It’s the 26th of June 1943.
Three squadrons of P-47C Thunderbolts
fly across the skies of occupied France.
They’re on course to meet with a formation of B-17s returning from a bombing run deep in enemy territory.
Towards the rear of the formation is 2nd Lieutenant Robert S. Johnson.
As it’s common for him he’s keeping a careful watch over the skies around him
as they venture further into enemy territory, almost waiting for bandits to show their face.
He looks up over his right shoulder and his fear his reality;
coming down from above are 16 Focke-Wulf 190s barreling towards them.
Johnson takes his radio and shouts “Bandits 5 o’clock!”
but to his horror there is no response and the planes around him don’t react at all.
“Bandits 5 o’clock!!”
he shouts again to the same result.
In a panic now he tries to adjust the radio but it’s already too late.
A bullet punches through his plexiglass cockpit from above,
barely missing him and piercing the floor.
In a blur a shower of lead rips through his machine.
Shells impact the body and small caliber bullets tear through his canopy and engine,
punching through the oxygen tube and a hydraulic line,
as well as sending shrapnel into his thigh.
He tries to maneuver but the punctured hydraulic line sprays fluid at him, blinding him.
Meanwhile hot oil pours out the engine and enters the cockpit through the bullet holes in the canopy,
where it mixes with the pure oxygen spilling out of his tube and ignites.
A flash fire lights inside the cabin for a split second,
it singes him and causes him to fully lose control.
His plane enters a death spiral and falls towards the French countryside far below.
Johnson fights with the machine,
his eyes are stinging from the hydraulic fluid he pulls hard on the stick and wrestles with the rudder,
miraculously he stops the spin and brings the machine back to level flight
even as his plane appears to be shaking itself to pieces around him.
He is bleeding, burnt, and lacking oxygen.
He wipes the fluid off his eyes and attempts to bail out,
but to his horror the canopy gets stuck.
He’s now In the verge of panic, one of the plexiglass panels has been blown out.
He swiftly attempts to jump through the opening,
but gets stuck, his parachute isn’t making it through.
He fights with the parachute, trying to squeeze it through as he’s lambasted by the wind,
but he quickly realizes he isn’t making it out and he’s forced back inside.
Johnson takes a deep breath.
The plane’s drop in altitude has brought him to safer oxygen levels
and the mental haze clouding his judgment slowly evaporates.
He realizes that despite all his damage the plane is actually flying quite well,
he pulls back on the throttle and the shaking clears itself out.
Maybe, just maybe, he can nurse the machine back to Britain.
Making for home he looks up to see the desperate dogfight taking place far above.
He watches with a heavy heart, praying for the safety of his fellows,
there is nothing he can do now to help.
But then, as he looks at the swarm of dots,
he spots a single yellow nosed Focke-Wulf 190 coming straight towards him.
A sense of dread washes over Johnson,
he can almost see the enemy fighter in slow motion as it lines up his shot and opens fire.
20mm cannon fire strikes the wounded Thunderbolt for the second time that day.
Desperate, Johnson kills the throttle and repeatedly shoves the rudder left and right,
bleeding speed as quickly as he can.
The German pilot overshoots and Johnson sees an opportunity to fight back.
He tries to aim a burst at the 190 speeding past,
but the oil-covered canopy spoils the attempt.
But then the German pilot stops his assault,
instead of turning around for another attack
the 190 pulls up on his wing and flies in close formation.
The two pilots look at each other in the eye and the German gives Johnson a military salute.
Johnson is stunned and gives back an unsteady wave of his own.
The 190 pulls away, leaving the American to his fate.
Johnson breathes, thinking he had just been spared.
He watches the German machine depart, deeply thankful.
But then he realizes something is wrong.
The 190 doesn’t head back to where he came from,
instead he continues his turnaround towards the P-47’s tail.
Shivers travel down Johnson’s spine.
He isn’t being spared.
He drops the seat and ducks behind the Thunderbolt’s rear cockpit armor as the 190 cruelly opens fire.
The limping P-47 is once again littered with lead.
Thankfully the 190 is out of 20mm ammunition but still tears through the P-47 with its machineguns,
dumping hundreds of 7.92mm rounds into its body and striking nearly everything under the fuselage.
The 190 once again pulls out alongside the P-47
and Johnson watches as the German pilot salutes him one more time.
Johnson isn’t amused and curses at the pilot who dares fire at a done aircraft and mock its defenseless operator.
But of course, his words go unheard and the 190 once again turns back for yet another run.
He hides one more time as the 190 litters the P-47 with its machineguns,
this time using the rudder to pepper the Thunderbolt from wingtip to wingtip,
trying to shred absolutely everything.
Johnson is bracing for the worst,
just waiting for a bullet to land the killing blow
as he listens for round after round piercing his aircraft’s metal body
and impacting the armor behind his back.
And suddenly, it stops.
He opens his eyes, he’s still flying.
In a state of shock, he looks to the right and yet again sees the German pilot flying alongside him.
They stare at each other for an eternal moment.
The German rocks his plane side to side and flies away, out of ammunition.
Johnson keeps his eyes on the 190 the entire way,
part of him expecting it to come again to finish him off,
but this time it's leaving for good and the 190 disappears into the distance.
He slumps into his seat wondering how on earth he is still alive.
Reaching Manston air base a few minutes later.
He fears the landing gear hadn’t survived the onslaught,
but to his surprise it successfully deploys and locks into place, the tires even remain inflated.
Johnson makes a perfect landing and is greeted on the ground by a team of medics.
They help him out through the blown window and immediately rush him to the hospital.
He had suffered burns across his body,
swollen eyes from the oil and hydraulic fluid that covered his face,
shrapnel injuries on his hands and thigh,
and a piece of his nose had been nicked away by a bullet.
He would though make a full recovery and return to the skies just 5 days later.
During his recovery he got a chance to see his destroyed plane,
he stood by its tail and began counting the bullet holes.
He gave up after reaching 200 without taking a single step.
The pilot who attacked Johnson is rumored to have been German ace Egon Mayer,
he would be killed in action on March the following year.
Johnson went on to become an excellent pilot, achieving 27 confirmed victories in his trusty Thunderbolt
which makes him the 2nd highest American ace in the European theater.
He would earn the Purple Heart for the incident
but would also earn the Distinguished Service Cross,
Silver Star, Distinguished Flying Cross nine times over,
and many more decorations throughout his service.
Robert Samuel Johnson would pass away at the age of 78 in Tulsa, Oklahoma on December 27th, 1998.
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