fire extinguishers

[SFRT - Frenchy]

Ok Fdiron, read this and let me know what you think please :

"I am the luckiest guy on this station. They were all around me before I could make a run for it and one of them hit me from above. I heard a thud and there was a sounf like the pecking of a typewriter. His machine gun bullets were making holes all over my plane.

I tried to dive away when something started burning the back of my head. My oxygen had become ignited. I tried to open the canopy but it stuck fast. The german just kept firing and pieces of my plane would tear off as bullets hit. Then something exploded in the cockpit and I was blinded with a shower of fluid from the hydrolic system.

I tried another dive and the oxygen stoped burning, but I still couldn't see anythin for a few minutes. When I came out of the dive, the engine was grindling badly and I throttled back to keep it from blowing. I wiped the hydraulic fluid out of my eyes, and when I looked around I was still at 19,000 feet. The Germans had disapeared. They had done a good job because I couldn't manoeuver the plane, and it seemed the wings were hanging on by a couple of threads. I beat on the canopy, but it still wouldn't open. I figured I might as well relax because it didn't seem I had a chance in hell of getting back. I didn't feel bad. My face was bleeding and the burns on the back of my head hurt, but the lack of oxygen was making me drunk.

By the time I was near Diepper I was down to 8,000 feet. Off to the right I saw a blue-painted FW 190 coming toward me. He manoeuvered for a pass and I couldn't do a thing except to sit there and watch him swing around on my tail for the kill. He started firing and some pieces came off my plane. Since we were both travelling at a good clip I kicked the rudder to slow down. He shot past, and when he was directly in front I let him have a few bursts. They didn't have much effect. He immediately turned around and came back. I think the Jerry knew by this time that he was fighting a cripple because he held his fire and started flying alongside.

He stayed with me all the way over Dieppe, and it must have mystified the anit-aircraft gunners. They didn't send up the flak, which was a good break for me, because I couldn't have taken any evasive actions. When we neared the Channel, the German circled my plane once or twice and then the pilot waved, I waves back and thought he was going to let me go. But he just pullet up and took an another shot at me. Then he came down and examined my plane some more. We were now below 3,000 feet and evidently he didn't think I had any chance of getting home. He must have been a good-hearted Joe. Instead of finishing me off, he waggled his wings and went away.

My engine was still grindling so I tried the stick. To my surprise, the P47 started to climb a little. I kept nursing her and she managed to struggle all the way across the chanel to England. When I came down, I didn't have any flaps or brakes, but it was the best landing I ever made."

Fdiron, a lot of us are learning about WW2 by reading this board, you have the responsability to do your best to make sure to what you post is the closest to what happened.
Imagine someone reading you and going to a 56thFG reunion and stating:"yeah, Johnson tried to kill himself because his plane was on fire and his canopy locked". That would make quite an effect on your public  

My personal thoughts after reading the story ... I would had prefer to use my 45 on me to suicide myself if I had to but at no time in his story he mentioned trying to kill himself.
As far as the fire, I doubt it was the dive who turned it off as it was inside the cockpit and the cockpit was "closed". I think the fire stoped when the oxygen exploded and no more oxygen was left to burn. Johnston suffered hypoxia, re-enforcing the oxygen was no longer reaching his mask (if he still had it on).

What do u think?

[fdiron]

That is a totally different account than what I read Frenchy.  You probably cut and pasted a super condensed version.  The account I read (from a book, not a website) said that Johnson nosed his plane over and went into a dive because he didnt want to burn to death.  Then it said that he was suprised that the fire was extinguished by the dive.  I'll try to think of the name of the book it was in.  It was a collection of air combat stories written by that famous air combat author (think he wrote "Flight of the Intruder").

Just FYI Frenchy, there have been cases of bomber crew members jumping out of their planes with no parachutes because their planes were on fire.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

[BenDover]

b17's had fire extinguishers in the compartments AND the engines (learned that from b17 2, and get pissed off when my buff gets set alight, and i can't put it out   )

[SFRT - Frenchy]

FYI Fdiron, I didn't copy/paste from a web site, I typed it for you from "P47 Thunderbolt Aces of the Eighth AF", Jerry Scutts, Osprey Aircraft of the Aces 24, Page 30..
I'm on the road and most of my books are in the storage place (I'm homeless right now). I am sure that someone has the original book here and will get the full account here in no time ... Sanchoooooooo  

I believe it's Stephen Count who wrote the Flight of the Intruder, but it's from memory. I still have a hard time believing the suicide attempt. I never read something who gave me this impression, can you back it up with multiple sources, or you read this 1 time only and took it for granted? Also, do you think it's the dive who stoped the cabin fire?

