At 11:14 a.m. on January 11th, 1944, Major James Howard circled his P-51B Mustang four miles above Osher Slaben, Germany, watching 30 German fighters dive towards 60 unprotected B7s below. The 33-year-old Howard had flown 86 combat missions in China with the Flying Tigers, but today marked only his 37th day flying the controversial new fighter that military brass called suicidal for longrange escort.
In the past four months, 8th Air Force had lost 180 bombers in just three missions without fighter protection past the German border. The P-51B had entered combat only 5 weeks earlier with Howard’s 354th Fighter Group, the first unit to test the untested Merlin powered aircraft over Germany. Pilots called it the Pioneer Mustang Group. Between August and October 1943, unescorted bomber losses had reached 60 aircraft per mission over targets like Schweinford and Regensburg.
Black Thursday, October 14th, saw 60 B7s shot down in a single day. 600 airmen lost. The Air Force nearly suspended daylight bombing entirely. Then came December 5th. 36 P-51Bs from the 354th flew the first longrange escort mission to Paris. The brass didn’t trust it. Range was theoretical. Engine reliability was unknown. Combat performance was unproven. Howard’s radio crackled.
His fourman flight had scattered, chasing a separate attack. He was alone. Below him, formations of Messormid BF 109s and Falcovolt FW190s closed on the 401st bomb group at 23,000 ft. The German interceptors had launched from three airfields around Brunswick. They’d been tracking the bomber stream for 18 minutes. The lead German fighters opened fire at 800 yd.
A B7 named Little Chum took hits in both wings. Another bomber, Hell’s Angels, lost an engine. Black smoke poured from its number three NL. The formation tightened but couldn’t evade. Without fighter escort, 60 bombers carrying 600 airmen would face the full weight of German interceptors for the next 37 minutes until they reached friendly airspace. Howard dove.
He came in from above at 420 mph. His 650 caliber machine guns converging on the nearest FW190. The German never saw him. Howard’s first burst shredded the fighter’s tail. It tumbled away smoking. He pulled up hard, loaded 7G’s, lined up a BF 109, fired. The 109’s canopy exploded. Glass and metal fragments spiraled away.
He kicked the rudder, rolled inverted, dropped onto another FW190. Three down in 40 seconds. 27 still attacking. His wingman’s voice should have been on the radio. Silence. His flight leader should have called rally points. Silence. Major James Howard, former Flying Tiger, current commander of the 356th Fighter Squadron, was the only American fighter between 60 bombers and 30 German attackers over hostile territory 300 m deep into the Reich.
Can one P-51 survive 30 Luftwaffa fighters? Please like to share this story, subscribe for more, and let’s see what happens. Back to Howard. The German formation split. 15 fighters broke left toward the bombers. 15 stayed to deal with Howard. Both groups expected the lone Mustang to break off. Fighter doctrine was clear.
Never engage when outnumbered more than 2:1. Howard had 15 to1 odds in front of him and 15 more behind. He had 412 rounds remaining per gun, 2472 rounds total. He was 37 minutes from friendly lines. The temperature at altitude was -42° F. His guns would start freezing soon. He kept attacking. Howard’s first pass scattered the German formation.
He climbed back to 24,000 ft, positioned himself between the bombers and the regrouping fighters. The Germans hadn’t expected aggression. Standard American fighter doctrine called for defensive escort, staying close to bomber formations, protecting them like shepherds. Howard was hunting alone. At 1117, three BF 109s came at him headon.
Closing speed exceeded 700 mph. Both sides opened fire at 600 yd. Howard’s tracers walked up the lead 109’s nose. 50 caliber rounds at that range carried 11,000 ft-lb of energy each. The Germans rounds passed wide. At 200 yd, the 109 broke left, trailing smoke from its Daimler bins engine. Coolant streamed white against the winter sky.
The other two scattered. Howard reversed hard, pulled 8 G’s, blacked out momentarily from blood draining from his brain. He came out of the turn onto another FW190s tail. 3se second burst, 90 rounds expended. The 190s right wing folded at the route. Four down.
