GOD WAS HIS COPILOT

  

In 1943 Four-Star General Henry H. Arnold was chief of the Army Air Forces.  One day his secretary buzzed the intercom: “Colonel Scott is here, sir.”

 

Hap Arnold (which was not shorthand for Happy) sneered, “Oh, you mean God’s personal pilot?”

 

Colonel Scott was Robert L. Scott, Jr., recently Major General Claire Chennault’s fighter commander in China and author of the runaway best seller God is My Copilot. And soon to be a major motion picture.

 

Scott had made headlines by offering to strafe the miner’s union boss who repeatedly violated a no-strike pledge for the duration.  Scott pled, “I was just expressing my personal opinion, sir.”

 

Arnold grew red-faced.  “Damn it, Scott, while you wear that uniform you don’t have a personal opinion!”

 

So ended the session.  Bob said, “I think that’s when General Arnold began looking for a way to send me back to China where I could get killed.”

 

Bob Scott was multi-talented.  Retired brigadier general, double ace, repeated posts as group-wing commander, innovative big game hunter, and best-selling author. 

 

I knew Bob well, from 1966 onward.  The next year he diverted amid a business trip from Phoenix to deliver my high school graduation address in Oregon.  On one trip he asked, “Can I borrow your mama’s kitchen?”  He baked a key lime pie.  We became hunting partners and frequent correspondents—I have nearly 100 of his letters.

 

Recently I re-read Copilot for the fourth or fifth time.  It had occurred to me that popular as it was, with multi-multi editions and millions of copies, there had never been an index.

 

So I compiled one.

 

Short version: 90 individuals are named, though many are surnames only.  Besides Chennault, the most frequently cited players were Colonel (later Major General) C.V. Haynes of prewar B-17 and CBI Theater multi-engine fame; Flying Tiger ace Tex Hill (who during an overnight stay showed me his pappy’s Texas Ranger Sunday-go-to-meetin’ gun); 23^rd Fighter Group successor Bruce Holloway (a future four-star); and then-Major John Alison, respected ace and leader whom Bob relied upon repeatedly in China.

 

Meanwhile:

 

Bob did not write Copilot.  He spoke into Dictaphone rolls in a New York hotel, each day delivered to Simon & Schuster where “a Yankee secretary with a tin ear” deciphered his Georgia accent. 

 

That Yankee secretary probably accounts for some unusual style.  Every direction around the compass is capitalized.  So is “general” as in “the General.”

 

The text reflects wartime knowledge of Japanese aircraft.  Single-engine fighters are always “Zeroes” when in fact the Imperial Navy had few units in the 23^rd’s operating area.  The Japanese Army flew Nakajima Ki-43 “Oscars” which vaguely resembled the Mitsubishi A6M.

 

Japan’s twin-engine fighter, the Ki-45 (code name Nick) is always rendered as “I-45.” 

 

But the list of aircraft in Copilot is impressive.  Bob never denied that he was “a time hog” and flew as many as ten hours a day.  Along the way he flew the antiquated A-3 Falcon attack plane, the P-12, P-26 “Peashooter,” B-17, C-47, P-43, and almost every model of the P-40 series.  He described his pet P-40E, “Old Exterminator,” in at least half a dozen places, until the veteran was retired too heavily damaged to repair.

 

The oddest aspect of Copilot is the absence of any title inspiration in the text.  Only later did Bob describe the session in a Kweiloin cave where medical missionary Dr. Fred Manget removed rivets driven into Bob’s back by Japanese shells detonating on his P-40 seat’s armor plate.  A Chinese attendant asked how he flew the plane, navigated fired the guns, dropped the bombs, and fought “the barbarian.”  Still in pain, Bob snapped, “Of course I fly alone in a fighter.  I’m the only pilot!”

 

At that point Doc Manget—a 33-year China hand—intoned, “‘You’re not up there alone, son — not with all the things you’ve been through.  You’ve got the greatest co-pilot in the world even if there is only one of you in the fighter ship — no, you’re not alone.’

 

A title was born.

 

Near as I can determine, apparently Bob did not write a full account until about 1961 in Boring a Hole in the Sky. It was one of 13 books he wrote: autobiographies, adventure tales, and novels.

 

Bob was a fine writer, and it’s intriguing to read his books in succession, noting how his style evolved.  He traveled in rare circles, and among his literary confreres was another Simon & Schuster author, Ernest Hemingway.  Bob was an unexcelled raconteur, never moreso than his description of a lost weekend with “Ernst” and “Miz Mary” in a snowbound Idaho cabin.  

