off. Fire and goes down in flames. It's a determinant. So are ours. Battle is only one of many. Day after day, month after month, mustang thunderbolt lightning against the ME-109s and the FW-190s. Our fighters are tanked. A tank. Two into ten. Six into fifty. They broke up the enemy's mass assaults. Then his shattered flights were pounced upon and destroyed individually. Our victory column soared at the rate of four to one. Great and gallant days they were. Many new aces, many empty places. Victory, victory, death, victory, victory. The fortresses and liberators pressed relentlessly onto their targets. Whenever attacked, they defended themselves with legendary gallantry and effective rendezvous or other misadventure due usually to blinding weather prevented fighter protection somewhere. They suffered heavy losses, than because of enemy odds, however great. Never was a mission turned back by enemy action. Fighter losses, though strikingly less than the enemies, were heavy. But the home front sent us more bombers and fighters and more well trained pilots. And our fleets grew mightier by the month. But the enemy 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 even at some risk to the bombers. To seek the enemy instead of waiting for him. 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, of its stake. Once again, only this time it was decisive. So many of his aircraft exploded over his own forests and housetops or were driven flaming wrecks into the ground. So many of his famous fighter leaders met death at the hands of some grimly determined boy from Illinois or Wyoming that his morale was shattered. His defense plan was smashed. The Luftwaffe cried, enough to and with full fighter escort was flown to Berlin and back in good weather without challenge by a single enemy fighter. Escort fighter 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 drums all over western Europe in the very heart of Germany. It was the most savage and devastating fighter-ground attack on record. Returning from unchallenged escort duty and on many special missions, they burned his aircraft by hundreds, carried him from one airfield to another, forced on him a degree of dispersal ruin as to his efficiency. His frequently intense light flag, sheets of machine gun fire from flag towers and ground insulation caused losses, heavy ones. Four times as many as the same number of fighters would sustain in aerial combat. These are the films of the victors and they do not show the cause. But our fighters never flinched and by their fine courage facing destruction and single-engine planes only a few feet above the ground, 500 miles from their bases, they smashed the heavily concentrated front-line operational strength of the German Air Force forever. The reason on this kind of sitting duck the steady relentless bombing of Germany went on without ceasing. Against the enemy's occasional desperate efforts to intercept, we maintained fighter escort every step of the way. But the sky was ours and another great opportunity was ours. His teaming widespread intricate transportation system. Feeding and supplying the great armies which he counted upon to throw our invasion forces back into the sea. Then something happened. Roads were struck with a mighty force of air power. They 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. These thunderbolts are dive bombing. But by far the greatest, the almost paralyzing destruction they inflicted was by the burning hard-hitting fire of their 50 caliber guns. They exploded locomotives by the thousand and burned freight cars in uncounted numbers. No train and daylight hours were safe. No marshaling yard or haven. The enemy's desperately needed rail transport system was shattered all over the map. It did not save them. Make to slow moving barges was no escape. The hail of our fighter fire swept the canals. Caused us lots of damage. They took plenty in return for a special beating. Flag and machine gun defense was forced upon the enemy where every hope to move. It was intense. Watch these bursts of light flag. Much of it our skillful pilots knew how to avoid. Some of it cost us grievous losses. None of it turned us aside. Watch this staff car of a high German officer. Was it Rommel? Could be. At the same time came such a scourge of road traffic as never before known. The enemy could move his convoys effectively only at night. Was delayed and destroyed wherever he turned the wheel. What did this mean to the German armies in the west? How did it count on invasion day and the battle of Normandy? Here is the picture of the enemy's transportation system as he was able to take it into the crucial test. Yes, this is the report our fighter pilots send back to you. The great armadas of our bombers sailing unhindered through the enemy air. Our gallant armies driving ahead without having to keep one eye cocked over their shoulders. Their gun emplacements unobserved was and is the flash of American fighters. The thunderbolt, the lightning, the Mustang. 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 Dwayne Beeson, great tactician. Captain Eugene O'Neill, one of the best. Major Don Gentilly ran up a flaming record. Colonel Don Blakeslay, great leader of fourth group. Major Walker Mejurin, one of the first and best of the great aces. Major Bob Johnson in all his victories. Lieutenant Colonel Gubreski with a great career. And Colonel Ubud Zempke, famous commander of 56. A score of victories or more on the records of them all. Duncan, Schilling, Pretti, and many, many others. But this is not the story of our heroes. It belongs to all our gallant fighter pilots who in the decisive hour smashed the Luftwaffe and gave us freedom of the air.