October 11th, 1943, 23,000 ft above Wiiwok, New Guinea.
Colonel Neil Kirby levels his P47 Thunderbolt and scans the horizon through the armored glass of his cockpit.
His wingmen maintain loose formation, exactly as he taught them.
Below the jungle canopy stretches endlessly toward the coast.
Then he sees them.
40 Japanese fighters, maybe 50, a swarm of Kawasaki K43 Oscars and Nakajima K43s circling like angry hornets over their home airfield.
Kirby’s radio crackles.
His flight consists of exactly four P47s.
The math is simple.
12 to1 odds against.
Any rational commander would turn back, request fighter sweeps, wait for better conditions.
But Kirby pushes his throttle forward and angles his seven-tonon fighter into a nearvertical dive straight into the enemy formation.
What he doesn’t know is that within the next 12 minutes, he’ll shoot down six enemy aircraft, setting a United States Army Air Force’s record that will earn him the Medal of Honor.
What he doesn’t know is that the suicidal diving tactics he’s about to demonstrate will revolutionize American fighter doctrine in the Pacific.
What he doesn’t know is that his innovative methods will produce kill ratios exceeding 19 to1, saving hundreds of American bomber crews.
And what he definitely doesn’t know is that back in Washington, senior officers have already written off the P47 as unsuitable for Pacific combat.
The statistics paint a grim picture.
In early 1943, Japanese Zero fighters boast a 73% victory rate against American fighters in lowaltitude dog fights.
The nimble A6M can turn inside any American plane at altitudes below 10,000 ft.
Meanwhile, the P47 Thunderbolt at 17500 lb fully loaded is the heaviest single engine fighter ever built.
Critics call it the flying brick.
Test pilots joke it climbs like a homesick manhole cover.
Fifth Air Force brass want P38 Lightnings and P-51 Mustangs.
They consider the P-47 a mistake destined to get pilots killed.
In mock combat exercises, experienced pilots and captured Zeros routinely shoot down P47s within 90 seconds.
But Kirby sees something everyone else has missed.
A deadly advantage hidden in the Thunderbolts massive weight.
A tactical revolution that violates every rule in the fighter pilot’s handbook.
As his P47 accelerates past 500 mph in the dive, Kirby’s airspeed indicator needle slams against the peg.
Japanese pilots scatter in panic.
The flying brick is about to prove it’s actually a meteor.
By August 1943, the Pacific War has become a crisis of fighter superiority.
American bombers face devastating losses.
On missions over Rabal, unescorted B-24 Liberators suffer casualty rates approaching 40%.
Crew morale plummets.
The average life expectancy for a bomber pilot in the Southwest Pacific is 14 missions.
The reason is simple.
The Mitsubishi A6M0 dominates Pacific skies.
Weighing just 6,000 lbs, the Zero can outturn, outclimb, and outmaneuver every American fighter at altitudes below 15,000 ft.
Japanese ace Saburro Sakai describes it as dancing in three dimensions.
In traditional dog fights, turning, twisting battles at low altitude, the Zer’s superior maneuverability proves lethal.
American pilots who try to turn with zeros don’t come home.
Enter the P47 Thunderbolt.
Republic Aviation’s heavy fighter arrives in the Pacific theater with terrible timing and worse optics.
At 17,500 lb combat loaded, the P47D weighs nearly three times more than a Zero.
Its massive Pratt and Whitney R2800 double Wasp engine generates 2,000 horsepower.
But all that power can’t overcome physics.
In turning fights, the P47’s wing loading dooms it.
Test data shows the Thunderbolt requires a turning radius of 1,200 ft compared to the Zer’s 700 ft.
In mock combat, this translates to death.
Major General George Kenny, commanding the fifth air force, makes his opinion clear.
The P47 is completely unsuitable for operations in this theater.
He requests P38 Lightnings instead.
Training manuals for new P47 pilots include stark warnings.
Never attempt to turn fight with Japanese aircraft.
You will lose.
The 348th Fighter Group arrives in Australia in June 1943 equipped entirely with P47s.
Pilots fresh from statesside training look at their assigned aircraft with dismay.
Lieutenant William Dunham later recalls, “We called it the 7-tonon milk bottle.
Nobody wanted to fly it against zeros.
We thought it was a death sentence.” Base intelligence officers compile sobering statistics.
In European skies, where P-47s escort bombers against German fighters at high altitude, the Thunderbolt performs adequately.
But the Pacific War unfolds differently.