Inside the bomber formation, ball turret gunner staff Sergeant William Thompson watched the lone Mustang carve through German fighters. Thompson had flown 19 missions from his cramped sphere beneath the B7. He’d seen P47 Thunderbolts escort them to the German border, then turn back. He’d seen P-38 Lightning struggle at high altitude. He’d never seen this.
Thompson counted six separate attacks in 4 minutes. The P-51 never stopped moving. It dove, climbed, rolled, always positioning between bombers and attackers. Thompson’s pilot, Lieutenant Robert Johnson, keyed his radio. Asked for the Mustang’s call sign. No response. The lone fighter was too busy fighting.
The P-51B carried 280 g of internal fuel plus 275gal drop tanks. Howard had burned through his externals on the flight in. Internal fuel consumption at combat power ran 2.1 gall per minute. He had perhaps 90 minutes of internal fuel remaining. The bombers were still 32 minutes from friendly lines at their current speed of 190 mph.
If he stayed, he’d be running on fumes by the time they reached safety. If he left now, he can make it back to RAF Boxstead with reserves. The Germans regrouped at his altitude. 26 fighters, one Mustang. Howard charged again. His tactics were unorthodox. Instead of picking off stragglers, he went for formation leaders.
At 11:22, he came in from the sun, hit the lead FW190 of a four ship element. The leader broke. The formation scattered like starings. He didn’t chase. He repositioned, waited for them to reform, hit them again. He was using the P-51’s speed advantage. The Mustang could reach 440 mph in level flight at altitude. The FW190 topped out at 48. The BF 109 managed 420. Howard would dive, attack, extend away faster than they could follow, climb back up using excess energy, repeat.
The Germans couldn’t catch him in the extension. German pilots were experienced. These weren’t green replacements. They tried sandwich maneuvers. Two fighters would attack head-on while four more dove from above. Howard saw it developing. He’d fake the head-on pass, break hard right before gun range.
The diving fighters would overshoot, unable to correct. He’d reverse onto their tails, catch one in the climb. Five down. His ammunition counter showed 240 rounds per gun remaining, half gone. Still 27 minutes to friendly lines, 25 German fighters still circling. And now his guns were jamming.
The P-51B 650 caliber Browning M2 machine guns were mounted three per wing. At 11:26 a.m., Howard’s right outboard gun stopped firing. Frozen from altitude and rapid temperature changes during high-speed maneuvers, the gun had cycled too fast, overheated to 300°, then hit -42° air at 24,000 ft. Metal contracted, the bolt seized midcycle. Standard procedure was to break off when guns malfunctioned.
Howard had five working guns and 24 German fighters still threatening the bombers. He stayed. The Luftwaffa pilots were adjusting. They’d watched this lone Mustang for 13 minutes. These weren’t noviceses. Several war knights crosses. They’d survived years over France, Britain, Russia. They knew his patterns now. He attacked from above. He targeted leaders. He extended away fast using superior speed. So they changed tactics.
At 1128, eight FW190s split into two four ship formations. One stayed high as bait at 25,000 ft. One dropped low out of sight below the bombers at 18,000. They were setting up a bracket. When Howard dove on the high formation, the low formation would climb into his escape route. Box him in. End this. Howard took the bait anyway.
He came down on the high four at a 60° angle. Air speed building past 480 mph. The P-51’s dive speed was limited by compressibility effects at Mach.75. He was pushing it. His four working wing guns and two nose guns poured fire into the lead FW190. Armor-piercing incendiary rounds walked from tail to cockpit. It rolled inverted, pilot bailing out.
White parachute blossomed at 23,000 ft. Howard pulled up hard, seven G’s crushing him into his seat, blood draining from his head. His vision tunnneled to a pinpoint. Gray edges closed in. He eased back pressure. Peripheral vision returned. The four fighters that had been hidden below were exactly where he expected. Climbing toward him at 3,000 ft per minute. BMW radials at full emergency power.
He rolled inverted and dove at them. The German element leader seeing a Mustang diving upside down directly at his formation at 500 mph broke left in confusion. His wingmen followed. Fighter pilots trained to expect rational behavior. This wasn’t rational. This was insane. They scattered. Howard rolled upright, lined up on the trailing 190. 3-second burst.
