Hi, folks!
Here is the report of a British Buffalo vs. AVG P-40 dogfight, written by a former Flying Tiger. Enjoy
Re: Dan Ford's comments about RAF pilots fighting over Rangoon.
For a little over 50 years I had been trying to get in touch with the RAF pilot that flew the Brewster Buffalo in a dogfight I had over Toungoo Burma. At last I succeeded and am enclosing his letter. To bring the reader up to speed I am including a little background on the subject.
A number of ex-navy and former marine pilots, after seen the RAF in both Singapore and Rangoon flying the Brewster, became disgruntled with Chennault. They though the P-40 was an inferior plane and wanted to trade a squadron of P-=40s for a squadron of Brewster Buffalos. I guess it was out of loyalty to the navy and one of its fighters.
I received a letter from Commander Brandt, a RAF pilot who had fought the Japanese along side the Flying Tigers in the sky over Burma.
Several of them expressed their opinion verbally, and apparently Chennault heard their grumbling. He arranged with the RAF for a dogfight between the Buffalo and a P-40. Much to my delight, I was chosen to fly the P-40.
My adversary happened to be Squadron Leader Brandt, a pilot fresh from the battle of Britain. The dogfight was flown directly over Toungoo, our training base in Burma. All the men in the AVG were on hand to watch, and so were many RAF pilots, including the Air Vice Marshal from Rangoon. The contest was to be two out of three fights. I won the first two fights so the third one was called off. Looking back, I think that Chennault had taken a great risk. Suppose I had lost.
The following is an excerpt for a book I wrote, "Destiny: A Flying Tiger's Rendezvous With Fate." I hope you don't mind.
This following is a description of a previous dogfight, that led up to my being chosen as the pilot to combat Brandt.
As our training progressed, many of us were scheduled for mock dogfights between pilots within our squadron. Dogfighting, accord- ing to Colonel Chennault, was never to be tried against the Japanese. However, it was good training, forcing pilots to learn the capabilities and limitations of any airplane they might be flying.
Back in the States, pursuit pilots were still being taught antiquated World War I tactics, leading the American pilots to believe that the "dogfight" was the only way combat could be accom- plished. They were taught that you had to get on the enemy's tail to shoot him down. Chennault taught dive, hit, and run.
Frank Schiel and I were scheduled for a dogfight around noon one day in early October. Normal procedure for a dogfight was that both pilots would meet and agree on the rules of the fight: Who would lead the flight? What was the maximum power we would use? We would also decide the altitude the fight would start, a safety altitude, and the minimum altitude where the fight would be discon- tinued. The pilot who was first to descend below the floor would have to fly straight, level rocking his wings in submission. How long would one have to stay on the other's tail, and what consti- tuted a victory? Even then some guys would get into arguments over who won. I always thought it should be quite evident. After everything was settled, we took off in formation, climbing to the agreed altitude.
I was in the lead and rocked my wings for his attention. When he nodded, I turned ninety degrees to the left. Frank turned in the opposite direction for separation. In a few seconds, we were far enough apart, so we both turned toward each other. When our wing tips passed, the dogfight was on. I made as sharp a turn as I could. I'm sure he did the same. From here on in, each of us tried to get the utmost from our ships.
Because the planes were identical, the best pilot would normally win. After jockeying around and yo-yoing up and down, I finally positioned myself on Frank's tail. He decided that by pulling the ship directly up into the sun, I would be blinded trying to keep his ship in sight. This didn't work. I only had to kick a little rudder, skidding off to his right. From this position, he was no longer in the sun, and I could see him per- fectly.
It was close to noon, so Frank had to climb almost vertical to head into the sun. He made the mistake of waiting too long with his nose pointed straight up before kicking it over. The airplane rapidly lost all forward speed. When this happened, he lost com- plete control of the airplane. It started a tail slide, like an automobile sliding backward on a steep icy hill. As it slid tail first, the airplane rapidly picked up speed. It violently swapped ends. As the ship continued plummeting earthward, the big heavy engine made the P-40 cartwheel, tumbling end over end several times. It recovered from the tumble and then went into an inverted spin. Still in the spin, pointed almost straight down headed for the rice paddies a scant two thousand feet below, I could sense that at this altitude it would be impossible for the P-40 to gain level flight before hitting the ground.
I was most relieved to see Frank leaving the ship. Because of the centrifugal force, Frank was violently thrown straight out of the plane as soon as he released his safety belt. Catapulted from the ship, his chute streamed out behind him almost parallel to the ground. Obviously, he pulled his rip cord as he left the cockpit. The chute blossoming like a giant mushroom was a most welcome sight. He got out of the ship a scant thousand feet above the ground. Fascinated, I continued to watch the ship as it plunged into the paddy field. It threw up a geyser of water like Old Faithful at Yellowstone.
Then I focused my attention on Frank, circling him as he descended into the water. He splashed down about one mile east of the Burma Road. I was surprised to see him swimming after he got untangled from his parachute. Rice paddies were only about six inches deep. Not far away from Frank, I saw a native paddling to- ward him in a dugout canoe. I continued circling overhead until I saw he was safely picked up.
I turned north to the airfield and landed. Parking as close to the operations building as possible, I cut the engine and jumped out of the ship before the prop stopped turning. Doc Gentry happened to be nearby, and I told him about Frank bailing out. Doc was in his station wagon, which doubled for an ambulance, so he decided to drive down the road to render assistance. He was concerned that Frank might have been injured in the landing. I ran back to my ship, shouting to Doc, "I'll circle over the road close to where Frank came down." I started my engine and took off.