Japanese interceptors attack from below, forcing Americans into lowaltitude turning engagements where the Zero’s maneuverability advantage becomes insurmountable.
By July 1943, Fifth Air Force headquarters drafts plans to replace all P47 units with P-51 Mustangs and P38 Lightnings within 6 months.
The P-47’s Pacific deployment is considered a failed experiment.
Then the 348th Fighter Group receives its new commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Neil Ernest Kirby, age 32.
Kirby lacks the pedigree of most fighter group commanders.
He didn’t attend West Point.
He started his career as an Army Airore aircraft mechanic in 1937, working his way up through the enlisted ranks.
He earned his pilot’s wings at age 28.
Ancient by fighter pilot standards, his personnel file notes he’s overly aggressive and resistant to established doctrine.
Some superior officers consider him reckless, but Kirby possesses something more valuable than credentials.
Mechanical intuition and an engineer’s mind.
During his first week in theater, Kirby studies technical specifications for both the P47 and the Zero.
He pours over reports from previous engagements.
He interviews bomber crews about Japanese fighter tactics.
and he recognizes something that every expert has overlooked.
The P47 doesn’t need to turn with zeros.
Its crushing weight, the very characteristic everyone considers a fatal weakness, can become an overwhelming advantage.
In physics, potential energy equals mass times height.
The P47 has three times the mass of a zero.
If properly employed, that mass in a dive can generate speeds no Japanese fighter can match.
Kirby’s insight is revolutionary.
Don’t fight the war the enemy wants.
Fight the war your equipment allows.
He begins developing tactics that will rewrite fighter doctrine.
Tactics his own headquarters will initially label suicidal and contrary to all accepted principles of air combat.
Neil Ernest Kirby is not supposed to be here.
Born in Witchah, Texas in 1911, Kirby grows up far from the elite Eastern prep schools that produce most Army Airore officers.
He doesn’t fly as a teenager.
He can’t afford college.
When he enlists in 1937 at age 26, he joins as an aircraft mechanic.
While other pilots learn to fly at prestigious militarymies, Kirby learns by maintaining engines.
He develops an intimate understanding of the Prattton Whitney R2800, its tolerances, its capabilities, its limitations.
He understands what the engine can survive.
This mechanic’s knowledge will save his life repeatedly.
Kirby earns his pilot’s wings in 1939.
Already older than most squadron commanders, he’s not a natural stick and rudder pilot.
His instructor notes describe him as competent, but not exceptional.
He doesn’t have the reflexes of 19-year-old hot shots fresh from flight school.
But Kirby thinks differently.
Where other pilots see aircraft as extensions of their bodies, Kirby sees machines with specific performance envelopes.
He thinks in terms of energy states, powertoweight ratios, and momentum vectors.
He calculates while others feel.
By the time Pearl Harbor explodes into war, Kirby commands a training squadron in the States.
He spends 1942 teaching new pilots, studying tactical reports from combat zones, and developing theories about fighter employment that contradict conventional wisdom.
In May 1943, Kirby receives orders.
Take command of the 348th fighter group in the Pacific.
The assignment comes with an impossible mission.
Make the P47 Thunderbolt work against Japanese fighters that everyone knows will outfly it.
Kirby arrives in Australia in June carrying three foot lockers filled with technical manuals and a notebook containing calculations that would make most fighter pilots eyes glaze over.
His first briefing with his new squadron commanders goes poorly.
With all due respect, sir, Captain William Dunham says the P47 can’t dogfight zeros.
We’ve run the simulations.
We’ll be slaughtered.
Kirby opens his notebook.
You’re absolutely right, he says.
Which is why we’re never going to dogfight them.
The room goes silent.
Gentlemen, forget everything you learned in fighter school.
Forget turning.
Forget circling.
Forget sustained combat.
Kirby sketches on a chalkboard.
The P47 weighs 178500 lb.
The Zero weighs 6,000.
In a dive, that’s not a disadvantage.
That’s a missile.
He outlines his concept.
Maintain altitude advantage.
Dive at full throttle.
Make one high-speed pass.
Then use dive momentum to zoom climb back to altitude.
Never turn, never slow down, never give the Zero the turning fight it wants.
His pilots exchange skeptical glances.
This violates every principle they’ve been taught.
Fighter aces win through superior maneuvering, not running away.
This is insane, one pilot mutters.
No, Kirby responds.
Insane is dog fighting in an aircraft three times heavier than the enemies.