The 190s tail section disintegrated. Control surfaces gone. Six confirmed kills. His left inboard gun stopped firing. Four guns remaining. 1,600 rounds total. Inside the B7 formation, Lieutenant Robert Johnson watched his fuel gauges. The 401st bomb group had been overtarget for 18 minutes. They’ dropped 12,000 lb of 500lb bombs on the Faka Wolf factory at Ashers Leven.
Smoke rose 11,000 ft from the burning assembly buildings. They were heading home, but they were still 22 minutes from P47 fighter range at the German border. The lone P-51 was still attacking. Johnson counted nine separate engagements. The Mustang pilot hadn’t stopped for breath. At 11:33, Howard’s ammunition counter hit 100 rounds per gun, 400 rounds total across four working guns.
At his current rate of fire, 3 second burst, 90 rounds per attack. That gave him perhaps four more attacks, maybe five if he used one second burst. The Germans still had 22 fighters operational. They were forming up again, tighter this time. Ratta pairs, finger four elements. They’d learned. They wouldn’t scatter anymore. They’d learned this Mustang pilot’s tricks. Howard checked his fuel gauge. 73 gallons remaining. Enough to get home.
Barely if he left now. The bombers were 19 minutes from safety. The German formation was diving toward them. 22 against one. Four working guns, 400 rounds, 73 gallons, -42°. His hands were numb inside his gloves. He climbed to meet them head on. 22 FW190s and BF 109s dove at the bomber formation in three waves.
The first wave, eight fighters, targeted the lead squadron. The second wave, seven fighters, went for the high squadron. The third wave, seven fighters, positioned to catch any stragglers. It was textbook Luftwafa doctrine. Overwhelming force, multiple attack axes, divide the escorts, destroy the bombers. There was only one escort. Howard hit the first wave headon at 11:34.
He picked the leftmost FW190, fired a 1second burst. 30 rounds tracers converged. The 190s engine cowling shattered. Pieces flew back, hitting the cockpit. The fighter rolled away, trailing black smoke. Seven confirmed. Howard pulled up vertical, using his speed to climb above the second wave. They were committed to their attack run.
Couldn’t follow him up. He hammerheaded at the top, dove back down onto their tails, lined up the trailing BF 109. 1 second burst. The 109’s tail sheared off. Eight confirmed. His right inboard gun seized. Three guns remaining. 310 rounds total. The third wave was climbing toward him. Seven fighters.
Howard was out of air speed and altitude advantage. He was below them now. They had the sun. They had numbers. They had working guns. Standard fighter tactics said, “Run. Build speed. Extend away. Reset the engagement.” Howard turned into them and climbed. The lead German pilot expected the Mustang to dive away.
Instead, it was climbing straight at him, head-on again. Both pilots opened fire at 400 yd. Howard’s three remaining guns rattled 90 rounds downrange in 3 seconds. The Germans rounds walked up toward the P-51’s nose. At 100 yards, both pilots should have broken. Neither did. At 50 yards, the BF 109’s propeller exploded. Pieces sd through its own engine. It snap rolled left. Pilot didn’t get out. Nine confirmed.
Howard flashed through the formation. Six fighters behind him now, all firing. Tracers passed above his canopy, below his wings. One round punched through his left horizontal stabilizer. Another clipped his right aileron. The P-51 shuddered. Control got mushy. He shoved the stick forward, dove for the cloud deck at 15,000 ft. The Germans followed.
Inside the clouds, Howard pulled the throttle back, rolled inverted, waited 10 seconds, rolled upright, pulled up hard, broke back out above the clouds behind the pursuing Germans. They’d overshot. He was on their tails now. He picked the last fighter in the string. A FW190. 2C burst. 60 rounds.
The 190s canopy blew off. Pilot slumped forward. The fighter entered a spin. 10 confirmed. His left wing gun seized. Two guns remaining. 160 rounds. The formation was scattered again. Howard climbed back to 24,000 ft. His fuel gauge showed 58 gallons. The bombers were 16 minutes from safety. He could see P47 Thunderbolts in the distance, black dots coming from the west, the relief force.