[fdiron]

Found the name of the book

War in the Air : True Accounts of the 2Oth Century's Most Dramatic Air Battles by the Men Who Fought Them
by Stephen Coonts

  I do believe the dive is what stopped the fire.  I don't have the book right now, so I cant quote it exactly.  Maybe if someone else has the book, they can quote the part about Johnsons plane catching fire.

[ 01-09-2002: Message edited by: fdiron ]

[AKSWulfe]

Yeah, that's the book I was talking about... I would take the time to type it in when I get home- but it's like 6 pages long!  
-SW

[SFRT - Frenchy]

Hey I went to buy it too   .
I read the extract, I didn't find a mention about suiciding himself. For sure he tried everything to get out of the plane several time. When he came to a lower altitude he realized he could actually fly the plane and elected he could ditch it, then exit.

As far as the fire, he said it went off by itself. Like I said, I don't see how the dive could had affect the fire inside the cockpit.

Wulfe, if you have the courage to type all those pages, be my guest ... I don't    

[Kratzer]

I have Thunderbolt! at home.  I'll type up his account when I get there in an hour.

[fdiron]

You didnt find ANYTHING about Johnson saying that he didnt want to burn alive and decided to crash instead? I havent read this story for about 4 years but I can still remember him saying something about crashing the plane instead of burning alive.

[AKSWulfe]

I'll save typing the whole thing, I'll just begin typing when he sees the flame...

LONG FLIGHT HOME from Thunderbolt, by Robert S. Johnson

"FIRE! A gleaming tongue of flames licks my forehead. It flickers, disappears. Instantly it is here again, this time a searing fire sheet, erupting into the cockpit. The fire dances and swirls, disappears within a thick, choking cloud of smoke. Intense, blinding, sucked throught he shattered canopy. The draft is terror. The draft of air is Death, carrying the fire from theb ottom of the cockpit, over me, crackling before my face, leaping up and out through the smashed canopy.

The terror is eternity. Burn to death!

GET OUT!
I grab the canopy bar, grasping for breath, jerk it back with maniacal strength. The canopy jerks open, slides back six inches, and jams.
Trapped! The fire blossoms, roars ominously, Frantic, I reach up with both hands, pulling with every bit of strength I can command. The canopy won't budge.
Realization. The fighter burning. Flames and smoke in the cockpit. Oxygen flow cut off. Out of control, plunging. Fighters behind. Helpless.
New sounds. Grinding, rumbling noises. In front of me, the engine. Thumping, banging. Bullets, cannon shells in the engine; maybe it's on fire!
I can't see. I rub my eyes. No good. Then I notice the oil, spraying out fromt he damaged engine, a sheet of oil robbing me of sight, covering the front windscreen, cutting off my vision. I look to the side, barely able to look out.
Great, dark shapes. Reeling, rushing past me. No! The Thunderbolt plunges, flips crazily earthward. The shapes--the bombers! The bomber formations, unable to evade my hurtling fighter. How did I miss them? The shapes disappear as the Thunderbolt, railing flame and smoke, tumbles through the bombers, escaping total disaster by scant feet. Maybe less!
GET OUT!
I try, oh, God, how I try! Both feet against the instrument panel, brace myself, grasp the canopy bar with both hands. Pull--pull harder! Useless. It won't budge.
Still falling. Got to pull out of the dive. I drop my hands to the stick, my feet to the rudders. Left rudder to level the wings, back pressure on the stick to bring her out of the dive. There is still wind bursting with explosive force through the shattered canopy, but it is less deomoniacal with the fighter level, flying at less speed.
Still the flame. Now the fire touches, sears. I have become snared in a trap hurtling through space, a trap of vicious flames and choking smoke! I release the controls. Feet firmly against the instruments, both hands grasping the canopy bar. It won't move! Pull harder!
The Thunderbolt rears wildly, engine thumping. Smoke inside, oil spewing from the battered engine, a spray whipping back, almost blinding me to the outside world. It doesn't matter. The world is nothingness, only space, forever and ever down to the earth below. Up here, fire, smoke.
I've got to get out! Terror and choking increases, becomes frenzied desperation. Several times I jerk the Thunderbolt from her careening drops toward the earth, several more times I kick against the panel, pull with both hands. The canopy will not move. Six inches. Not a fraction more. I can't get out!
A miracle. Somehow, incredibly, flame disappears. The fire... the fire's out! Smoke boils into the cokcpit, swirls around before it answers the shrieking call of wind through the shattered glass. But there is no flame to knife into flesh, no flame.... Settle down! Think! I'm still alive!"

