Center section, fourth page
Top: American tanks team up with IX TAC fighter-bombers to move quickly through France. Bottom: An aerial recon photo shows destruction wrought on German vehicles by IX TAC fighter-bombers.

"Our friendly rivals Mustangs"
For tactical reconnaissance, the IX TAC used the F-6 variant of the North American P-51 Mustang fighter. It carried recon cameras along with its 50-caliber machine guns. Pure photo reconnaissance was carried out using unarmed Lockheed F-5 Lightnings. The two F-6s pictured above were probably part of 12th Tactical Recon Squadron. The snapshot belonged to F-5 pilot Herb Pitcher of the 33rd Photo Recon Squadron. On the back, Herb wrote "Our friendly rivals Mustangs."
Photo courtesy Patricia Pitcher Upshaw

Captain William S. Scott, Jr.
Between July 24 and July 30, 1944, the 33rd Photo Recon Squadron flew 19 low-level sorties in support of the Army's breakout at St. Lo. The missions were flown at 4,000 to 5,000 feet and drew a tremendous amount of German small arms and anti-aircraft fire. On a July 30 photo run, Captain William S. Scott, Jr. flew straight and level through so much flak that he was awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross for bravery under fire.
Photo courtesy James A. Broderick via Kent A. Ramsey

Aerial views of St. Lo
So much bomb tonnage was dropped on and around St. Lo that recon photos revealed what looked like a moonscape. Click the photo to view an enlarged version.
Photo courtesy of Elwood E. Davis

If they had known that an Air Combat Control squadron was sitting out in the Channel only seven miles from Isigny on D-Day, ground troops would have been the most surprised men in the world. They were astonished to find IX TAC personnel on Omaha Beach on D plus 2.

Sitting out in the Channel on the USS Ancon, the combat control squadron broke its radio and radar silence at 0611 June 6. From then on, it directed fighter-bombers in the air and helped detect enemy planes. IX TAC flew more than 1400 sorties, a record in its history up to that time. TAC recce planes flew back and forth giving information on targets. Planes reported the success of prearranged missions. Planes on patrol were told to stand by for targets of opportunity.

There were so many Allied planes in the air that almost every returning pilot said he had to put his hand out to make a turn. D plus 1 was worse. IX Fighter Command flew 1594 sorties.

Three groups flew 36 armed recce missions. Lt. Gen. Lewis H. Brereton, then Commanding General of the Ninth, commended them in a letter to Gen. Quesada: "On June 7, groups of your command furnished close continuous support to the Omaha Beachhead area. The situation there was critical, and by the excellent attacks and continuous support rendered by you, restored a delicate situation." Gen. Quesada added his own message to Gen. Brereton's: "It is possible, if not probable, that their efforts were in a large part responsible for the attack on Omaha Beach continuing. History may show they saved the day."

Non-flying personnel plunged ashore on D plus 2 when they stepped off into what they thought was shallow water off Omaha Beach and had to swim for shore. Life-belts didn't help much. Three headquarters squadron sergeants shuttled back and forth like lifeguards. Finally everyone landed, wet and miserable -- no pup tents, no blankets.

There was fighting on the beaches, and it was more important to find a foxhole than to worry over the comforts of life. When the rest of the squadron arrived, there were enough gruesome tales ready to keep them gaping for a long time. "The Veterans" had established themselves, and the unsung hero was a private name "Jake," who still claims he dug the first latrine in Normandy. No one has ever contested his claim.

The German lines weren't too far away, and the Hun had minelaying planes darting across the area. Danger, however, was in falling fragments of Allied ack-ack. Helmets which had been shoved away under bunks in England now were treated with respect.

The Engineering Command did a bang-up job of building strips under fire. Even on D-Day an emergency landing strip was carved out of Normandy fields. Within the next week, squadrons were landing and taking off on longer strips. On June 15, planes were landing on A-1. Col. Gilbert L. Meyers' Thunderbolt group was the first to have a squadron based in Normandy on June 19.

The remainder of the command trickled over on a C-47; the plane carried everything from guns to bicycles. Once established on the continent, IX TAC moved into tents. Then came the long trek across France in the wake of advancing armies to smear the Wehrmacht's railroads and trucks. Nazi supermen had to fall back on horse-drawn vehicles.

*****

Payoff was St. Lo. This sleepy, unknown little French town turned out to be the Allies' 20-yard line and called for a razzle-dazzle play to shake things loose. The High Command had the play. IX TAC took a big part in the blocking for ground troops.

Altogether, about 3000 planes set to smash German lines and break the ground forces into the clear. The area in which the fighter-bombers were to operate was 7000 yards long, 250 yards wide. In short, fighters worked closer to ground troops than ever before. St. Lo was not only the turning point in the battle for France -- it was the proving ground for air support. It was the first time fighter-bombers really had a chance to clear the path to let doughfeet and tanks through.

First more than 1500 heavies of the 8th Air Force came to blanket the St. Lo-Perriers area. Then 300 mediums of IX Bomber Command attacked three areas west of the heavies. Three thousand tons of bombs were dropped with good results. Then fighter-bombers came in -- 15 groups divided into two wings. (At that time, Fighter Command included XIX and IX TAC.)

