He said, “That is what is beating us.”īeating the Germans was exactly what Thunderbolt pilots in Europe were hoping to achieve during the nine months between June 1944 and May 1945. The German looked at the spanking-new aircraft, just arrived from a heartland that seemed capable of building an infinite number of them. Brooking pointed to the new planes and asked, “What do you think of that?” There was no mistaking the corpulent shape of the distinctive fighter planes-in jargon, American pilots referred to the P-47 Thunderbolt as the “Jug.”īrooking went back to see the German, who was still being held at the base. Within a few days, Y-34 airfield was in full operation again and factory-fresh Thunderbolts lined the ramp. But American industry had turned out nearly 100,000 warplanes in the calendar year that had just ended. Brooking, commander of the 365th Group’s 386th Fighter Squadron, the German jerked his thumb out the window and said in perfect English, “What do you think of that?” Standing inside group headquarters with Major George R. The German pilot was now a prisoner of the Americans, but he obviously felt confident that his side had inflicted a major blow. They were not, however, used to being attacked.įriendly antiaircraft fire managed to shoot down eight of the 16 Messerschmitt Bf-109s that came over that day, but the Germans destroyed 22 Thunderbolts, badly damaged eight, and lightly damaged three more. In the months since D-day, most had gotten accustomed to crude living conditions, lousy weather, and a war in which Thunderbolts harried the German Army at low level where a lot of metal was flying around. Like the Battle of the Bulge that raged all around them, the air attack was a stunning setback for American pilots, maintainers, and support troops operating the Thunderbolt on the continent of Europe. It was January 1, 1945, and the Luftwaffe had just launched a surprise morning air attack on the base known as Y-34, a few miles from Metz, France, operated by the 365th Fighter Group, the “Hell Hawks.” He had just parachuted into the American airfield, now lit up by the fires of burning Republic P-47 Thunderbolts, a sprinkling of bright torches amid the gray January gloom and the dirty white snow. The captured German pilot was cocky and boastful.
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