But they were still 12 minutes away. The Germans were regrouping. 19 fighters left. They’d stopped trying to reach the bombers. They were focused on him now. All 19. One pilot, two guns, 160 rounds, 58 gallons. 12 minutes until help arrived. His oxygen system warning light flickered. Low pressure. His mask felt loose.
He tightened the straps with numb fingers. The Germans formed up line of breast. All 19 coming straight at him. No fancy tactics anymore, just mass and firepower. Howard turned toward them. 19 German fighters in line of breast formation stretched across 2 miles of sky. When they opened fire, it would create a wall of lead half a mile wide.
No evasion possible, no escape route. Just fly through it or die trying. Howard checked his ammunition counter. 160 rounds across two guns. 80 rounds per gun at 600 rounds per minute cyclic rate. That was 8 seconds of firing time per gun. 16 seconds total if you fired both simultaneously. The range closed 1,000 yd 900 800.
The Germans opened fire at 700 yd. Too early. Rounds fell away before reaching Howard’s aircraft. He waited. 600 yd 500. At 400 yds, he fired both guns. 3-second burst. 90 rounds expended. 70 remaining. His tracers converged on the center aircraft, a BF 109. The fighter’s wing route erupted. Fuel tank detonated. Orange fireball at 23,000 ft.
The formation split around the explosion. Howard dove through the gap. 11 confirmed. He pulled up on the other side, rolled, climbed. The Germans reformed behind him. 18 left now. They were angry. This lone American had killed 11 of their comrades, destroyed 11 fighters, made fools of an entire Yag Gishvodder. They closed again.
Tighter formation, no gaps this time. Howard’s fuel gauge showed 49 gallons. His oxygen warning light was solid red now. Each breath came harder. Altitude was affecting him. Hypoxia crept in. His fingers tingled. His vision narrowed. He shook his head, focused. The bombers were 13 minutes from safety. P-47s were 9 minutes out.
He had to hold for nine more minutes. The Germans came again. Howard turned into them, fired his last 70 rounds in one long burst. 4 seconds. Both guns empty. Click. Click. Click. He saw strikes on a FW190s cowling, but couldn’t confirm the kill. The fighter broke away smoking. Might have been 12, might not. Zero rounds remaining. The Germans knew.
They’d counted his engagements, calculated his ammunition load. They knew he was Winchester. Out of ammo, defenseless. 18 German fighters closed on one unarmed P-51. They spread out, surrounded him. They’d finished this. Howard kept attacking. No guns, no ammunition, just speed and fury. He dove at the nearest BF- 109.
The German pilot saw him coming, saw the Mustangs guns weren’t firing, held his course, expected Howard to break off. Howard didn’t break. He lined up on the 109’s tail, closed to 50 feet. The German broke first, dove away. Howard followed him down to 18,000 ft, stayed on his tail. The 109 leveled out, tried to extend, couldn’t. The Mustang was faster. Howard closed to 20 ft.
The German pilot looked back, saw the Mustang’s propeller inches from his tail. He broke hard left, nearly stalled, recovered, dove for the deck. Howard climbed back up. 37 gallons of fuel, 12 minutes to safety, 8 minutes until P47s arrived. 17 German fighters left. They formed up again, came at him again. He turned into them again, guns empty, fuel low, oxygen failing, his hands shook on the stick, not from fear, from cold and hypoxia.
The temperature was -44°. His heater had failed 20 minutes ago. One unarmed P-51, 17 German fighters, 8 minutes. He kept fighting. At 11:41 a.m., Howard dove at another BF 109. No guns firing, just intimidation. The German held his course for 3 seconds, then broke. Howard followed him through the break, stayed on his tail through two full rolling scissors.
The 109 pilot was good, but Howard was better. After 40 seconds of pure maneuvering, the German disengaged, dove away, gave up. One enemy fighter neutralized without firing a shot. Inside B7 Hell’s Angels, co-pilot Lieutenant James Wilson watched through his side window. The lone Mustang was still fighting.
27 minutes into the engagement. Wilson had counted 12 separate dog fights. The P-51 wasn’t firing anymore, just chasing. The Germans kept breaking off. They thought it was a trap. They thought other Mustangs were hiding in the sun. There were no other Mustangs, just one pilot, one aircraft, zero ammunition. The German formation leader made a decision.
