Pacific fighter pilots

EDITOR'S NOTE

It was easily the largest and most dangerous battlefield the world had ever seen. Never mind that there was a human enemy out there to be fought; the Pacific itself was an enemy to be conquered-or at least, endured. And for fighter pilots, it was an enemy to be faced alone, with only their skills and luck to bring them through.

The area in which Pacific fighter pilots operated was totally hostile, with only sporadic oases of safety. In Europe, once the Channel was crossed-even though the enemy occupied the ground-it was, at least, solid ground. A fighter pilot in the European theater of operations knew that if his airplane failed him, he could bail out and, in a few minutes, be standing on terra firma; and he could continue his fight for survival from there. Pacific fighter pilots had no such luxury. Although there was a small chance they might survive in their dinghies and be picked up, they knew that their chances were-at best-slim. The sea was always waiting, and it was terribly unforgiving.

Read the story of Basil Mott as he tried to find the way back to his ship in his Wildcat; it's easy to sense the desperation behind his words. Alone in a trackless world of water and clouds, how could he expect to find his carrier when those in control had forgotten to tell him they had changed course?

With only a compass and a clock to navigate by, Pacific fighter pilots' havens of safety were the small islands and even smaller ships floating somewhere "out there" in an enormous expanse of water. In Europe, a downed pilot knew that he was never more than a few hundred miles away from friendly faces. As the War progressed in the Pacific, and the long-range Mustangs and P-38s came into play, it was common for a pilot to fly trips that were equivalent to flying from England to North Africa and back. The entire trip, however, was over water, and survival depended on the flawless functioning of thousands of parts within his airplane.

Pacific fighter pilots also faced a foe who was culturally different, unpredictable and difficult to understand. In the air and on the ground, surrender wasn't an option. In several stories in the following pages, Japanese aces such as Saburo Sakai relate their combat experiences and how they rated Allied fighters, but their tales aren't told with the same exhilaration we hear in the young voices of U.S. pilots. The mechanics of combat were the same, but the philosophies behind them were different.

The Pacific fighter pilots fought a war that will never be repeated, and we at Flight Journal are pleased to present a few of their stories in tribute.

BUDD DAVISSON, EDITOR IN CHIEF

Copyright Air Age Publishing Winter 2003
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