-SW

[Kratzer]

Dude... i just typed 3 pages of this crap, then refreshed the page... *sigh*

[Kratzer]

Well, I started at an earlier point... put this in front of his entry:

“Sixteen bandits, six o’clock, coming in fast – this is Keyworth Blue 4  - Over!” Now I see the enemy fighters clearly – Focke-Wulfs, still closing the gap.  Again I call in – I’m frantic now.  My entire body seems to quiver.  I’m shaking; I want to rip the Thunderbolt around and tear directly into the teeth of the German formation.  It’s the only thing to do; break into them.  For a moment, a second of indecision, I lift the P-47 up on one wing and start the turn – no, dammit! I swore I wouldn’t break formation; I would act only on orders, and not on my own.  I jab down again on the button, this time fairly shouting the warning of enemy fighters.

What the hell is the matter with them?  I glance quickly at the other Thunderbolts, expecting the leader’s big fighter to swing around and meet the attack.  The P-47 drones on, unconcerned, her pilot oblivious to the enemy.  My finger goes down on the button and I call, again: “Sixteen bandits, six o’clock, coming in f—“

A terrific explosion! A split second later, another.  And yet another!  Crashing, thundering sounds.  WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!  One after another, an avalanche smashing into my fighter, heavy boulders hurtling out of nowhere and plunging with devastating force into the airplane.  A blinding flash.  Before my eyes the canopy glass erupts in an explosion, dissolves in a gleaming shower.  Tiny particles of glass rip through the air.  The Thunderbolt shudders through her length, bucks wildly as explosions flip her out of control.  Still the boulders rain against the fighter, a continuing series of crashing explosions, each roaring, each terrifying.  My first instinct is to bail out; I have a frantic urge to leave the airplane.

Concussion smashes my ears, loud, pounding; the blasts dig into my brain.  A new sound now, barely noticed over the crashing explosions.  A sound of hail, rapid, light, unceasing.  Thirty-caliber bullets, pouring in a stream against and into the Thunderbolt.  Barely noticed as they tear through metal, flash brilliantly as tracers.  The Thunderbolt goes berserk, jarring heavily every time another 20-mm cannon shell shears metal, tears open the skin, races inside and explodes with steel-ripping force.

Each explosion is a personal blow, a fist thudding into my body.  My head rings, my muscles protest as the explosions snap my body into the restraining straps, whip my head back against the rest.  I am through!  I’m absolutely helpless, at the mercy of the fighters pouring fire and steel into the Thunderbolt.  Squeezed back in my seat against the armor plating – my head snaps right and left as I see the disintegration of my ’47.  A blow spins my head to the left as a bullet creases my nose.  Behind me I can feel the steel being flayed apart by the unending rain of cannon shells.

I notice no pain.  I have only a frantic feeling – an explosive urge to get out!

I am not frightened; I am beyond any such gentle emotion.  I am terrified, clutched in a constricting terror that engulfs me.  Without conscious volition, my finger stabs screaming, “MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!”  The words blur into a continuous stream.  The voice goes on and on, shouting the distress call, and not until I have shrieked for help six times or more do I recognize my own voice.

I have no time to think, almost no time to act.  Moving my sheer force of habit, by practice become instinct, my hands fly over my body.  Without conscious thought, without even realizing what I am doing, I wriggle free of the shoulder harness and jerk open the seat belt.

Another explosion.  A hand smashes me against the side of the cockpit; for a moment acceleration pins me helplessly.  The Thunderbolt breaks away completely from my control.  Earth and sky whirl crazily.  I’m suddenly aware that the fighter has been thrown nose down, plunging out of control.  The smashing explosions, the staccato beating of the bullets, blurs into a continuous din.  A sudden lunge, the fighter snaps to the right, nose almost vertical.  The Thunderbolt’s wild motions flip me back and forth in the cockpit.

[AKSWulfe]

Sorry man, I didn't think you'd already started.
-SW

[SFRT - Frenchy]

Did I missed it or no memtion of suiciding himself?

Guys ... hats off for typing all this  

[Sachs]

Originally posted by Ripsnort:
Pistols were standard issue for pilots, were they not?

yes when they bailed out