This is physics.
In his quarters that night, Kirby makes calculations.
He estimates the P47 can reach 550 mph in a nearvertical dive from 25,000 ft, almost 200 mph, faster than any Japanese fighter.
The question isn’t whether it will work.
The question is whether his pilots will have the discipline to follow orders that feel like cowardice.
August 1943, a remote airfield outside Port Moresby, New Guinea.
Kirby has exactly three weeks to transform Doctrine before his first combat mission.
He starts with basic physics demonstrations.
He climbs to 20,000 ft solo and pushes his P47 into a vertical dive.
His altimeter unwinds like a broken clock.
15,000 ft.
10,000 ft.
His airspeed indicator climbs past 500 mph, past the red line marked do not exceed.
The aircraft buffets violently.
Compressibility effects shake the airframe.
At 550 mph, indicated air speed.
Kirby is approaching Mach 0.75, 3/4 the speed of sound.
The controls feel mushy, then suddenly stiff as shock waves form over the wings.
At 5,000 ft, Kirby hauls back on the stick.
The G-forces slam him into his seat.
5Gs, 6Gs.
His vision tunnels, but the P47’s massive airframe holds together.
The rugged construction that makes it heavy also makes it nearly indestructible.
Kirby pulls out of the dive and finds his speed carrying him back upward in a zoom climb.
12,000 ft, 15,000 ft before his momentum bleeds off.
He’s back at combat altitude without using engine power.
He lands and immediately calls his engineering officer.
What’s the maximum designed dive speed? 500 mph indicated, sir.
That’s the structural limit.
I just did 550 for sustained periods.
Check the airframe.
Inspection reveals minor riveting stress, but no structural damage.
The P47’s construction exceeds its own specifications.
Kirby begins training flights with volunteer pilots.
He teaches them to ignore their instruments, screaming warnings.
He drills them on energy management.
Altitude equals life.
Speed equals survival.
Never dissipate energy in turns.
Every maneuver must maintain or increase your total energy state.
The technique requires iron discipline.
Every fighter pilot’s instinct says to turn toward the enemy.
Kirby’s method demands they dive, shoot, and climb away even when targets remain.
Especially when targets remain.
It feels like running, Captain Dunham complains after a training sorty.
It’s not running, Kirby responds.
It’s cycling.
Think of it as repeated boom and zoom attacks.
You’re not retreating.
You’re repositioning for the next pass.
Word of Kirby’s training reaches Fifth Air Force headquarters.
A senior operations officer flies out to observe.
After watching a demonstration dive, the officer is livid.
Colonel, your pilots are exceeding maximum dive speeds by 50 mph.
This is a court marshal offense.
You’re destroying expensive aircraft and endangering men.
With respect, sir, I’ve done 20 test dives at those speeds.
The aircraft can handle it.
The manual says the manual is wrong.
Kirby interrupts.
Republic Aviation designed safety margins into these specifications.
We’re operating within actual structural limits.
This is illegal under current operational guidelines.
Kirby pulls out maintenance logs showing zero structural failures.
then change the guidelines because in three weeks I’m taking these tactics into combat and we’re either going to revolutionize fighter doctrine or get court marshal trying.
The operations officer storms off to file a complaint.
Kirby returns to training his pilots.
August 29th, 1943.
Fifth Air Force headquarters, Brisbane, Australia.
Colonel Kirby stands before Major General George Kenny’s chief of staff for what amounts to a trial.
The conference room is packed.
Operations officers, intelligence staff, senior pilots from other P-38 and P-51 squadrons.
Everyone has heard about the crazy P-47 commander who thinks he can make 7-tonon fighters competitive against zeros.
The prosecuting officer, a by the book West Point major, presents his case with barely concealed contempt.
Colonel Kirby’s proposed tactics violate three separate technical orders.
He lists them.
Exceeding maximum dive speeds, operating engines above continuous power ratings, and employing combat maneuvers not approved in fighter doctrine manuals.
Furthermore, the major continues, “These tactics abandon basic principles that have governed fighter combat since World War I, maintaining position over the enemy, exploiting superior maneuverability, pursuing damaged targets until confirmed destroyed.
Colonel Kirby’s methods do none of this.
They advocate diving away from combat, which any firstear flight cadet knows is tantamount to cowardice.” Kirby listens without expression.
The major calls his first expert witness, a highly decorated P38 squadron commander with 15 kills.
