JL-P40

Col Lester J Johnson, USAF(ret), was a P-40 pilot in Java, Australia, and New Guinea in 1942. In 1944, in the European theater he flew P-47s with the Royal Norwegian Air Force in Belgium and Holland. During his USAF career he commanded the 321st Fighter Squadron, 4th Fighter Group, 64th Fighter Group (“Geigers Tigers”), and the 51st Fighter Wing. He is now a successful Christmas tree farmer in Washington state. One son is a USAF F-4 Phantom pilot at Ramstein AB, Germany, the other a Flying Tiger 747 captain, and his daughter is married to an Army helicopter pilot. Air Force magazine Sept 1980.

In January 1942, with the US still absorbing the shock of Pearl Harbor and with the Japanese surging ahead on all fronts, a handful of AAF P-40 pilots found themselves in the midst of the combat zone. For the 17th Provisional Pursuit Squadron there were no such luxuries as mess hall, paymaster, or tech supply, but the President of the United States had a message for them....

After flying school graduation, in July 1941, I became a member of the 79th Pursuit Squadron of the 20th Pursuit Group. The group was commanded by Col. Ira Eaker and based at Hamilton Field, CA. We were soon off to several months of maneuvers, returning a few days after Pearl Harbor. Following the usual procedure, the youngest pilots were sent off by ship to points unknown. Rumor had us going to the Philippines, then to Australia. After zigging and zagging the Pacific for thirty-two days aboard the President Polk, a new passenger-freighter ship, we landed at New Zealand, and then continued on to Australia.

The ship’s cargo was (20) P-40Es in crates, four C-47s on deck, and a couple of PBYs. There were (20) pilots and (20) crew chiefs, and (20) armorers -- called a combat team. Marine and Navy pilots were on board, and an old Navy Reserve doctor who shook like a leaf when he gave us shots. The ship was staffed and supplied for a luxury cruise -- so we lived like kings. There were a barbershop, gift shop, and seven-course meals with professional waiters. For those who didn’t get seasick, it was great!

On our arrival in Brisbane, the first man to come aboard was an Army Air Force pilot. He had wings pinned on his shirt! In the States we’d never worn wings except on our blouses. We thought it was pretty neat, and so with our wings proudly displayed on our shirts, we said goodbye to the President Polk and proceeded on our journey.

AUSTRALIA

The P-40s were unloaded and hauled to Amberly Field. There they were uncrated and put together, crew chiefs and lieutenants working side by side. To our amazement lots of nuts, bolts, and stuff was left over when a plane was completely put together, but this didn’t seem to worry anyone as we test-flew the aircraft.

I had some 150 hours in a P-40, but had never fired a gun or dropped a bomb. That was not part of the training program in the 20th. The guns were in crates and cosmoline., to make sure they wouldn’t rust! I made a vow at this time that, if I ever made it back, I would put all my efforts into the proper training of pilots who would be going into combat. (In 1943, I believe we did that in the 321st CTU and RTU Squadron, when I was commander at Seymour Johnson Field, N.C. flying P-47s.)

As soon as we could get five or eight aircraft ready, they would start north for Darwin. There was no such thing as maps for this journey. We could follow a railroad track to Charlesville, but there it ended. Bleak sand and scrub from then on. One procedure was to glom onto an airliner that flew once a day, and that was preferable to trusting our unswung compasses! Sometimes we formed behind an old B-17, and others followed a Beechcraft C-45-type plane flown by an airline pilot from the Philippines.

The RAAF at Darwin was flying Wirraways -- an aircraft that looked like an AT-6 with a rear gunner. The Aussies really liked our P-40s and couldn’t understand why we were not continuously polishing the bird. They were a big help with our guns. ON every flight we had been firing our guns, and the six .50s were jamming or wouldn’t fire at altitude. The Aussies said the oil we were using on them would congeal when it hit the cold upper atmosphere. We wiped off all the oil and fired them dry, and from then on they improved.

Off to JAVA

We left Darwin early one morning, heading for the island of Timor -- 540 miles over open water in airplanes we had put together ourselves. We tried not to think of that pile of nuts and bolts that had been left over. The Beech that was navigating for us on this leg was tough to follow, at it was very slow, requiring us to stagger through the air, trying not to stall or lose our precious navigator.

