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Highlands Today

Skies Turn Violent Over The South Pacific

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Special to Highlands Today

Published: February 7, 2008

Editor's note: This is an excerpt from former Sebring resident Charles A. Martin's book "The Last Great Ace." The book is about Highlands County's most decorated soldier. Maj. Thomas B. McGuire, Jr. earned the Congressional Medal of Honor for his heroics as a pilot fighting in the South Pacific. Here is the second of three parts from chapter 28 of the book. This chapter tells of some of his heroic feats that earned him numerous honors, and nearly killed him. If you're interested in purchasing the book and reading the entire history, visit: http://www.lastgreatace.com/

Part 2

Although he wasn't on alert, McGuire knew that every effort was needed to turn back the enemy attack. He quickly did a mental check of all available aircraft. As assistant maintenance officer he knew the status of every airplane in the squadron. There wasn't a plane to be had, except for Maj. Nichols'. The commanding officer was at Fifth Fighter Command for the day, but his plane was in good order.

Maj. Franklin Nichols, the squadron commander, had the reputation for being a good sport. A week before he demonstrated this while on his way back to his tent after a shower. He was dressed in undershorts and Australian flying boots and was carrying a shaving kit and a towel.

The players in a nearby field taunted him into a touch football game already in progress. Nichols caught a pass and ran for a touchdown as his shorts slipped down, first around his knees, then around his ankles, and finally onto the ground. He proceeded across the goal line in his birthday suit and knee-high boots to the cheers of the players, including those on the opposing team. The opposition tried to get the play called back because the major was "out of uniform."

As good a sport as he may have been, the major had one rule he insisted on: "Nobody flies my airplane without my permission."

McGuire had flown into battle with Maj. Nichols many times and knew the rule. In spite of this, he made a decision. He ran down the flight line and shouted an order to the major's crew chief, "Get Major Nichols' plane started."

Maj. Nichols' crew chief said, "Sir, I have strict orders. No one flies the major's airplane without his permission."

"I understand, sergeant. I will take full responsibility. Right now, the Japs scare me more than the major does —let's start the engines."

McGuire quickly attached himself to Red Flight led by Lt. Marion Kirby. They taxied to the end of the field, turned the planes, and without stopping, roared down the runway and pulled their planes up into the sky. There was time to get altitude before the intruders appeared. At 23,000 feet the enemy was spotted at a slightly higher altitude. Lt. Kirby ordered, "Drop your tanks, we'll go at them head-on."

Climbing slightly, the flight started its attack. McGuire picked one of the 15 enemy planes, a Zeke, on the right side of the formation, and started firing. It started smoking and rolled off to the right into a dive. McGuire followed, firing a few more short bursts. At 18,000 feet, he decided that the Zeke was severely damaged and pulled up to return to the main force above.

McGuire's wingman had only been able to drop one of his large fuel tanks and found himself unable to pull out of the dive. He followed McGuire's wounded Zeke down to 4,000 feet and saw it explode, before he could pull his P-38 out of its dive. He shouted to McGuire over the radio: "Mac, I can't shake one of my fuel tanks. I'm a sitting duck as long as I have this hanger – I'm heading home."

"Hit some clouds and get out of here," replied McGuire.

Alone, McGuire tried to rejoin the Red Flight at 21,000 feet, but saw two Zekes about to attack them from four o'clock. He shouted a warning on the radio and turned his craft and fired several short bursts to drive the Zekes away from the P-38s. Suddenly, McGuire saw four Zekes in his rear-view mirror, closing in to attack him. He pointed the nose of Maj. Nichols' plane toward the ocean below and pushed the throttles to the firewall, increasing his speed until the turbo warning lights came on. It was no time to worry about operating limits.

The Japanese followed, but McGuire pulled away. After a descent of 15,000 feet, he cut his throttles and started a gentle pull-out that left him only 1,000 feet from the surface of the ocean. He had gotten away using speed and he pulled the plane's nose up to convert the speed back into altitude.

At 18,000 feet he was attacked from above by three Zekes. Again, he pushed the nose over into a dive, as one of the Zekes latched onto his tail, and he felt bullets hitting his airplane. Several slugs ricocheted inside the cockpit. He pushed the nose lower until the plane was diving vertically toward the sea.

A dive of this sort was very dangerous in a P-38 due to a problem called compressibility, which could make it impossible to pull out. McGuire knew this, but the possibility of bullets hitting inside his plane again worried him more. He pulled away from the Zeke, which broke off the attack. He returned to 12,000 feet where he saw seven Zekes chasing a crippled P-38, which was trailing black smoke from one engine.

It was a sure kill for the Japanese, and McGuire had no choice. As one Zeke closed in to polish off the ailing P-38, McGuire made a desperate 90-degree deflection shot. A shot from this angle was extremely difficult because it required great judgment in leading the target, but it had become a McGuire trademark. He gave a long burst and saw it hit the Zeke around the cockpit, causing it to break off its attack and explode into flames.

Pulling up to the right, he closed in behind another Zeke for a rare, direct tail shot. He flew right up the tail of the enemy getting within 100 feet before he began firing. His ammunition was limited and he had to make the best use of what he had left. He could see his bullets ripping large chunks from the Japanese plane, and it started burning and rolled slowly to the left and down. The pilot made no evasive move — he was dead.

Now that he had attracted their attention, and the wounded P-38 had escaped, the five remaining Zekes turned on the willing fighter. McGuire started evasive action, but could not get away from one of the agile Zekes which closed in behind him to a few hundred feet. He could see bullets striking his left engine, and black smoke started trailing from it. A cannon shell hit in the radio compartment behind his head and exploded, spraying shrapnel all over the cockpit. Only the armor plate behind his head had saved him from certain death. A 7.7 mm shell struck McGuire in the wrist with a fierce sting and passed into the instrument panel. He felt the burn of shrapnel wounds in his hips and arms.

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