Groups met over strip A-10, checked in with flying control, flew directly to St. Lo. The target area was divided into the Eastern and Western Fighter Bomber areas -- and they alternated between the two. The first group in each wing attacked the Eastern area, the second group the Western. At three-minute intervals groups appeared over the target. Five hundred planes dropped 200 tons of bombs in the initial attack. When it was over, one of the pilots described the area as "covered with a pall of smoke up to 2000 feet as far north as Carentan, where it was about 8 miles wide." The area was badly chewed up. Most of the ack-ack was silenced, because either barrels were burned out shooting at the heavies, or the Krauts were out of ammunition.

*****

After the initial breakthrough, doughfeet and tanks really began to roll. Fighter-bombers flew almost 10,000 sorties and dropped more than 2000 tons of bombs between July 25 and July 31. The mission also included direct support. Flights of four would fly half-hour shifts over the head of a tank column, and lead it down the road.

The support worked in two ways. Tank commanders either asked the planes to scout the road ahead to see if there was any opposition, or they called on planes for help when opposition was encountered.

When a single Sherman was surrounded by 13 Panzers, a flight of fighter-bombers dispersed the Panzers and saved the M-4. When a fighter-bomber swooped down on the enemy half-tracks near Canisy, Krauts jumped out and began waving a white flag. The pilot radioed Army to pick up prisoners.

"Achtung, Jabos!" was already a standard alert for the Germans. Telephone conversations between members of the Nazi High Command began blaming fighter-bomber attacks for inability to advance, or to stop the U.S. attacks.

After the initial breakthrough, fighter-bombers held a field day. First they bombed crossroads. Then they knocked out bridges. They smacked Panzer tanks, left them burning. When tanks took off cross-country, planes swooped down on them like vultures. On July 29, pilots hung up the scalps of 37 tanks, damaged 42 and knocked out more than 200 trucks.

Nazi Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel sent out a warning to his commanders about the effectiveness of what he called the "Anglo-Saxon air force." He didn't have to -- they were well aware of it.

July 31 was another field day. Pilots in the air between Granville, Gravery and Avranches threw Sunday punches at the Wehrmacht. They added to their totals of ground targets, hit railroads and bridges behind German lines, knocked down 14 enemy planes and broke up a counter-attack in the middle of the U.S. lines.

They blocked the roads. They chased Nazi convoys unmercifully up and down the highways and left so many shattered, burning and crippled vehicles that fleeing Krauts had trouble weaving in and out of the wreckage. Trucks were parked bumper to bumper like a Saturday afternoon crowd leaving a football game at the Polo Grounds. Even attempts to hide behind the hedgerows proved futile. Pilots swept down to 35 feet from the ground, smacking everything they could see.

Meanwhile German high commanders screamed at each other over field telephones. One Nazi corps commander called frantically for Luftwaffe air cover.

"It should be there any minute," he was told. "According to Col. Blowius, planes have taken off."

"I've seen only one all day," the corps commander complained.

"That's one more than I have," snapped his superior.

To pilots who participated, the St. Lo operation represented an opportunity to show ground troops what fighter-bombers could do. To Germans it was a headache. Planes crippled them, snarled their supply network, smeared their plan of attack. Planes and tanks had become an unbeatable team.

*****

During early August, the Germans started backing up towards their own goal line. It wasn't orderly like Rommel's retreat in Africa, but a confused series of routs. Large enemy units became isolated from one another. A few made stands, falling back slowly.

As headquarters and groups pitched tents across France, fighter-bombers kept slashing unmercifully at German communications. Through the long summer days they prowled the countryside, beating convoys and railroad trains into twisted and charred debris.

German prisoners related that they spent a lot of time digging-in to escape these attacks. Vehicles moved in groups of three or four at night, with 500-yard intervals. Then they began to fall back on horse-drawn equipment.

Aerial battles were eclipsed by pinpoint bombing, which developed into a science. First Lt. Walter J. Ozment, Jr., of Cannelton, W. Va., was west of Mortain one afternoon when he saw a Nazi tank with the hatch open. He came down to 1000 feet and planted a bomb right through the opening. Maj. Robert C. "Buck" Rogers, on a mission with some Lightnings, skipped two 1000-pound bombs into the mouth of a railroad tunnel. Col. Howard F. Nichols and a squadron of his Lightnings blasted von Kluge's headquarters; the Colonel skipped a bomb right through the front door.

One dramatic incident turned out to be an errand of mercy. A tank column was trapped between the burning village of Ranes, which it had just captured, and enemy lines. A seriously wounded tanker of the column was too far away from the medical station to receive help in time to save his life.

It was 1900 hours when Capt. James A. Mullen, flight leader of a Thunderbolt formation protecting another column, got the radio message. "Please have air controller send up blood plasma in a hurry."

Less than two hours after the appeal, 1st Lt. Willard R. Haines, Atlanta, Ga., roared down below tree-top level into a hail of intense small arms fire to drop a specially packed belly tank containing plasma, morphine and sulfa drugs. Lt. Haines' flap machinery was smashed, but he managed to get back safely. While Thunderbolts bombed and strafed the enemy a short distance away, the wounded tanker got a new lease on life.