Upon landing at Kupan, Timor, I discovered that my tail wheel was flat. The Beechcraft had a crew chief aboard but no spare parts. Everyone told me, “you’d better stay here until someone can fix it.” That sounded like good advice until I saw our flight fire up their engines and start to taxi our behind the Beechcraft, passing a burned-out P-40 that had been strafed by the Japanese. To heck with the tail wheel! Bumping along after the flight had taken off, I found that some forward pressure on the stick helped in turning, but then I had to be careful not to nose down and dig in the prop. That would be great -- prop and engine damage and a flat tire on lonely Timor.

After getting airborne, my problem was to find and catch the flight, and the navigator. Thanks to the slow speed of the Beech, I soon found those specks in the sky. I knew we were heading for Bali, but, with no maps, I had to find them or be lost in the maze of tropical islands.

About half way to Bali, Lt Andy Reynolds shot down a lone Japanese plane, probably a reconnaissance type. We called it an Me-110, but I doubt it was that type, and instead was a Japanese-built recon plane. Andy was a quick and aggressive pilot, who went on to become an ace. We landed at Bali on an airfield pocked with bomb craters and dotted with burned-out planes.

We were hungry when we arrived and somehow managed to get into town. We were surprised to find the native women, naked to the waist, walking along the road carrying large loads on their heads. We had not been briefed for this, but managed to survive the shock. The natives had wonderful posture, and walked gracefully and easily with their heavy burdens. We stopped in the small airline office at the field before taking off again and saw a large photograph of Charlie Chaplin and Paulette Goddard taken when they had visited Bali some years before.

Our next stop was Surabaja, Java. There we were met by the 17th Squadron Commander, Maj Charles “Bud” Sprague. He would lead us to our secret rice paddy field. I was on his wing and wanted to impress him so I stuck in close and steady. We had no radio contact, but I noticed he was gesturing frantically -- so I moved in closer. This increased his arm waving! We had to return to Surabaja because of a thunderstorm over our field. We quickly learned after landing that the way to fly formation in combat was to loosen up and fly forward enough to cover each other’s tail. Thak goodness for modern-day briefings! We should have been given this training in Australia by those who had been in combat before us.

JAVA Campaign

The next day we landed at our home-to-be in Java: Blimbing near Djombong. It was called “near Djombong” because there were so many other ”Blimings.” This Bliming, hardly big enough to have a name, had no market area and only a small sugar refining plant.

We operated out of a drained rice paddy. It was evidently not known by the Japanese. We were careful not to make tracks on the grass paddy that could be spotted from the air. Camouflage was a cinch. We just pushed the P-40s back into the jungle among the beautiful and sweet smelling tropical flowers. Climbing on the wing of a P-40 in the morning was an unforgettable experience of color and smell created by the extravagance of fragrant vines and flowers hanging from the jungle ceiling.

The density of the jungle was impressive. I made the surprising discovery of a US C-47 sitting in the undergrowth not more than 100 yards from our squadron hut. The plane was invisible from even close range, because the jungle was so dense and fast growing. The planes tail had been damaged on landing while bringing in men and supplies from Australia. The crew had gotten parts from the Dutch and were repairing it. Finally repairs were complete, and the C-47 was flown out one night, full of pregnant Dutch wives.

The Javanese were a warm, busy people. When it rained, they would run around with huge tropical leaves over their heads. Many times we wished we could speak their language so we could communicate and find out more about them. In our short stay we instinctively liked them.

The Dutch pilots were great. Their squadron commander was half Dutch and half Javanese, a very handsome individual. Twenty six years later when I was on duty in Oslo, Norway, as Defense and Air Attache, one of the Dutch pilots walked into my office. He was then with Lockheed Aircraft, selling C-130s. We recalled many details of the little Java campaign.

The low point in many of our memories of Java was the onset of dengue fever -- a sort of second cousin of malaria. The disease must attack the nerve endings. because all desire to do anything was lost and the sweat and smelling were horrible! Victims were very depressed and listless and ached in every portion of their bodies. The after-effects often lingered on and on.

