At 07:30 on October 24th, 1944, Commander David McCambell climbed into the cockpit of his F6F5 Hellcat on the flight deck of USS Essex, watching the radar operator sprint toward him with a report that would change naval aviation history.
34 years old, 25 confirmed kills, commander of Air Group 15, the Japanese had launched 60 fighters and dive bombers toward the American carrier task force steaming east of the Philippines.
Mccell had been in his ready room when the alarm sounded.
Battle of Lee Gulf, first day.
The largest naval engagement in modern history was unfolding across 400 m of Philippine waters, and every available aircraft was already airborne or being refueled.
Essex had seven Hellcats ready, seven fighters against 60 incoming hostiles.
The math was simple and brutal.
Standard doctrine called for a 3:1 numerical advantage for attackers.
The Japanese had nearly 9 to1 odds in their favor.
Air group 15 had lost 11 pilots in the previous 3 months of combat operations.
McCellbell knew the names.
He had written letters to their families.
Lieutenant Morrison shot down over Formosa.
Enson Caldwell killed during the strikes on Manila.
Lieutenant Commander Harris missing after the Taiwan raids.
The Japanese were throwing everything they had at the American fleet and they were running out of experienced pilots to counter the onslaught.
Essex was exposed.
The other carriers in task group 38.
3 had launched their combat air patrols, but they were stretched thin across 60 mi of ocean.
Mccell checked his fuel gauge as his plane captain strapped him in.
The main tank showed half full, not enough time to top off.
The Japanese formation was 22 mi out and closing at 200 knots.
He had maybe 6 minutes before they reached weapons range of the carriers.
His Hellcat carried six 50 caliber Browning machine guns with 400 rounds per gun, 2400 rounds total.
The Prattton Whitney R2800 engine roared to life beneath him, 2,000 horsepower.
He looked across the flight deck.
Six other Hellcats were spinning up.
Inenroy rushing in the aircraft next to him.
Lieutenant Hayes, Lieutenant Johnson, three more pilots whose Hellcats were being pushed into position.
7 against 60.
Mccell was the air groupoup commander.
The decision was his.
Send all seven fighters against the entire formation and hope they could break up the attack before the bombers reach the carriers or split the force.
The tactical manual said, “Never divide your fighters when outnumbered.
” But the manual assumed you had more than seven aircraft.
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The Japanese formation appeared on radar.
60 contacts, 40 fighters in a loose escort pattern around 20 dive bombers.
The bombers were the real threat.
One bomb through the flight deck of Essex would kill hundreds of men and American air operations for months.
But the fighters would tear apart any Hellcat that tried to attack the bombers without clearing them first.
Mccell made his decision in the time it took his plane captain to pull the wheelchocks.
He pointed at five pilots and then pointed toward the southern quadrant.
Attack the bombers.
He looked at rushing and tapped his own chest.
The two of them would take the fighters.
Two Hellcats against 40 Japanese zeros and Oscars.
Mccell released his brakes and pushed the throttle forward.
His Hellcat rolled down the deck and lifted into the humid morning air above the Philippine Sea.
Rushing followed 30 seconds behind.
They climbed through 3,000 ft.
6,000 10,000.
The Japanese formation was 15 mi ahead and slightly below them.
Mccell could see the dark specks against the blue water.
60 enemy aircraft, two American fighters.
Mccell armed his guns and checked his fuel one more time.
half tanks, maybe 90 minutes of flight time if he was careful.
He nosed the Hellcat over and began his approach from the sun.
McCell climbed to 20,000 ft.
The altitude gave him speed and options, physics and gravity on his side.
The Japanese formation was 12,000 ft below, still heading toward the American carriers at steady bearing.
Rushing health position 500 yd behind and to the right.
standard two-plane element.
They had practiced this pattern dozens of times over the Solomon Islands and the Maranas.
One leader, one wingman, attack from altitude, use speed to escape.