 

Much of Copilot is devoted to visceral hatred of the Japanese. Bob and others freely spoke of their satisfaction in killing the enemy, whether aloft, ashore or afloat.  Chennault, who had fought Japan since 1937, had always said, “Kill them whenever you can.”

 

Late in the book, Bob discussed the notion that pilots who had seen the work of their guns and bombs were unable to sleep, “waking up in horror ‘with blood on your hands’…I never knew a pilot who thought about it.  All the pilots I ever saw were so happy about their first kill…that I knew we were not the soft race we had been charged with being early in the war.”

 

But time passed.

 

Gradually Bob’s God laid a healing hand on his heart and mind.  In 1970 at an aces reunion I photographed Bob holding a golf club with a smiling Saburo Sakai—and if you don’t know who he was, you’ve stumbled across this blog by accident.

 

Bob closed Copilot with a heartfelt paragraph that said in part, “The sun was going down now, even from our vantage point up there at 25,000 where Holloway and I were patrolling.  We called for the other ships to land, and as we saw them go into the Lufbery circle and rat-race that fighter pilots like to land from, Holloway rolled over and dove straight for the ground.  I started to roll with him—then I turned back for one more look at the setting sun.  To those earthbound creatures, the sun was down.  There the shadows of the approaching night covered the ground but up here I could see above the mountains, and the sun still shone on my fighter…I pulled straight up and looked into the vivid blue of the Yunnan skies.”

 

For more detail, here’s a link from 2018.

 

https://historynet.com/col-robert-l-scott-gods-pilot/

TWO-FIFTY

  

The republic’s 250^th anniversary is upon us.  Preparations have been underway for years, and predictably we see and hear exhortations for national unity.  As in, “We’re all Americans.”

 

Not to toss a grenade in the swimming pool,

 

But

 

It’s not true

 

and

 

it never has been.

 

There’s an elitist element in the country that, in the words of former Homeland Security Secretary Tulsi Gabbard, “assumes that it knows what’s best for the rest of us and hates America and what it stands for.”

 

According to a current polling, 29 to 45 percent of Democrats are proud of America to any degree.  Gallup’s Democrat “extremely proud” figure runs 14 percent versus 70 percent of Republicans and 28 percent of independents.

 

It’s not new.  I’m old enough to remember when Democrats—who started it--routinely committed the constitutional definition of treason during the Vietnam War (read Article III, Section 3 of the Owner’s Manual).

 

For perspective, we’ve been here before, except that previously we shot at each other, although some current leftists desire just that.  (Democrat politicians and voters advocate, “Kill a Republican.”  Donald Trump has personal knowledge of that fact.)  

 

A few examples:

 

https://www.facebook.com/WinsomeESears/videos/jay-jones-fantasized-about-putting-two-bullets-into-a-mans-head-and-hoped-his-ch/1012441924313289/

 

https://nypost.com/2026/07/02/us-news/fired-trans-dem-campaigner-calls-on-followers-to-kill-your-local-republican-and-vows-trans-jihad/

 

In 1963 a former Marine and practicing Marxist assassinated President John F. Kennedy.

 

In 2017 Rep. Steve Scalise’s attempted murderer had “a history of anti-republican social media posts who targeted the lawmakers based on their political affiliation.”  (AI passage)  

 

In quick summary, to quote a police friend, “You’re not paranoid when they say they’re out to get you.”

 

Meanwhile, I’ll offer some family context.

 

The Revolutionary War was a civil war.  It divided families, communities, and states.  In 1781 one of my paternal ancestors was the aide who took General Washington’s victory message from Yorktown to Congress in Philadelphia. But Lieutenant Colonel Tench Tilghman’s father was a loyalist and a brother became a Royal Navy officer.

 

Over six years previously two of my mother’s ancestors commanded the militias at Lexington and Concord--Captain John Parker and Colonel James Barrett.  My mother had a cousin named Parker Barrett.

 

Eighty-five years later families and the nation split again.  During the (second) Civil War the Barretts hailed from Maine but the Tillmans--largely from the Carolinas, Georgia and Virginia--went for the Confederacy by eight to one.  However, at least four of my father’s family died to free the slaves and/or preserve the union (Abe Lincoln varied on those points.)  One of those who wore the blue was a white officer riding with Colored Troops, U.S. Cavalry.

 

Nearly 700,000 of us--who were all Americans--killed one another in four years.  That might be instructive especially because the population merely was 31 million—about 300 million less than today.