We were well supplied with surface transportation, since among the first things to arrive at the wharves of Java were jeeps and staff cars. Money however, was a problem. We had received no pay since leaving the US some two months previously. The brilliant answer to this dilemma was to appoint someone paymaster, and send him to Surabaja in a staff car to make a draw from a Javanese bank. On his return we divided up the loot. Now we could eat at the “Black Hole” (a local so-called “restaurant”) and buy our fruit an peanuts for breakfast and lunch. When we evacuated from Java, we were told to burn all records, so the “paymaster’s” records went up in smoke!

Our mission was air defense of Java. The early warning system of the Dutch Air Defense Command was primitive. It did not enable our P-40s to climb to the altitude of the enemy bombers and fighters. The system was without radar. It consisted of spotters on outer islands and along the coast. Paralleling that was a native system in which a hollow log was pounded. The sound could be heard for miles. WE could never quite figure out the system, but maybe it was better than ours -- we’ll never know.

The P-40s soon began to lose their pep because of skimpy maintenance, and the Dutch fuel was not the 100 octane our fighters were designed for. We got a few victories but we suffered losses too. We learned a bit about fighting the Zero and how to attack the 96-Series heavy bomber. The tactics we used were pretty much the same as in other theaters. We quickly learned not to dogfight the Zero, but that we could out dive or out run a Zero at low altitude until we could get a new position of advantage. We lost some good young men before we began to practice this in earnest. However, we seldom were at an altitude advantage because of the short notice of a raid. When contact was made, our guys did quite well.

The Dutch Air Defense Command gave the squadron credit for more than sixty-five enemy planes destroyed. The squadron claims were fifty. Because of the overwhelming enemy numbers, our pilots did not have the opportunity to verify each other’s victories. Nine of our pilots were killed or missing in action during the stay in Java.

Attacking Sumatra

Although our mission was the air defense of Java, we did participate in some bombing missions. On February 17, with Major Sprague leading, the squadron flew from Batavia (renamed Jakartra in 1949 when Indonesia became an independent nation) to dive bomb targets at Palembang, in Sumatra -- landing craft in the river. Since we had no bombs that fit the P-40s, the Dutch adapted some for our use. The squadron was composed of eight planes for this mission. On the way to the target area, we were attached by Japanese 97 series fighters. The 97 was a small fighter with fixed landing gear, and because of this some of the P-40s retained their four 20 kilo Dutch bombs. In the engagement, Maj Sprague and Lts Kiser, McCallum and Kruzel each shot down a fighter. After the Japanese were dispersed, the P-40s continued on and bombed their targets.

The Invasion Fleet

It was around February 20th or so when we heard the enemy had taken Bali and Timor. There went our steppingstones to or from Australia -- no more supplies, nowhere to run. We heard about a speech by President Roosevelt in which he said, “You men of Java are not forgotten.: We tried to believe that there would be a gigantic Allied invasion, and a stand taken in Java, and hoped we weren’t another Dunkirk.

On February 27, we were assigned to escort nine A-24s on a bombing mission. We flew top cover for the A-24s, and watched them head for a sight that made my stomach sink. The Java Sea was filled with the Japanese warships. Ships stretched to the horizon and beyond -- they kept coming -- about six abreast, steaming toward Java -- our marooned island. The enemy fleet was being intercepted by nine Allied warships and firing had begun. We watched the near misses, the longs and shorts on both sides. One Allied ship was burning, with black smoke pouring from it, and it was dropping out of formation. This was later identified as the Marblehead, an American cruiser. We encountered no enemy aircraft, and on return to base reported our grim story of the invasion fleet.

Last Mission

On March 1, the squadron flew what turned out to be our last mission from Java. We took off at 5:30 am in three flights of three P-40s each, along with six Hawker Hurricanes and four Brewster Buffaloes of the Dutch Air Force. Our target was the Japanese landing at Rembang.

The main Japanese landings had taken place during the night, but troops and materiel were still being ferried in in small craft between some thirty transports and the shore.

As soon as our planes appeared, we were caught in a crossfire between shore batteries and AA guns on the ships. This intense antiaircraft fire downed Lts Caldwell, Reagan and Adkins, but we still managed to hurt the landing forces. We sank many barges and small boats filled with troops and supplies, and we put several of the shore AA batteries our of action. We attacked from the east side of the bay, out of the sun.

Our surviving aircraft returned individually to base, the last landing by 7:30 am. We were all pretty well shot up. About 9:00 o’clock a pair of Japanese Zero fighters hit us, strafing the field at will and further damaging or destroying all of our remaining planes.