The Japanese fighters were flying a loose defensive circle around their bombers, Mitsubishi A6M Zeros mostly, fast and maneuverable, the best carrier fighter Japan had produced.
Mccell had fought Zeros before.
They could outturn a Hellcat at low speed and climb faster below 14,000 ft.
But the Hellcat was heavier and could dive faster, 2,000 lbs heavier than a Zero.
That weight became velocity in a dive.
Velocity became killing power.
McCellbell rolled his Hellcat into a 60° dive.
The airspeed indicator climbed past 300 knots, 350, 400.
The Japanese formation grew larger in his gunsite.
He picked his target, a zero trailing slightly behind the main formation.
Always attack the straggler, the weakest link, the one the herd wouldn’t miss until it was too late.
He centered the zero in his reflector sight at 800 yd.
600 400.
The Zero pilot never looked up.
Mccell pressed the trigger.
650 caliber machine guns opened fire.
Tracers arked across the sky.
The Zero’s right wing disintegrated.
The aircraft rolled inverted and began its death spiral toward the ocean 4 mi below.
First kill.
Eight more to break the American record.
McCell pulled up hard.
Four G forces pressed him into his seat.
The Hellcat’s wings groaned but held.
He climbed back to altitude.
Rushing was already there.
His wingman had followed the same attack pattern and destroyed another zero.
Two down.
58 remaining.
The Japanese formation broke apart.
Fighters scattered in all directions.
Some dove, some climbed.
The tactical cohesion vanished in 30 seconds.
Mccell picked his second target.
Another zero trying to climb to meet him.
Bad decision by the Japanese pilot.
The Hellcat had superior power at high altitude.
Mccell dove again.
Same pattern, same result.
The Zero exploded in a ball of orange flame, burning fuel and ammunition cooking off in a cascade of secondary explosions.
No parachute.
Second kill.
The battle developed into a rhythm.
Dive, fire, climb, repeat.
Mccamell worked through the Japanese formation like a harvester through wheat.
Third zero at 0752.
Fourth at 0756.
He glanced at his fuel gauge between attacks.
The needle was dropping faster than expected.
All that climbing burned fuel.
The main tank was down to one quarter.
He switched to the auxiliary tank.
Rushing stayed with him through every attack.
The wingman was firing shorter bursts, more economical with ammunition.
Smart flying.
Fifth kill for McCell at 0803.
A Nakajima Ki43 Oscar this time.
Army fighter.
The Japanese were mixing navy and army aircraft in the same formation.
Desperate measures.
The Oscar had less armor than a zero.
It came apart under Mccell’s guns like paper.
Mccambbell lost count of the attacks.
Dive, fire, climb, dive, fire, climb.
His shoulder achd from the G-forces.
Sweat soaked through his flight suit despite the cold air at 20,000 ft.
The guns were heating up.
He could smell the cordite even through his oxygen mask.
Sixth kill.
Seventh kill.
The Japanese formation had completely disintegrated.
Individual aircraft were fleeing west toward Luzon.
Mccell checked his ammunition counter.
Less than 400 rounds remaining.
Started with 2400.
He had burned through 2,000 rounds in 30 minutes.
Rushing’s Hellcat pulled alongside.
The wingman was making hand signals, tapping his machine guns, then making a slashing motion across his throat.
Out of ammunition, completely dry.
All 400 rounds per gun expended.
Mccell had a decision to make.
Rushing was defenseless.
The smart move was to escort him back to Essex.
But there were still Japanese fighters in the sky.
Still threats to the American carriers.
And McCell had ammunition left.
Not much, but enough for maybe two more attacks.
He looked at his wingman and pointed down toward another group of zeros.
Rushing nodded and followed McCambell into another dive.
The wingman had no ammunition, but he understood the tactic.
His presence would split the attention of the Japanese pilots, force them to track two threats instead of one.
A Hellcat without ammunition looked identical to a Hellcat with full gun bays.
