Lt. Col. John T. Nelson
Encounter Over Munich, Germany
Encounter Over Munich, Germany
My flight of four Mustang fighters was at 41,000 feet above the fighter jet factory at Munich, Germany.
Our mission was to protect a British Mosquito plane taking pictures of the fast developing German jet
plane works. The photo planes (flown by South Africans) were failing to return form the Munich area.
The few that did were riddled with bullet holes. I visited the nearby South African squadron and
viewed first-hand the battle damage done to those planes which were made largely of balsa wood.
They were light and powerful, carried no guns, and could really move.
On this day, I was leading the four Mustang fighters, dubbed "Outlaw Flight" to protect the Mosquito.
Our Mustangs were handling like we were teetering on a tightrope, mushing through the thin air at
that altitude. I was repeatedly calling the Mosquito pilot to slow down for us. Our super-chargers just
weren't developed to perform well in air that thin.
The sun was burning hot, and without cabin pressure, we were on a hundred percent pressure fed oxygen.
Human lungs will not, by themselves, pull oxygen into the bloodstream beyond a certain pressure altitude,
and we were well beyond that altitude. We fighters were near line abreast in wide battle formation.
Each pilot covered his quarter of the sky, including the sun area with its eye killing glare, which made us
most vulnerable. The German jets could come at us out of the sun's glare almost without warning.
Outlaw Two called out an object at four o'clock level. I checked the area, seeing what I thought to be a
Mustang and blasted an order for Number Four to get the hell up in his proper position. We were
carrying a huge fuel tank under each wing and, it so happens, the German ME 262 Jet Fighter had a large
jet engine under each wing. From a distance, both planes looked much alike. We had barely heard of
the jets, much less seen a photo or drawing.
About three seconds later, my radio screamed, "NUMBER ONE - BREAK, BREAK!" The words "break,
break" to a fighter pilot mean you are about to be fired upon. My position was just behind and slightly
left of the Mosquito, I broke (turned) hard right, which brought me between the jet fighter and the
Mosquito. As I was in the vertical turn, through the top of my canopy, I looked directly into the flashing
cannon barrels of the jet fighter. As though it were yesterday, I can relive thinking that German pilot
was going to fly right through me with cannons blasting. He did, in fact, turn and climb slightly to miss
crashing into me.
I think, on this day, that I did, in fact, (mostly unwittingly) save the Mosquito. I believe the German had
his sights on the Mosquito and I just got in his way. In any event, I did manage to pull my half-stalled
Mustang around and send some machine gun bullets after the fast moving jet.
The German jet would go out of sight in one direction and return at us from another. Each of about four
times, at least. One of us Mustang pilots would face him in a head on firing pass. Each time, he would
turn away just out of range. Of course, it's understandable - he would not risk the new jet plane against
a prop fighter.
To my knowledge, this was the first encounter, we Americans flying out of Italy, had with a German jet.
I re-visited the South African squadron to discuss the mission and enjoyed sharing their no-ice Gin and
Tonic hospitality.
Our mission was to protect a British Mosquito plane taking pictures of the fast developing German jet
plane works. The photo planes (flown by South Africans) were failing to return form the Munich area.
The few that did were riddled with bullet holes. I visited the nearby South African squadron and
viewed first-hand the battle damage done to those planes which were made largely of balsa wood.
They were light and powerful, carried no guns, and could really move.
On this day, I was leading the four Mustang fighters, dubbed "Outlaw Flight" to protect the Mosquito.
Our Mustangs were handling like we were teetering on a tightrope, mushing through the thin air at
that altitude. I was repeatedly calling the Mosquito pilot to slow down for us. Our super-chargers just
weren't developed to perform well in air that thin.
The sun was burning hot, and without cabin pressure, we were on a hundred percent pressure fed oxygen.
Human lungs will not, by themselves, pull oxygen into the bloodstream beyond a certain pressure altitude,
and we were well beyond that altitude. We fighters were near line abreast in wide battle formation.
Each pilot covered his quarter of the sky, including the sun area with its eye killing glare, which made us
most vulnerable. The German jets could come at us out of the sun's glare almost without warning.
Outlaw Two called out an object at four o'clock level. I checked the area, seeing what I thought to be a
Mustang and blasted an order for Number Four to get the hell up in his proper position. We were
carrying a huge fuel tank under each wing and, it so happens, the German ME 262 Jet Fighter had a large
jet engine under each wing. From a distance, both planes looked much alike. We had barely heard of
the jets, much less seen a photo or drawing.
About three seconds later, my radio screamed, "NUMBER ONE - BREAK, BREAK!" The words "break,
break" to a fighter pilot mean you are about to be fired upon. My position was just behind and slightly
left of the Mosquito, I broke (turned) hard right, which brought me between the jet fighter and the
Mosquito. As I was in the vertical turn, through the top of my canopy, I looked directly into the flashing
cannon barrels of the jet fighter. As though it were yesterday, I can relive thinking that German pilot
was going to fly right through me with cannons blasting. He did, in fact, turn and climb slightly to miss
crashing into me.
I think, on this day, that I did, in fact, (mostly unwittingly) save the Mosquito. I believe the German had
his sights on the Mosquito and I just got in his way. In any event, I did manage to pull my half-stalled
Mustang around and send some machine gun bullets after the fast moving jet.
The German jet would go out of sight in one direction and return at us from another. Each of about four
times, at least. One of us Mustang pilots would face him in a head on firing pass. Each time, he would
turn away just out of range. Of course, it's understandable - he would not risk the new jet plane against
a prop fighter.
To my knowledge, this was the first encounter, we Americans flying out of Italy, had with a German jet.
I re-visited the South African squadron to discuss the mission and enjoyed sharing their no-ice Gin and
Tonic hospitality.
 | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  | |  |