Split the force. Eight fighters stayed high to engage the Mustang. Nine fighters dove for the bombers. If the American wanted to fight, fine, let him fight. But the bombers would die. Howard saw the split. He had to choose. fight the eight or save the bombers from the nine. He couldn’t do both. He turned toward the nine diving fighters.
He caught them at 19,000 ft, came in from their 7:00 high, lined up on the leader, didn’t fire because he couldn’t. The German leader saw him coming, broke hard right, his wingman followed. The formation scattered. Howard picked another target close to 30 ft behind a FW190. The German looked back, saw the Mustang. No muzzle flashes, but he broke anyway.
Dove away. Howard chased two more fighters, got on their tails. They both disengaged. The eight fighters that had stayed high were diving on him now. Howard pulled up to meet them. His air speed bled off. 190 knots. 170 150. Stall speed was 120. He was hanging on his propeller. The Germans opened fire at 200 yd. Rounds passed below him. He kicked rudder, skidded left.
More rounds. He shoved the nose down, dove away, built speed. 200 knots, 250, 300. He pulled back up. The Germans had overshot. His fuel gauge showed 28 gallons. Warning light flashing red. 5 minutes of fuel at combat power. Maybe seven at cruise. The bombers were 7 minutes from safety. P47s were 4 minutes out. He could see them clearly now.
36 Thunderbolts, black and white invasion stripes. Coming fast. At 11:44, the German formation leader called off the attack. The P-47s were too close. The Americans would have numbers advantage. Time to go home. 18 German fighters turned east, headed back to their bases around Brunswick. They’d lost 11 aircraft, 11 pilots against one Mustang. Howard watched them go, his engine coughed, fuel pressure dropping. He adjusted the mixture, leaned it out.
The engine smoothed. He turned west, followed the bombers. The P-47s formed up around the B7s. One Thunderbolt pilot pulled alongside Howard, gave him a thumbs up. Howard nodded, too tired to return the gesture. At 11:47, 33 minutes after it began, the engagement ended. 60 B7s headed home.
Every single bomber that Major James Howard had defended survived. Not one was shot down. 600 airmen lived because one pilot refused to leave. Howard’s fuel gauge read 11 gall when he crossed the English coast at 12:23 p.m. Howard landed at RAF Boxstead at 12:51 p.m. His P-51B rolled to a stop on the hard stand.
Ground crew ran to the aircraft. They’d heard radio chatter. Something about a lone Mustang over Germany. They opened the canopy. Howard sat motionless for 10 seconds, then climbed out. His legs nearly buckled. 3 hours and 37 minutes in the cockpit. 90 minutes of continuous combat.
He walked around the aircraft with his crew chief, Technical Sergeant Henry Rudowski. Rudowski counted the damage. One round through the left horizontal stabilizer, another through the right aileron, 37 bullet holes total. Most were small caliber German rifle caliber machine gun rounds from long range, but three were 20 mm cannon strikes.
One had punched through the wing route, missed the fuel tank by 6 in. Rudowski looked at Howard, asked how many he got. Howard said, “Maybe three, maybe four. Hard to tell in the fight.” The 401st bomb group landed at their base in Demathorp at 1:37 p.m. Every aircraft returned. Lieutenant Robert Johnson climbed out of his B7.
His ball turret gunner, Staff Sergeant William Thompson, found the intelligence officer, told him about the lone Mustang. 30 plus minutes of combat. One fighter defending 60 bombers. The intelligence officer didn’t believe it. Checked with other crews. Same story. 18 different bomber crews all reported the same thing. One P-51 call sign unknown.
Pilot unknown fighting alone for over half an hour. The 8th Air Force launched an investigation. Checked mission logs. Only one P-51 from the 354th Fighter Group had remained with the bombers that long. Aircraft number 436315. pilot Major James H. Howard. Flight records confirmed he’d landed with 11 gallons of fuel. Gun camera footage showed 11 confirmed kills.