The Japanese wouldn’t know the difference until it was too late.
McCellbell selected his eighth target, another zero in a climbing turn.
The Japanese pilot was good.
He saw the Hellcats coming and reversed his turn to meet them head-on.
Classic zero tactic.
Force the enemy into a turning dog fight where the lighter, more maneuverable aircraft had the advantage.
Mccell had seen this before.
Coral Sea, Midway, the Mariana’s Turkey shoot.
Japanese pilots loved the head-on merge.
He didn’t take the bait.
McCambell rolled inverted and pulled through.
Negative G forces threw him against his straps.
Blood rushed to his head.
His vision narrowed to a tunnel.
He completed the roll and came out behind the zero.
Perfect deflection shot.
Range 300 yd.
He pressed the trigger.
Shorter burst this time.
Conserving ammunition.
50 rounds maybe.
The Zero’s cockpit shattered.
The canopy exploded in fragments of plexiglass and aluminum.
The aircraft snap rolled left and fell away.
No fire.
Just gravity taking over from a dead pilot.
Eighth kill.
One more to break the record.
One more to make history.
McCellbell climbed again, but his Hellcat felt sluggish.
The engine was running rough.
Cylinder head temperature climbing into the red.
He had been running full throttle for 40 minutes.
The R2800 engine was built tough, but nothing was built for sustained combat power at 20,000 ft in tropical heat.
He spotted his ninth target at 0840, a lone zero heading west, running for home.
The pilot had seen enough.
Mccell dove one final time.
The zero pilot saw him coming and tried to dive away.
Wrong move.
A Hellcat could outdive anything the Japanese had.
Mccell close to 200 yd.
He put the gunside pipper on the Zero’s engine cowling and fired his last extended burst.
The tracers walked up the fuselage.
The Zero’s engine seized.
Black smoke poured from the cowling.
The aircraft nosed over into a vertical dive and disappeared into the overcast layer at 8,000 ft.
Ninth kill.
Nine Japanese aircraft destroyed in 90 minutes.
American single mission record.
No other Navy pilot in the war would match it.
Mccell keyed his radio for the first time since takeoff.
He called Essex and reported nine confirmed kills.
The radio operator asked him to repeat.
Mccell repeated.
Nine confirmed.
He checked his fuel gauge and his blood went cold.
The main tank showed empty.
The auxiliary tank showed 1/8, maybe 20 gallons.
Maybe 30 minutes of flight time if he throttled back to minimum cruise power.
He looked around for landmarks.
The Philippine coastline was visible to the west.
Luzon.
The Japanese were retreating toward their bases around Manila.
Mccell had chased them almost 100 m from the American task force.
100 m back to Essex.
30 minutes of fuel.
The math didn’t work.
He throttled back to bare minimum power, 1,800 RPM.
The Hellcat shuddered, but stayed airborne.
Rushing pulled alongside again.
His wingman pointed at his own fuel gauge and shook his head.
Both Hellcats were running on fumes.
Mccell turned east and began the long glide back toward the fleet.
He had to maintain altitude for as long as possible.
Height was potential energy.
energy he could trade for distance when the engine finally quit.
Every thousand feet of altitude meant roughly two miles of glide range.
He was at 18,000 feet, maybe 36 mi of gliding if he was lucky.
The Philippine coast fell away behind them.
Open ocean ahead, deep water.
The temperature at those depths was cold enough to kill a man in 30 minutes, even if he survived the impact.
Mccell had no intention of testing those statistics.
He adjusted his mixture to full lean and watched the fuel gauge.
The needle was touching empty.
The engine coughed once, twice, then smoothed out, running on vapor.
Mccell saw the American fleet on the horizon.
Tiny gray shapes against blue water, still 60 mi away.
The engine coughed again at 50 mi out.
McCambell’s hand moved to the fuel selector.
He switched tanks, checked the gauge.
Nothing.
Both tanks reading empty.
The Prattton Whitney was running on residual fuel in the lines.
