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Highlands Today

High-Altitude Heroics Almost Cost McGuire His Life

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Charles A. Martin

Published: February 8, 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 final 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 3

The Zekes (Japanese fighter planes) had broken off, but his troubles were not over yet. McGuire pulled the yoke back to bring the P-38 out of a dive, but his controls were useless and he realized that the bullets passing through the cockpit had severed the control cables. He'd have to get out of the plane while it was still in a steep dive.

He chopped both throttles and pulled the emergency hatch release. The canopy ripped away in the slipstream. He released his seat belt and shoulder harness, climbed into the seat and jumped. The thought of that great knife-like elevator at the back of the plane flashed through his mind as he went into the blasting air of the slip stream.

Something was wrong! He dangled in the slip stream, somehow tethered to the falling plane. His parachute harness was caught inside the cockpit and he was unable to free himself. He was buffeted violently against the plane, which was now burning. Down, 2,000, 3,000, 4,000, 5,000, 6,000, 7,000 feet – struggling all the way to get loose. Then, bruised, battered, and stunned, he pushed free of the plane, clearing the tail with plenty of room.

He reached across his chest, to the parachute harness, and with a wounded hand, pulled the ripcord. He was still about 5,000 feet from the water. Another surprise! The "D" ring pulled loose in his hand, with just a small piece of cable attached. Nothing else happened. The chute wasn't opening as it should. The shrapnel that had showered through the plane's cockpit and peppered him had severed the parachute cable too.

With no reserve chute, he had only one chance as he tumbled toward the ocean below. In spite of his wounded wrist, he managed to reach behind his back, find the loose end of the broken parachute cable, twist it around his hand and pull it. The chute popped open and he felt the sudden jolt of the life-saving canopy blossoming above him.

McGuire was dazed, but he made a quick assessment. He had a few hundred feet before he would enter the water. He could see that he was many miles from shore, and there wasn't anything in the ocean below. A scan of the sky revealed burning airplanes, leaving columns of smoke, as they, too, plunged toward the sea.

Remembering his survival training, he released himself from his parachute as he entered the water. He felt relieved to be in the water. After all it was only water. He struggled with his one-man life raft, pulling the inflation tab. There was a loud hiss of C O2 gas, but the small boat did not inflate. An inspection revealed that the boat was peppered with shrapnel holes.

He felt pressure and pain in his chest as he tried to inflate the yellow Mae West life jacket, which was strapped around his neck and waist. It too hissed, as one side inflated and one side did not. One side was enough to keep his head just above the water. If it didn't start leaking, he would be all right for a while. To make himself more buoyant, he kicked off his prized Australian flying boots, and dropped off all excess equipment, including his 45-caliber pistol and shoulder holster.

He thought that it may not matter if the jacket kept him afloat or not. He was bleeding and the sea water stung his wounds. If he didn't lose enough blood to endanger his life, the blood might attract sharks, which would do the job. If the tide took him away from shore, it may not make any difference anyway. There were ships in the area, but the action had been so fast and furious, it was unlikely that anybody had seen him bail out – after all he had fallen almost to the surface of the ocean before his chute had opened, and he had only floated in the air for a few seconds before hitting the water.

The odds weren't too good this time. Just the same he opened the dye-marker packet saved from the raft, and sprinkled it on the water. It spread on the ocean forming a bright yellowish-green slick which would be visible for miles, from the air.

His chest hurt, and he knew he must have crushed some ribs. His thoughts flashed back to Lake Hopatcong, N.J., and the day he had taken the dare to swim to the raft. He had come close to drowning that day with his cousins and Paul Gustat. He had looked the grim reaper in the face that day, and it had scared him more than he had let on – more than this whole crazy day had.

As McGuire floated he applied pressure to the bullet hole in his arm to stop the bleeding, and fought off pain that almost caused him to lapse into unconsciousness. A half hour passed. Now he thought how mad Major Nichols was going to be and he said to himself, "He'll chew my ass real good when he finds out about his airplane – may not even want me in the squadron any more. I guess I've really cooked my goose this time."