Multiple witnesses from bomber crews confirmed defensive actions that saved the formation. On January 13th, just 2 days after the mission, Lieutenant General Ira Eker, commander of 8th Air Force, visited RAF Boxstead. He interviewed Howard personally, asked him to describe the engagement. Howard was reluctant. Said he was just doing his job.
Ekker pressed. Howard gave a brief account. 30 minutes, maybe 11 kills, ran out of ammunition, kept attacking. Anyway, Ekker took notes, submitted a Medal of Honor recommendation that evening. The recommendation moved fast. Usually, Medal of Honor approvals took months. Howards took 6 weeks. On March 6th, 1944, Brigadier General Jesse Uton presented Major James Howard with the Medal of Honor at RAF Boxstead.
The citation read, “For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty in action with the enemy near Ashers Leen, Germany on 11 January 1944. Howard became the only fighter pilot in the European theater of operations to receive the Medal of Honor during World War II.
Not because he shot down 11 aircraft, but because he defended 60 bombers alone for 37 minutes. Because he kept fighting when his ammunition ran out. Because 600 airmen went home to their families. The mission changed fighter doctrine. Before January 11th, fighters stayed close to bombers, defensive escort.
After Howard’s mission, fighters were authorized to pursue attackers aggressively, hunt the enemy. The 354th fighter group, the Pioneer Mustangs, proved the P-51B could fight and win at any odds. Within 3 months, 14 of the 15 ETH Air Force fighter groups converted to Mustangs. But there was something else. Something the afteraction reports didn’t capture. Something the Metal Citation didn’t mention. The bomber crews never forgot.
60 B7s returned from Ashers Leen on January 11th. 600 men. After they landed, word spread through the Eighth Air Force. A lone Mustang, one pilot. 37 minutes. The bomber crew started asking questions. Who was he? What squadron? The 4001st bomb group tracked down Howard’s unit.
On January 18th, 7 days after the mission, crews from the 401st traveled to RAF Boxstead. They found Howard, shook his hand, thanked him, some cried. Staff Sergeant William Thompson, the ball turret gunner who’ watched the entire fight, told Howard he’d counted every engagement. Told him he’d never seen anything like it. Told him he owed his life to that silver P-51.
Thompson survived 23 more missions, made it home to Pennsylvania, named his first son, James. The 354th Fighter Group continued operations until May 8th, 1945, VE Day. The Pioneer Mustangs flew their last combat mission over Germany that morning. Final tally, 701 aerial victories, more than any other American fighter group in the European theater.
42 pilots became aces. But they paid a price. 128 P-51s lost in combat. 60 pilots killed or missing, 54 captured. Howard flew 26 more combat missions after Oshlaben. He shot down six more German aircraft. Total kills, 17. But he was never alone again. Fighter command changed escort procedures after his mission. No more solo operations, no more individual heroics.
Flights stayed together. Mutual support. Howard agreed with the policy. What he done on January 11th was necessary, not repeatable. The P-51 Mustang went on to become the dominant American fighter of the war. By December 1944, 14 of 15 ETH Air Force fighter groups flew Mustangs.
They escorted bombers to Berlin and back, 700 mile radius. The Luftwaffa could no longer hide. Allied fighters could reach anywhere in Germany. Bomber losses dropped from 9% permission in October 1943 to less than 2% by spring 1944. The strategic bombing campaign that nearly failed in 1943 succeeded in 1944. Because of fighters like the P-51, because of pilots like James Howard, Howard survived the war, returned to the United States in November 1944.
The Navy offered him a position as a test pilot. He accepted. He flew jets, tested carrier operations, helped develop fighter tactics for the Korean War. He retired as a brigadier general in 1966, died on March 18th, 1995 at age 84. The 354th Fighter Group’s legacy lives on.
Every fighter pilot trains on the lessons Howard proved on January 11th, 1944. Aggression wins fights. Speed is life. Altitude is life insurance. Never leave your bombers. And sometimes one pilot in the right place at the right moment can change everything. James Howard didn’t just save 600 lives that day. He proved what one determined pilot in an untested fighter could accomplish.
He showed that innovation, courage, and skill could overcome impossible odds. He became the standard every fighter pilot measures themselves against. That’s the story of the Pioneer Mustang Group and the day one pilot defended 60 bombers alone over Germany.