Vapor and hope.
The propeller kept turning, but the engine note had changed.
Rougher, missing on one or two cylinders.
The Hellcat was dying.
Rushing was 500 yd to his left.
His wingman’s Hellcat was trailing a thin stream of white vapor.
Oil temperature climbing.
His engine was in worse shape than mccambbles.
Too much high power combat maneuvering.
Too many full throttle climbs to 20,000 ft.
The R2800 engines were built for carrier operations.
Launch, fight, land.
90 minutes of continuous combat at maximum power was beyond their design parameters.
Mccell passed through 10,000 ft.
Still 40 mi from Essex.
He could see the carrier task force clearly now.
Four carriers in a box formation, cruisers and destroyers in a protective screen around them.
White wakes cutting through dark blue water.
He began descending faster, trading altitude for distance.
8,000 ft.
7,000.
The math was getting tighter with every passing minute.
At 6,000 ft, the first 5-in shell exploded 200 yd in front of him.
Black puff of smoke, proximity fuse, American anti-aircraft fire.
Mccamell’s stomach dropped.
The destroyer screen had spotted two aircraft approaching from the west from the direction of the Japanese bases on Luzon.
The identification friend or foe transponder in his Hellcat should have told them he was friendly, but IFFF systems failed.
Transponders malfunctioned.
Radar operators made mistakes.
Another 5-in shell burst closer.
100 yards, then another.
The destroyer screen was firing a full barrage.
Mccamell pushed his stick forward and dove toward the wave tops.
Rushing followed.
Both Hellcats dropped through 3,000 ft in 30 seconds.
The 5-in fire stopped, but Mccameble knew what was coming next.
He had seen it before.
Offsite pan.
The destroyers would call in the combat air patrol.
Four Hellcats appeared at 2,000 ft, diving toward him.
American fighters, VF19 markings from USS Lexington.
They were coming in fast.
attack formation.
Mccell had no way to identify himself.
His radio was set to Essex’s frequency.
He couldn’t switch channels without taking his hands off the stick, and he needed both hands to keep his dying Hellcat in the air.
The four Hellcats closed to 1,000 yd, 800 600.
Mckame could see their gunports.
The lead fighter was lining up for a shot.
Mccell broke hard left.
Four Gforces.
His engine nearly quit from the sudden throttle change.
The four American fighters followed through the turn.
They were trying to force him toward the water.
Standard intercept procedure for unidentified aircraft approaching the fleet.
Rushing was in the same situation 500 yd away.
Four more American fighters on his tail.
Eight friendly aircraft trying to shoot down two friendly aircraft.
McCellbell’s engine was coughing constantly now, running on nothing.
He was 3 mi from Essex.
So close he could see aircraft spotted on the flight deck.
But the four Hellcats behind him were closing.
400 yd 300.
The lead American fighter broke off.
Mccell didn’t know why.
Maybe the pilot recognized the Air Groupoup 15 markings on his tail.
Maybe someone on Essex had radioed the combat air patrol.
Maybe luck.
The other three fighters broke off and climbed away.
Rushing’s four pursuers followed them.
The friendly fire incident ended as suddenly as it began.
Mccell’s engine quit at 2 mi from Essex.
Complete power loss.
The propeller windmilled in the slipstream but produced no thrust.
He was gliding.
Air speed 120 knots, sink rate 800 ft per minute.
Altitude 1,000 ft.
He did the math.
He would hit the water one mile short of the carrier.
He saw USS Langley off his right wing.
Light carrier CVL27, smaller than Essex, but her flight deck was clear.
Mccell turned toward Langley.
Dead stick landing.
No power.
One chance.
The light carrier was steaming into the wind.
Standard carrier operations.
The wind gave him a few extra knots of air speed over the deck.
Maybe enough.
Maybe not.
He was at 800 ft altitude and 1 mile out.
Sink rate increasing.
700 ft.
600.
