You done say what?: May 2019

My father, William LaBarge, was a fighter pilot during WWII, flying Spitfires out of Northern Africa. After 6 months of combat his war ended in December of 1944 when he was shot down over the Mediterranean Sea, barely surviving a bailout at 400 feet during a snowstorm with winds at 25 mph.

Flying combat missions in WWII was extremely dangerous . While he was there his unit experienced a casualty rate of 150%. Rookie pilots were the most likely not to make it and the veterans would usually wait a couple of weeks before they would even try to get to know the new guy. Just as in the book Catch 22, a pilot had to complete a certain number of missions before they could get transferred out. The number was 50 when my father started and bumped up to 80 missions later on. Bill did not know one person who achieved that.

Here are three stories my dad wrote later in his life about the war which reflect not just the dangers but also the craziness of it all.

GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE

Early in 1943 I was flying P 39's out of Santa Rosa, California. Five of us had been told that we were being sent over to North Africa as replacements. We also were told that we could fly as much as we wanted until our orders came.

The P 39 was made for strafing and dive bombing. Neither of these were habit-forming occupations. One Friday I led a flight of three planes and we flew down to San Francisco. We flew under the Golden Gage Bridge and then put a real buzz job on the Navy ships in the harbor. (The three of us were married and were hoping we would be grounded so we could spend more time with our wives until our orders came).

Strangely, nothing happened and that night Eileen and I drove down to San Francisco for the weekend. My uncle , Vincent LaBarge, lived in Berkley (across the bay from San Francisco), and we were having dinner at his house. Who was also there, but my uncle, the Navy Commander. He said, "Bill, what are you flying?" "P 39's, sir." "Well", he said, "I'm sure it wasn't you, but three 39 's put a buzz job on me today, and those damn fools were below me and I was on the bridge. It must have been that yellow nosed squadron out of Oakland. Those ships are full of ammunition", he said. "I have the whole squadron out on the ramp, standing at attention until the guilty ones confess".

I almost choked, and when I looked at Eileen, she was looking in her lap, trying not to grin. I said, "I'm sure they didn't know you were full of ammunition". I didn't know what he would have done if he had known it was me, and I sure wasn't going to find out!

FIGHTER TRAINING BASE, AFRICA

When we arrived in Africa we were sent to a distribution center for fighter planes. There were P 40 's, P 39's and P 38's and Spit Fires. We soon learned that the P 39 was a real dog compared to the other fighter planes. We were based about 20 miles outside of Casablanca. They had a rule that you must not dog fight under 10,000 ft.

One day while flying alone I was hopped by two P 38's at about 10,000 feet. I couldn't out turn them so my only chance was to hit the deck. While trying to get away my head set came off. Suddenly I realized I was shaking the P 38. I put on my headset and heard, "The P 38's and P39 that have been dog fighting on the deck land immediately".

When I landed and parked the plane there was an M P and another Officer waiting. I was informed that I was under arrest and to go to my tent and await further instructions.

Shortly a general assembly was announced and we all went to see what was going to happen. The C.O. was very dramatic. He told about a pilot that had crashed about a week ago and his parents were just getting a telegram announcing the news. It had happened because he was disobeying orders. He said that the pilots on the base would never again have to look at us as we would never again fly for Uncle Sam. He said we would be court marshaled and sent home in disgrace. Then he said that the three of us should decide how we wanted to be punished and report to his tent when we decided.

Needless to say, things didn't look too rosy. However, I thought anyone so dramatic as this C.O. might fall for a good story so what did I have to lose? So I went and knocked on his door. He said, "It didn't take you very long to make up your mind." "No Sir" said I. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Sir", it was all my fault. I was losing the dog fight as a P 39 cannot turn with a P 38. My only chance was to hit the deck. This desert all looks alike and I didn't realize I was over the field. Naturally they followed me. There is no reason to court marshal the P 38 pilots".

"My boy, I couldn't court marshal a man like you. It took a lot of guts to come in here and say what you did. Come over here and sit down. You stick with the 39's. At Kaserine Pass the Germans were coming thru in force. We sent 12 39's out in the morning and 3 came back. Ten more went out at noon and 2 came back. There are only 5 left. They went out and none came back, but they plugged the gap. You stick with that aircraft. But what will I tell the 38 pilots?" "I said, they are trained to be killers. Don't do anything to them".

About a half an hour later the 38 pilots came by the tent. They said said they didn't know what I told the C.O. but it must have been good. Later they came back with a bottle of good Scotch.

The next morning I went out and transferred to Spit Fires.

EARLY MORNING

One day I was scheduled on an early morning recon flight with flight officer Montgomery. We had information that something was going on around Cannes and were supposed to check it out. We flew over on the deck so the radar wouldn't pick us up. We flew right into the harbor and it was absolutely quiet. But then all hell broke loose. They were not only shooting at us, but would lob shells into the water and the spouts were murder if you flew into one. Only my laundry man would know how scared I was. "They're mad at us Willie, let's get the hell out of here", came from Monty. Fortunately we got out without getting hit in a vital spot. When we landed back at Calvi, both Monty and I had from forty to fifty holes in our planes and while I was there neither plane was able to fly again.

When we were briefed afterwards the C.O. wanted to know what we saw. We said that all we saw were tracers and water spouts and there was no doubt something they didn't want us to see. Later we found out that Hitler was there on a yacht. That was never confirmed, but obviously, there was something they didn't want us to see.

Monty was one of the finest men I knew. He had the ability to lead the whole group into combat. If they had been able to get his promotion from flight officer to 2nd Lt. he would have been promoted to a least a Major as fast as possible. He had been shot down (mostly by flak) several times but always survived.

They tell the story about when he was in Naples on leave. He was stopped by a group of M.P's and had to show the color of the underwear he had on. Army regulations said everyone had to wear khaki colored underwear. Monty's underwear was white. This was a Major that stopped him and started to write up a penalty of some type. Monty grabbed him by his collar and actually shook him and said, "Sir, if you don't have anything better than this to do, why in the hell don't you go home!"

The following week Monty was killed in combat.

The week following that the C.O. received a letter from M.P headquarters in Naples instructing Captain Huston (he was our C.O. and should have been a light Col.) to court martial Flight Officer Montgomery for being disrespectful to a superior officer, etc. Captain Huston wrote back that he could not comply with request, Montgomery had been killed in action and he was putting him in for the D.F.C.

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