The concussion of the cannon shell exploding in the radio compartment had induced ringing in his ears but he thought he heard the sound of an engine, and it seemed to get louder. He turned in the water to see a PT boat in the distance, and it was headed his way.

They had seen a chute above the water and knowing the Japanese didn't use them, came to see if an American was in the water. In minutes PT 152, under command of its captain, Herbert Knight, pulled alongside and fished McGuire from the water.

As the crew helped him into dry clothing and dressed his wounds one of the crewmen spoke up, "Lieutenant, that was unbelievable. We saw you get the two Japs. Bang! Bang! Then we saw the Japs get you. Your plane didn't pull out – we thought you were dead. Then we saw a chute open near the water. The whole thing happened so fast that the two Japs, your plane, and your chute, were all in the air at once. You all hit the water at the same time. It's the damnedest thing I ever saw."

McGuire agreed, as one of the crewmen administered morphine for his pain. They were 25 miles from shore and it would be a rough ride. Before night fall he was transferred to the PT tender Hilo, docked in Buna Bay.

Back at the base word got around. The Japanese had sustained great losses, the 431st had only one downed pilot – McGuire. There were reports that McGuire had been seen attacking seven Zekes, but nobody saw him go down. Search planes were sent out, but they found nothing. Communications were poor, and it was late in the evening before the squadron operations phone rang. It was the Fifth Fighter Command. "We heard from the captain of a PT boat. They picked up McGuire 25 miles out to sea this afternoon. Mac broke some ribs and is wounded, but he will be OK."

Sigh Of Relief

Everyone in the squadron was relieved to hear that McGuire had been found. They hated to lose a comrade but it was even worse when a skilled pilot like McGuire got shot down. Young pilots wondered: if they got McGuire the way he can fly, what chance do I have? Knowing McGuire survived renewed each pilot's spirits.

It was several days before the 431st could find their top ace. He had been transferred to the Army's Tenth Evacuation Hospital, but the Navy didn't know where he had been taken. After a canvas of Army hospitals he was found and Major Nichols was the first to visit. The major approached McGuire's bed to find him in a half-sleep. He cleared his throat. McGuire opened his two blackened eyelids to reveal two blood red eyeballs.

"Where in hell did you get those eyes?" asked the Major.

McGuire told his story, "When I bailed out my parachute harness or something caught in the cockpit and I couldn't get loose. My goggles ripped off in the slipstream, and I felt like my eyes were coming out of their sockets. The plane must have been doing 400 miles an hour."

Nichols shook his head and said, "If you took better care of your airplane, things like this wouldn't happen."

"I'm sorry as hell about your airplane," said McGuire.

McGuire looked so bad and sounded so sincere that Major Nichols could only reply: "I'm just glad as hell to see you alive. They tell me you took on the whole damned Japanese Air Force. You did the right thing, taking my airplane. A maximum effort was called for and you undoubtedly saved a few people's lives. Just don't do it again."

A few days later Nichols recommended McGuire for his second Silver Star, for gallantry in action, and returned to the hospital to present him with the Purple Heart for wounds received in combat.

Thus it was that McGuire got a reputation for cheating death. Since entering combat with the 431st two months before, he had survived a head-on collision with a Zero, and twice flown home hundreds of miles on one engine after slipping away from pursuing Japanese. Now he had been wounded, escaped a burning aircraft, been entangled and battered against the falling bird, opened a faulty parachute, floated in the ocean with no means of support, and escaped the wrath of Major Nichols after losing his plane.

He had downed 13 enemy planes, and had been awarded two Silver Stars, four Distinguished Flying Crosses, two Air Medals and the Purple Heart. Surely a man who could do all of this in two months was on his way to becoming a living legend.

Tommy wrote to Marilynn: "I sprained my wrist a week ago and haven't been able to hold a pen. We have been in quite a bit of action lately so up until I hurt my wrist I have been quite busy. I have 12 confirmed victories to my credit now so feel pretty good about the whole thing."

(He had not learned of the third Zeke he shot down. His wingman, while trying to drop a hung wing tank, had seen the Zeke go into the sea, and had made the claim for McGuire.)

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