He dropped his landing gear.
The hydraulic system was still working.
Gravity and residual pressure in the lines.
The gear locked down with a reassuring thump.
He reached for the flap handle but stopped.
Flaps would increase drag and steepen his glide path.
He needed every foot of altitude to reach the deck.
Gear down, flaps up.
Committed.
Langley was growing larger.
Mccell could see the landing signal officer on the port side of the flight deck.
yellow paddles in both hands.
The LSO was giving him the cut signal.
Too high, too fast, wrong approach angle.
Mccell ignored the signal.
He had no power to adjust, no throttle response.
Physics was flying the airplane now.
Gravity and momentum and the last of his air speed.
500 ft altitude, half a mile from the ship.
He was going to make it barely.
The Hellcat crossed the stern of Langley at 50 feet.
The LSO dove into the safety net as McCellbell’s landing gear cleared the roundown by inches.
The Hellcat slammed onto the deck.
Hard landing.
The Oolios compressed fully.
The tail hook caught the number three wire.
Perfect.
The wire stretched.
The Hellcat decelerated from 90 knots to zero in 3 seconds.
8 G forces forward.
Mccell’s head snapped against the headrest.
The engine died the instant the tail hook caught the wire.
The propeller stopped turning.
Complete fuel starvation.
The deck crew ran toward his aircraft to unhook the wire and push the Hellcat forward.
Standard procedure.
Clear the landing area for the next aircraft.
But when they tried to release the tail hook, the hydraulic system had no pressure.
The engine-driven pump was dead.
They had to manually disengage the hook.
Four sailors lifting and pulling while Mccameble sat in the cockpit watching the fuel gauge register absolute zero.
Rushing landed 30 seconds later.
His Hellcat caught the number two wire.
His engine quit on the roll out.
Two dead Hellcats on Langley’s deck.
Both pilots alive.
Both aircraft damaged from combat maneuvering and hard landings.
The deck crew pushed both fighters to the forward parking area and began immediate inspection.
Mccell climbed out of his cockpit, his legs nearly buckled.
90 minutes of continuous combat.
High G forces, adrenaline crash.
A deck officer approached with a clipboard.
Standard post-flight debriefing.
McCell gave him the numbers.
Nine confirmed kills.
One probable.
Six different attacks on the main formation.
Ammunition expended.
fuel expended.
The deck officer wrote everything down and then asked Mccell to wait.
An ordinance chief climbed onto Mckame’s Hellcat to check the guns.
He opened each ammunition bay, counted the remaining rounds, port guns, starboard guns.
The chief climbed down and reported to the deck officer.
Two rounds remaining total.
Out of 2400 rounds loaded that morning, McCellbell had fired 2398 rounds.
99.
9% of his ammunition.
The chief had never seen anything like it in 3 years of carrier operations.
The fuel crew checked the tanks.
They opened the fuel caps and measured the depth with a calibrated stick.
Main tank bone dry.
Auxiliary tank bone dry.
Reserve tank bone dry.
The engine had been running on vapor for the last 5 minutes of flight.
fuel enough for maybe 10 more minutes of flight time.
If McCellbell had tried to reach Essex, he would have gone into the ocean 3/4 of a mile short of the deck.
The deck officer looked at Mccell.
Nine kills, two rounds remaining, zero fuel, landing on a different carrier because his own ship’s deck was fouled.
Friendly fire from American destroyers and fighters on the return flight.
The officer had been on Langley since Guadal Canal.
He had seen hundreds of pilots land after combat missions.
This was different.
Mccell asked about the other five pilots from Essex, the ones he had sent to attack the Japanese bombers.
The deck officer checked his status board.
All five had returned to Essex.
Two kills confirmed, three probables.
No American aircraft lost.
The Japanese strike had been completely broken up before reaching the carriers.
No bombs on target.
No torpedo hits.
Task group 38.
3 had survived intact.
Mccell walked to the island and looked east toward Essex.