When I arrived over the road near where Frank had gone in, I started circling. It wasn't long until I spotted Doc's car speeding down the Burma Road. When I was sure he saw me, I flew to the east to find Frank. Not seeing him immediately, I circled over a native hut where I thought he had been taken. It was a shack perched on bamboo stilts several feet above the water. It wasn't until I made several orbits over the hut that Frank appeared on the porch and got into the dugout canoe. As they then headed toward the Burma Road, I turned back to find Doc. When I spotted him, he was already in a native canoe, being paddled out to meet Frank.
As I flew over Doc's canoe, I would throttle back and shout one or two words of direction, such as "LEFT," "RIGHT," or "STRAIGHT." Back in the States I did the same thing, shouting out of the window of a J-3 Cub, and found I was clearly heard on the ground. I wasn't sure they would hear me from the P-40, but thought I would give it a try. Doc said later that they could hear me quite clearly each time I flew overhead. After they met, and I saw that Frank was safely transferred to Doc's canoe, I returned to the field to tell the men. As far as I could see from the air, Frank was okay.
When I saw Frank back at Kyedaw, he told me there was something strange about the way the native acted after he rescued him. It seems he was reluctant to let him out of the bungalow, and only did so after hearing me circling overhead. We were unable to think of a reason for his actions, or what the native might have had in mind. We found out later there were many Japanese spies around the airfield. I wonder if the Son ov'a bitch, was thinking of killing Frank, hoping we would think he was lost in the wreckage.
Some ex-Navy pilots in the AVG thought the Brewster Buffalo, originally an American Navy fighter plane, was superior to the P-40. A few criticized Chennault for not getting the Brewster and were angry that the RAF (Royal Air Force) were flying, as a few put it, a better fighter than we had in the AVG. Some didn't hide their feelings and were quite verbal, wondering why we wound up with the P-40, a second-rate fighter. There were some who even wanted Chennault to swap a squadron of P-40s for a squadron of Buffalos.
Chennault was aware of their dissatisfaction with the P-40 and arranged for a RAF pilot to fly to Kyedaw for a fly off between a P-40 and the Brewster. I have to admit I thought he took a wild gamble in arranging such an exhibition. Chennault must have been pretty damn sure of the P-40. His plan proved to me he was able to evaluate a fighter plane's performance from the ground, and he certainly was an excellent judge of an aircraft's capabilities.
Much to my surprise and with an inward feeling of pride, I was delighted the Old Man chose me to dogfight the Brewster. It turned out to be quite a festive occasion. Several high-ranking British, including an Air Vice Marshal, came up to witness the contest. The AVG even put on an aerial review in their honor.
Squadron Leader Brandt was flying the Brewster, and I believe he gained "Ace" status over England during the Battle of Britain. Brandt and I took off in formation, climbing to ten thousand feet over Kyedaw. We were flying to the east as we came over the airport, crossing the runway at ninety degrees. When directly overhead, we made a 90 degree turn away from each other, which put us flying parallel to the runway. After a few seconds we turned back toward each other, coming down the centerline of the runway.
We met directly over the heads of those on the ground. The combat was on as our wing tips passed, each pulling his plane into as small a circle as our ships were capable of turning. Again, like many times before, I developed the circle into a 45 degree plane. Each time at the top of the turn, with the Brewster below, I would pull back hard on the stick, doing a one quarter turn spin cutting across the circle, gaining a little each time.
When I finally locked onto his tail, Brandt, in a desperate attempt to dislodge me, dropped his gear and flaps, hoping I would overrun him. I saw his flaps as they started down, so I pulled back on the stick instead of the power. I was able to conserve energy by gaining altitude and at the same time losing speed, I stayed behind him. When he finally decided what he was going to do next, I dove back down on his tail. There was no doubt in my mind that I won fair and square, with no mistakes on Brandt's part. I'm certain the P-40 was the better airplane.
I thought some of you may be interested in Squadron Leader Brandt's viewpoint concerning the air battles over Rangoon, and his answer to my inquiry as to the type of tactics they had use against the Japanese. Knowing the Buffalo was inferior to our P-40, I also asked how were they able to survive against the Japanese. His answer follows:
Brandt says, Quote: How I wish I could have swapped my aircraft with yours. How it happened and how it developed I don't know, but in matters of combat towards defence we copied the German tactics ie. German fighters came in high above their bombers, dove through our Spitfires, with all guns blazing and continued diving knowing the Spit, was more agile than their aircraft (German). This was so much to our advantage in our Buffalos particularly as the Japs for some reason or other abandoned their bombers to hope to cope with the P-40s. It was great. If you remember the last time they came over Mingaladon we in our Buffalos managed to shoot the lot down. A silent "Thank you" came from Me to your lot." (The AVG).
The last time I had anything to do with Toungoo was after we left Rangoon and moved to Magwee. Up north a rather aged Brigadier called for us to come to his assistance since he intended to fight the Japs further since he was convinced that there were something like 100,000 Chinese soldiers just over the boarder to help him out. It took me some time to convince him that the Japs were well north of him on the western road parallel to Toungoo. Sadly the very next day they whole of his unit was wiped out by the Japs. I think he must have been in cloud Cuckoo Land." unquote.
As you can see the RAF pilots, using almost identical tactics as we did in the AVG, didn't do too badly. Apparently the Buffalos were faster than the Japanese fighters and could out run and dive them but not to the extent of the P-40 could. Also as Commander Brandt says, the Japs were concentrating on the AVG's P-40s. Leaving the RAF pilots some what of a clear field to those in the Buffalos.
Erik Shilling