 

My Perspective

 

I was born on the edge of flyover country nearly 300 miles inland from the Pacific coast.  Chronologically in the first half of the previous century, a demographic that makes me a Baby Boomer with about 75 million others. 

 

My mother’s family had raised sheep; my father raised cattle, among other creatures including bison.  Both sides produced wheat and peas, so I grew up living to nature’s calendar of planting, fertilizing, and reaping.  During harvest, 10-hour days were ordinary; 14 were not unusual.  As Dad always said, he was a professional gambler, betting on the weather.

 

When I was born 70 percent of the population still was rural.  Today it’s around 20 percent but that portion of the population is not going to accept the Democratic Socialist plan to abolish private property.  For any liberals who care to inform themselves rather than defaulting to emotional orthodoxy, check the Soviet record on that account. 

 

But go ahead, take your time.  It’s only been about 85 years since Stalin’s forced collectivization.

 

That’s the trouble with democracy.  Ignorant idiots get to vote.

 

Eagle’s Perspective

 

For a typical view among my treasured friends is Captain Lonny McClung, a retired naval aviator who in his 80s has flown 16,000+ hours.  He held four aviation commands including two fighter squadrons and Topgun, graduated Test Pilot School, logged over 1,000 carrier landings and 200+ combat missions.  He continued flying as a civilian, including an around-the-world “race” in a seaplane.

 

“Eagle” McClung speaks for thousands of others:

 

“My 250 thoughts center on the greatness of this country and the cost of the freedom and liberty that we enjoy in this wonderful land. In America, you are free to follow your dreams. Over the years the number of patriots who have given their lives for our liberty in combat is a seven-digit number.  Many more suffered life changing wounds and injuries. I am well aware of that cost--my father died in the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944 when I was barely age five. My early formative years were spent without him. Thankfully, my Mom remarried five years later and a wonderful stepdad steered me in the right direction. I very much needed a firm hand and he lovingly provided same.

 

“I was exposed to the risk and cost of combat in my 30-year USN career.  I lost some squadron mates and really good friends, but I would do it all again if given the chance. The current experience of the World Cup has exposed countless international visitors to how wonderful this country is, the freedom we enjoy, and why I love it so much.

 

“The beauty of this country is twofold. The freedom to do what you want to do, and the natural beauty of the rolling hills and cities coast to coast. God has had His hand on this land from the beginning and blessed us beyond measure.  As long as we acknowledge and follow Him, we will continue to remain that ‘shining city on the hill’ for the rest of the world, and we will record another 250.”

THE DAUNTLESSES OF JUNE

  

 

It happens every June.

 

I get thinking about two epic battles of World War II that occurred two years apart:

 

Midway in June 1942

And

Philippine Sea in June 1944.

 

Aside from the second and fifth aircraft carrier engagements (there’s not been one since) both featured my mental-emotional icon: the Douglas SBD Dauntless (Scout Bomber by Douglas).  It was the only American tailhook aircraft engaged in all five flattop duels.

 

The Japanese of course had more representation.  Their Mitsubishi “Zero” fighter, Aichi “Val” dive bomber and Nakajima “Kate” torpedo planes flew from Imperial flight decks in all five battles, though the 1944 event featured new strike aircraft, the Yokosuka “Judy” dive bomber and Nakajima “Jill” torpedo plane. 

 

SBDs were first to last Pacific warriors, from Pearl Harbor to VJ Day although the 1945 contribution was land-based mostly in Marine Corps squadrons.

 

In order, the Dauntless’ carrier battles were:

 

Coral Sea, May 7-8, 1942 (shared sinking a Japanese carrier)

Midway, June 4-7, 1942 (sank four Japanese carriers)

Eastern Solomons, August 24, 1942 (shared a Japanese carrier)

Santa Cruz, October 27, 1942 (damaged a Japanese carrier)

Philippine Sea, June 19-20, 1944 (damaged two or three Japanese carriers)

 

Over the years (OK, decades) I have described the SBD as “the plane that won the war.”

 

Wow!  Does that rile the B-17 fanboys.

 

But here’s some facts versus emotion:

 

The B-17 was incidental in the Pacific, and it was outproduced by the B-24/PB4Y Liberator family by over 40 percent: 12,700 versus 18,400.  We would have defeated the Empire of the Sun without B-17s.

 

We would have lost without SBDs.

 

That’s right.  Without Dauntlesses, the United States of America would have been defeated by Japan in the years after Pearl Harbor—and beyond.

 

What were the options?