She was 4 miles away.
Flight operations continuing.
Hellcats launching for combat air patrol.
The battle continued around him.
October 24th, 1944 was only the first day of the largest naval engagement in history.
Four separate battles would unfold across the Philippine waters over the next 72 hours.
The battle of the Sabuan Sea.
The battle of Surugal Strait.
The battle off Cape Ino.
The battle of Samar.
More than 200,000 naval personnel involved.
The Imperial Japanese Navy was throwing everything it had at the American invasion of Ley.
Operation Shogo, Victory Operation, their last chance to stop the Allied advance toward the home islands.
Mccell’s nine kills had disrupted the morning air strike against task group 38.
3, but the Japanese weren’t finished.
Vice Admiral Takajiro Onishi commanded land-based naval aircraft on Luzon.
He had hundreds of aircraft available.
Zeros, Val, Kates, Betty’s.
The morning strike had been just the opening move.
Two more waves would launch before sunset.
50 to 60 aircraft per wave.
The American carriers would be under attack for the next 3 days straight.
A medical corman approached McCell on Langley’s deck.
Standard postcombat examination, pulse rate, blood pressure, signs of hypoxia or decompression sickness from the high altitude combat.
The corman checked oxygen mass connection.
Asked about vision problems, headaches, nausea.
Mccell was clean.
No physical injuries.
The corman noted McCambell’s hands.
They were shaking.
Adrenaline after effects.
Normal response after 90 minutes of sustained combat.
The deck officer handed Mccell a message from Essex.
Return immediately for debriefing.
A destroyer would transfer him back to his carrier.
Mccell looked at rushing.
His wingman was sitting on the wing of his Hellcat.
Six kills for rushing.
15 total between them.
More enemy aircraft destroyed in one mission than most squadrons achieved in a month of operations.
Rushing looked exhausted.
24 years old, Enen rank.
This had been his biggest combat action.
He would receive the Navy Cross for his performance, the nation’s second highest decoration for valor.
Mccambbell climbed down to Langley’s hangar deck and walked to the boat platform.
A whaleboat was waiting.
The transfer took 20 minutes.
rough seas, three-foot swells.
The whaleboat crew had to time their approach to Essex’s boarding ladder carefully.
Mccell grabbed the ladder and climbed 30 ft to the carrier’s main deck.
An officer was waiting.
Commander Air Group 15 was needed in the intelligence center.
Immediately, the intelligence center was deep in Essex’s hull.
Maps covered every wall.
The battle of Lee Gulf was being tracked in real time.
Red markers show Japanese fleet positions.
Blue markers showed American forces.
The Japanese center force under Admiral Karita was steaming through the Sabuan Sea.
Five battleships including the massive Yamato and Mousashi, 12 cruisers, 15 destroyers heading for the San Bernardino Strait.
If they broke through, they would hit the American landing beaches at Lee Gulf and slaughter the troops ashore.
American carrier aircraft had been attacking the center force all morning.
Essex’s dive bombers and torpedo bombers were part of the strikes.
The battleship Mousashi had taken multiple torpedo and bomb hits.
She was slowing, listing, but still afloat, still dangerous.
The Japanese had built her with armor thick enough to withstand incredible punishment.
16-in belt armor, 9-in deck armor, the largest battleship ever constructed, 72,000 tons fully loaded.
Mccell studied the maps.
The tactical situation was fluid.
The Japanese southern force was approaching through Surugal Strait from the south.
Two battleships, four cruisers, eight destroyers.
Admiral Oldenorf’s battle line was waiting for them.
Seven battleships, eight cruisers, 28 destroyers.
That fight would happen after midnight.
Classic naval engagement.
Ship against ship, gun against gun.
But the greatest threat was the Japanese northern force.
Four aircraft carriers steaming south from Japan.
Admiral Hollyy had taken the fast carrier task force north to intercept them.
Most of the American air power was moving away from Ley Gulf, away from the landing beaches.