Maj Fisher instructed us to turn over any usable equipment to the Dutch and ordered the remainder of the squadron to Jogjakarta, to be evacuated to Australia from there in B-17s.

As we were leaving, a US Army major appeared at our operations hut (the operations hut was nothing but a grass roof held up by wooden poles, without walls or windows). The major said he had a small field artillery unit, complete with guns, and that he and his men had been ordered to take up a position in the hills and stay behind. Thirty years later, at a cocktail party in the small town in Washington state where we both lived, I met this same man again. We compared notes, and I learned he’d been taken prisoner by the Japanese soon after we’d first met on Java, and had spent the rest of the war as a POW.

Our evacuation from Java was one more dicey operation. The B-17 could not accommodate everyone in a single trip. Some had to be left in Jogjakarta, with instructions to light a fire on the field when a B-17 returned later that night, if the enemy had not taken the field. The field was under intense strafing by Zeroes, We watched from the trenches while waiting anxiously for the returning B-17. The twelve hour wait raised aching questions in those left behind: will the crew be too bushed to fly? Can they find the airfield in the black out? Will the Japs bomb the field? It’s a big field; where will they park? Better get that fire built and ready to light, and don’t dare go to sleep.

The long anxious wait was rewarded by the unmistakable sound of a B-17’s engines, alerting everyone. They scrambled aboard, a tired lot.

We had arrived in Java eager to do a good job, and left with only the clothes on our backs, but thankful we had survived. Bone tired, we slept intermittently on the way to Broome. We climbed into cots at the Royal Australian Air Force barracks on arrival. We barely stirred during a Japanese bombing and strafing attack that destroyed a dozen flying boats in the harbor and damaged aircraft on the field as we slept.

Java Quarters and Rations

Our barracks in Java were homes that the Dutch had vacated for us, furnished only with beds and mosquito nets. At the nearby sugar mill, the Dutch women cooked a daily evening meal for us. The food left much to be desired, or maybe we didn’t appreciate the Dutch cousine.

When an ingenious member of our group discovered the original “Black Hole of Java,” dinner meal attendance dropped off. The “Black Hole” was something to behold, but the smell of the pungent Oriental cooking still lingers in my nostrils. It was so dark in the so called restaurant that we usually didn’t know what we were eating. The cook could prepare a hunk of buffalo meat, swimming in an Oriental sauce, that was delicious.

Breakfast was peanuts and baskets of strange and tasty fruits brought around by small children We bought them and ate while on alert. Lunch? Peanuts and fruit -- when you could get them.

Escort Duty

Other AAF units operated in Java: the 19th Bomb Group, remnants of the 7th Bomb Group, and a few A-24 dive bombers. We flew escort for the A-24’s, B-17s and LB-30s. On a mission against enemy shipping in Bali, the P-40s also strafed landing barges and troop concentrations on shore. Our only contact with the bomber pilots was while on missions that Air Defense asked us to perform. After we left Java, we met some of these pilots in Australia, and would usually get a good humored cussing out for not providing a better escort. One of these is Charlie Able, who later became vice president of McDonnald Douglas. He never fails to remind me that he would not have been shot down in his A-24 during the Java Sea battle if I had not been so negligent in my escort duties. Charlie went on to fly P-39s in New Guinea and he and I ran a P-47 training squadron in the states.

The Per Diem Ribbon

After we were evacuated to Australia, we were pilots without a unit. The 17th had been only a Provisional. Most of us were without orders or pay records. Our first concern on arriving in Sydney was to get some pay so we could enjoy the lights of the city. Since leaving Java, we had not had any milk to drink, and the Australians have great milk bars. But we needed money. The Finance Officer, of course, would have nothing to do with this ragged group of “officers.” But fighter pilots were not to be denied, and we stormed the Adjutant’s office, then on to the Executive Officer. He finally went to the Colonel, returning that we could get a partial pay.

The Finance Officer was not particularly pleased with our return, but we were exuberant in our small triumph. We were attracted to the yellow ribbon the Finance Officer was wearing, and asked what it stood for. It was the Asiatic-Pacific Theater ribbon, already dubbed the “Per Diem Ribbon” by pilots. After signing a form of pay sheet, each got $50, and the Finance Officer probably hated fighter pilots from then on.