 

Oh lord…

 

The only other scout-bomber committed to combat in that period was Vought’s fabric-covered SB2U Vindicator.  In 1937 it had been one of the first two American carrier-based monoplanes with the Douglas TBD Devastator.  Both showed their age five years later, especially the “Wind Indicator.”  A meager 260 were produced, including those to foreign buyers.  In the Vindicator’s June 4 Midway mission, 12 land-based SB2Us suffered four losses without inflicting damage on Japanese warships. 

What was the backup?

 

The trouble-plagued Curtiss SB2C Helldiver finally entered combat in November 1943.  You can do the math as to how long that entry compared to Pearl Harbor.

 

So:

 

The Dauntless was the plane that won the Pacific war.  Three days after Pearl Harbor an Enterprise SBD sank a submarine, Japan’s first naval loss.  Then in 1942 SBDs sank or wrecked, in whole or in part, six Japanese carriers, a battleship, two cruisers, a destroyer and a boatload (!) of vital transport ships trying to reinforce Guadalcanal.

 

The Pet Dauntless

 

Between 1972 and 1974 my father acquired and oversaw restoration of the world’s only airworthy Dauntless.  I helped, spending part of a summer on my head in the rear cockpit with a rivet gun in one hand and a shop light in the other.  The full story of the restoration is another blog’s worth, but I’ll just say that I benefited from several hours flying with Dad, leading to my first book. 

 

In order, my SBD volumes were:

 

The Dauntless Dive Bomber of World War II.  Naval Institute Press, 1976.

 

Dauntless: A Novel of Midway and Guadalcanal.  Bantam, 1982.

 

SBD Dauntless Units of World War 2.  Osprey (UK), 1998.

 

Along the way I was fortunate to know Edward H. Heinemann, the intuitive genius who designed the SBD and a later generation of naval aircraft including the A-1 Skyraider, A-3 Skywarrior, A-4 Skyhawk, F4D Skyray, and two record-setting “X planes.”  During one of our visits at Rancho Santa Fe, I was oafishly proud to tell Ed something he didn’t know about his most important design.  Each of the 318 holes in the dive and landing flaps was exactly the diameter of a tennis ball. 

 

How I discovered that esoteric fact was due to my younger brother’s girlfriend, a top-rated Oregon player.  Details for a later time.

 

By coincidence, this month I’ve been re-reading Clash of the Carriers: The True Story of the Marianas Turkey Shoot (Caliber, 2005.). Though the title emphasizes the Grumman Hellcat’s lopsided triumph in the two-day battle off Saipan, the SBD contributed to the victory.  (See above list of Dauntless successes).

 

It holds up well.  Among other things, the appendices include the most complete table of organization for U.S. and Japanese forces engaged, and it was harder to confirm more American ship captains than Japanese.

 

I took time to investigate all 102 ships in Task Force 58 and found that 87 of them had been commissioned in the two and a half years since Pearl Harbor.

 

Yeah.

 

Some historiography: when Clash was published 13 of the 41 veterans (representing 17 ships) already were deceased.  My lone Japanese contributor, dive bomber leader Zenji Abe, died in 2006.  The last of those I could track passed in 2018.  I’ll probably never know details of the remaining four.

 

I’ve not heard of a subsequent full-length book devoted to the fifth carrier battle, though additional Japanese sources have emerged.

 

I’ll close with a brief description of the SBD’s reason for existence:

 

At about 14,000 feet the pilot reduced throttle, extended the dive brakes, and nosed into a 70 degree dive, tracking the target through his optical sight.  About six feet behind him—contrary to almost every depiction—the radioman-gunner rotated his seat forward rather than deploying his guns sternward.  The back-seater had a partial instrument panel including altimeter so he could call the descent to the pilot.

 

Few fighters could stay with an SBD in a dive, making 240 knots (275 mph) for the 30 to 35 seconds descent.  It was a very busy half minute: acquire the target, making upwards of 30 knots in an evasive turn that constantly changed the crosswind component, with stick hands and rudder feet jockeying Ed’s beautifully balanced controls to track the target.

 

Approaching 1,500 feet, the pilot pressed the red B button atop the control stick and/or pulled on the double-handle manual bomb release.  Freed of 500 or 1,000 pounds, the Dauntless bucked in response and the pilot began a high-G recovery, sometimes pulling nearly nine Gs.  Blackouts were fairly common while audio clues told him: shove up the power, pull in the flaps, and get out of AA range soonest.

 

Repeat as necessary to win the war.

 

And someday I might write another SBD book:

 

Dauntless: The Heartwarming Story of a Boy and His Dive Bomber.

 

Today ours is displayed in original A-24B configuration at the Air Force Museum in Dayton, Ohio.