The center force might break through unopposed if Holly didn’t return in time.
An intelligence officer briefed McCall on the afternoon air operations.
Essex would launch another strike against the center force at 1,400 hours.
Maximum effort.
Every available bomber and torpedo plane.
Mccell would lead the fighter escort.
His Hellcat was still on Langley.
Damaged hydraulics, dead engine.
He would fly a different aircraft.
The plane captain was preparing a replacement Hellcat right now.
Mccell had 90 minutes to rest, eat, and brief his pilots before the next launch.
Mccell went to the ready room.
Air Group 15’s pilots were already gathering for the afternoon briefing.
23 pilots.
Some had flown the morning combat air patrol.
Others had attacked the Japanese center force in the Sibuan Sea.
Lieutenant Commander Rig had led the torpedo bomber squadron against the battleship Mousashi.
He reported eight torpedo hits confirmed.
The massive battleship was taking on water, but still under power.
Still heading for San Bernardino Straight.
The pilots looked at Mccame differently now.
Word had spread through the ship.
Nine kills in one mission.
American record.
The pilots had heard the radio transmissions.
They had seen McCbell and Rushing land on Langley with dead engines.
Fighter pilots respected kills, but they respected survival more.
Coming back from an impossible mission.
That earned something beyond respect.
Mccell had been flying combat missions for 7 months since April 1944 when Essex joined Task Force 58 for the strikes on the Marshall Islands.
Air Group 15 had flown operations against Truk, Saipan, Guam, Tinian, Pleu, Formosa, and now the Philippines.
6 months of continuous combat, more than 20,000 hours of flight operations.
The air group had destroyed 315 enemy aircraft in the air and 348 on the ground, more than any other air group in the Pacific War.
Mccell himself had accumulated 25 kills before this morning.
His previous best single day performance had been during the Battle of the Philippine Sea in June.
The Mariana’s Turkey Shoot, June 19th, 1944.
The Japanese had sent 400 carrier-based aircraft against the American fleet.
Mccell had shot down seven in two separate sorties.
First sorty at 010 hours.
Five Yokoska Judy dive bombers destroyed.
Second sorty at 1530.
Two more zeros over Guam.
Seven kills in one day.
He had become an ace in a day.
The only American pilot to achieve that status twice.
Now he had nine kills in 90 minutes.
The record would stand for the rest of the war.
No other Navy pilot would match it.
The closest would be Lieutenant Cecil Harris with seven kills in one mission over Formosa.
Mccambbell’s nine kills represented the absolute limit of what one pilot could achieve under perfect conditions.
Perfect altitude advantage, perfect target-rich environment, perfect ammunition conservation, perfect fuel management, and perfect luck.
The intelligence officer began the afternoon briefing.
The Japanese center force was still heading east through the Sabuan Sea.
Admiral Karita’s flagship was the heavy cruiser Atago.
Already sunk by the submarine USS Darter that morning.
Karita had transferred to the battleship Yamato, the largest battleship in the world.
18in main guns, nine guns that could throw a shell weighing 3,200 lb for 26 m.
One hit from those guns would vaporize a destroyer.
Essex would launch 36 aircraft at 1400 hours.
12 Hellcat fighters, 12 Hell Diver dive bombers, 12 Avenger torpedo bombers.
McCellbell would lead the fighter section.
His mission was to suppress anti-aircraft fire from the Japanese escorts while the bombers attacked Mousashi and Yamato.
Dangerous work.
The Japanese had fitted their battleships with more than 150 anti-aircraft guns, 25mm machine guns, 40mm bowors, 5-in dualpurpose guns.
The sky around those ships would be solid with flack.
Mccell checked his watch.
1300 hours, 1 hour until launch.
He went to the flight deck.
His new Hellcat was spotted near the island.
Aircraft number 47, different from his regular mount, but mechanically identical.
Same R2800 engine.
Same 650 caliber guns.
