A P-38 War Story
sent in by Jim Dibble's (94th) nephew.

On August 8, 1943 Jim flew his 41st mission. The Group went out on a strafing mission. Twenty-four P-38s took off at 12:20 PM from Mateur to strafe a road and railyard south of Angitola, Italy. The squadron flew low over the Mediterranean to avoid enemy radar. At Angitola, the P-38s came in over the railyard with complete surprise. Several trains were strafed, two engines were destroyed and several railroad cars exploded, indicating that they were carrying ammunition. The element of surprise was achieved because if the enemy were aware of the approaching planes, they could put up a wall of ground fire. The Germans had special cars on most of their military trains that were heavily armed with anti-aircraft weapons. They looked like any other railcar but on attack the car siding could be dropped to permit some very concentrated and effective fire.

During this mission, Jim's plane was hit by anti-aircraft fire and lost an engine. He wrote home the following day and described what happened:

"I'm going to attempt to give you the thoughts of a pilot when he gets into a tough spot. I ought to know -three times I've come home on one engine - flak holes - enemy fighters - and even a .30 caliber rifle fired from the ground while strafing enemy troops. Can you imagine seeing a truck full of men suddenly explode into flames from the bullets released by the touch of your forefinger. Men running and you in sort of a fiendish glow of murderous instinct, mowing them down. No thoughts of anything - your mind a blank. Pilots have been so concentrated on a target that they have flown right into it with a terrific explosion. No one that hasn't strafed can understand why. But it continues to happen no matter how many warnings are in the pilot's brain.

Pulling up off the target almost ticking the hilltop - I guess I gave it to those bastards. Suddenly your plane lurches - almost flips on its back! My God but you are scared, but only for a flash. All the months of intense training you had take over. You have your wings only because your reactions are split second, and way ahead of your brain. You have seen fellow cadets washout not so much because they couldn't fly but because when this happened they would be 20 feet in the ground.

Before you know it the plane is level, the left engine has the gas shut off, propeller feathered to decrease parasite drag which might not let you continue flying. Maybe you shut it off just before it was to explode into flame just like that truck you just left - who knows?

Anyway here you are. - How in hell did all those holes get in that engine and wing. I guess those poor jerks down there were trying to kill me, but they didn't know that I wasn't due for about sixty years yet.

Better get someone to escort me home. Who knows, the whole Luftwaffe may be upstairs waiting for me. The old radio is working thank God, so in a couple minutes a couple or three of your buddies are weaving just over your head, ready to take on anyone that has any ideas of hurting you. Do you love 'em - what a wonderful bunch of guys that are flying with you.

How's my good engine? By this time you are screaming for home with nothing more to worry about than 300 miles of open sea and whether or not your good engine is going to hold up! What if there are some bullets in it? Maybe it's going to stop any second. Gosh its getting too hot! Open up all the shutters and cool that damn thing off. Not the damn thing really, instead the wonderful good old American engine that will run forever if given half a chance. Baby it and how. Good, it's ticking along beautifully, keep it up.

My generator is shot out and the battery must be getting low. Shut the radio off, props in manual control. Booster pumps off, inverter, no that runs the compass, got to have that. I guess that's all the electric equipment I can shut off.

Gas, that wonderful stuff that keeps you up there. They say it costs $2.00 a gallon by the time it gets to us. How much - not too much, so the mixture leaned out, r.p.m.s lowered, just enough power on to keep up a good speed. Wow, am I hot, soaked with sweat and it's still pouring out. Well, we're out of danger from the enemy now so relax. Darn, but my rear end aches. It ought to, for the last four hours I have sat in this one spot. And what a spot - 5'7" and my head bumps the top of the canopy if I stretch a little. Tall guys which there are a few of must have trouble. That Co-2 bottle in your seat dinghy is like sitting on a fist sized rock.

Release your safety belt which helps for a couple of minutes. Take a swig of water out of your canteen which by this time is warm as ____, well warm. Light up a cigarette and really enjoy it. Gosh I wish I was back to the field, would I ever hit the sack.

There's land and pretty soon the field -oh gosh a strong cross wind to make a single engine landing in. Well, here goes - I've had two before - but without a cross-wind. I guess it won't be so hard tho - just keep on the ball. Heck that wasn't hard at all - as good as a regular landing. Wow! look at the crowd coming out to look at the holes. The crew chief is actually proud - "look at the holes in my plane" -he says. "And it came back. Oh hell, I guess it will be an engine change. Why couldn't they have hit a less vital spot?" - On the ground it's the crew chief's plane - only in the air does it belong to the pilot. Pilots argue about who has the best crew chief and crew chiefs the reverse.

Oh well, here comes the Colonel. Well, he just congratulated you on a good job of bringing the plane back. Well hell, what about bringing myself back? But I guess that goes without saying. One hundred thirty five holes in the plane, and two through the cockpit, well, C'est Le Guerre."