Same 400 rounds per gun.
The plane captain had already performed the pre-flight inspection.
Oil levels checked, fuel tanks topped off, oxygen bottle filled, guns loaded and charged.
The deck was organized chaos.
Aircraft handlers were positioning planes for the launch.
Ordinance crews were loading bombs and torpedoes.
500 lb bombs under the Hell Divers.
Mark1 13 torpedoes under the Avengers.
The torpedoes were temperamental weapons.
They had to be dropped at exactly the right altitude and air speed or they would tumble and sink without running.
100 ft altitude, 110 knots air speed.
Any deviation meant a dud.
Mccell climbed into the cockpit of aircraft 47.
The seat was still warm from the morning’s combat air patrol.
He strapped in, adjusted the rudder pedals, set his oxygen regulator, the familiar routine.
He had done this hundreds of times, but this afternoon felt different.
Nine kills in the morning.
Now another strike against the most heavily defended targets in the Japanese fleet.
The launch order came at 1355.
MCbell’s Hellcat rolled down the deck and lifted into the afternoon sky.
11 more fighters followed, then the dive bombers, then the torpedo planes.
36 aircraft forming up over Essex.
The strike group turned west toward the Cibuan Sea, toward Mousashi and Yamato, toward the heaviest concentration of anti-aircraft fire in the Imperial Japanese Navy.
The afternoon strike was brutal.
McCellbell led his fighters in strafing runs against the destroyer screen, suppressing the 40mm guns, forcing the gun crews to take cover while the dive bombers and torpedo planes made their attacks.
Mousashi took 19 torpedo hits and 17 bomb hits that afternoon.
The massive battleship finally capsized and sank at 1930.
2300 crew went down with her, the largest warship ever sunk by aircraft.
Mccell landed back on Essex at 1700 hours.
Two more combat missions followed over the next two days.
The Battle of Lee Gulf raged across 400 m of ocean.
When it ended on October 27th, the Imperial Japanese Navy had lost four carriers, three battleships, 10 cruisers, and 11 destroyers, 26 warships totaling 300,000 tons.
The Japanese Navy was finished as an effective fighting force.
Commander David McCambell flew his last combat mission on November 14th, 1944.
Air Group 15 returned to the United States for rest and refit.
Mccell had flown 212 combat missions, 34 confirmed kills, 21 aircraft destroyed on the ground.
He was the United States Navy’s top fighter ace, the Ace of Aces, the only fast carrier task force pilot to receive the Medal of Honor for aerial combat.
President Franklin Roosevelt presented Mccamell with the Medal of Honor in January 1945.
The citation read that he had destroyed seven hostile planes during the Battle of the Philippine Sea and nine planes during the Battle of Lee Gulf while fighting desperately but with superb skill against overwhelming air power.
His actions had completely disorganized the enemy group and forced them to abandon their attack before a single aircraft could reach the fleet.
Mccell survived the war.
He remained in the Navy and retired as a captain in 1964 after 31 years of service.
He lived quietly in Florida.
He gave interviews occasionally.
He spoke at naval aviation events.
He never claimed to be a hero, just a pilot who did his job.
He died on June 30th, 1996 at age 86.
He is buried at Arlington National Cemetery.
An Arley Burke class destroyer USS McCellbell DDG-85 was commissioned in his honor in 2002.
The F6F5 Hellcat that McCell flew on October 24th sits in the National Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola, Florida.
Mincy 3, Bureau number 70143, the aircraft that carried him through nine kills and a dead stick landing.
preserved exactly as it looked that morning.
Navy blue paint, white stars, the kill markings on the fuselage showing 34 Japanese flags, two Hellcats against 60 Japanese fighters, nine kills in 90 minutes, two rounds of ammunition remaining, engine died the second he landed.
American single mission record that still stands 80 years later.
Commander David Mccell proved what one pilot with perfect training, perfect tactics, and perfect courage could achieve when everything was on the line.
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