In your professional opinion, will Colonel Kirby’s tactics work against Japanese fighters? The P38 pilot shakes his head.
The Zero excels because Japanese pilots press attacks aggressively.
If you dive away after one pass, you’re surrendering the initiative.
The enemy regains altitude and you’re back where you started.
Except now you’ve wasted fuel and achieved nothing.
The major calls three more witnesses.
All experienced combat pilots, all skeptical.
Then it’s Kirby’s turn.
He doesn’t begin with tactics or doctrine.
He begins with mathematics.
Gentlemen, kinetic energy equals 1/2 mass time velocity squared.
Kirby writes the equation on a chalkboard.
A P47 at 550 mph carries 9 times more kinetic energy than a zero at 350 mph.
Not three times more, nine times.
Because energy increases with the square of velocity.
He shows calculations.
In a head-on pass lasting 1 second, my eight 50 caliber guns deliver 120 rounds.
At our closing speed, the enemy has 6 seconds to return fire before passing through my cone.
Most Japanese fighters mount two 7.7 mm guns and one 20 mm cannon.
Lower rate of fire, shorter engagement window.
An intelligence officer interrupts.
But Colonel, you’re assuming you can actually hit the target at those speeds.
I’ve tested it.
Kirby responds.
At 500 plus miles, gun harmonization matters less because time on target is so brief.
You’re essentially putting a wall of lead in front of the enemy.
They fly into it.
He presents gun camera footage from training flights against towed target drogues.
The hit percentages are surprisingly high.
The room begins shifting.
Kirby senses it.
The Zero’s advantages, maneuverability, climb rate, sustained turn performance, all require time to employ.
My tactics deny the enemy time.
I’m proposing we fight a war of energy, not position.
We dictate engagement terms.
We choose when to fight and when to reset.
The enemy reacts to us, but the major isn’t finished.
And when your pilots are outnumbered, when their escort duties and can’t abandon bombers to zoom climb, Kirby doesn’t hesitate.
That’s precisely when these tactics work best.
We maintain station at 23,000 ft.
Japanese interceptors typically attack bombers from below at 15,000 ft.
We dive on them with 8,000 ft of altitude advantage.
Even if we’re outnumbered 5 to one, we have initiative, speed, and altitude.
The room erupts.
The P38 squadron commander stands.
You’re describing hit-and-run raids, not fighter cover.
I’m describing survival.
Kirby shoots back.
Your P38 squadron lost nine aircraft last month protecting bombers in sustained combat.
My tactics aim to kill enemy fighters before they reach the bombers.
One pass, two kills, zoom back to altitude.
Repeat.
Arguments overlap.
Voices rise.
Then Major General Kenny himself enters the conference room.
Everyone snaps to attention.
Kenny looks at Kirby.
Colonel, I’m told you want to court marshall yourself by ignoring technical orders.
Sir, I want to kill enemy fighters more efficiently than we’re currently killing them.
Kenny considers this.
He’s lost too many bombers, tried too many failed tactics.
You have 60 days, Kenny finally says, “Prove it works or stop flying.” If you’re enjoying this deep dive into forgotten military innovations, hit that like button and subscribe.
We post new documentaries every week uncovering the tactics that changed history.
Now, let’s see how Kirby’s controversial method performed in actual combat.
September 5th, 1943.
First combat test.
Kirby leads eight P47s escorting B24 bombers attacking Lei.
Intelligence reports expect 15 to 20 Japanese interceptors.
At 0740 hours, Kirby’s formation crosses the coastline at 23,000 ft.
The bombers drone along 8,000 ft below.
Kirby scans the sky, searching for the telltale glint of sunlight on canopies.
There, low, a formation of Kai 43 Oscars climbing to intercept the bombers.
Hawk leader to all Hawk flights.
Bandits below 14 strong.
Maintain altitude.
Wait for my call.
The Japanese fighters climb through 17,000 ft, unaware of the P47s positioned perfectly above them.
They expect American fighters at bomber altitude.
That’s where they always are.
Kirby waits until the Oscars commit to their attack run.
Then Hawk flights, this is lead.
Execute.
Eight P47s roll inverted and pull through into nearvertical dives.
Kirby’s Thunderbolt accelerates like a falling anvil.
400 mph 450 500.
The airframe shutters as he approaches compressibility.
He centers his gunsight pipper on an Oscar that’s still climbing toward the bombers.
Completely focused on its target ahead.
Range 400 yd 300 200.
Kirby opens fire.
Eight 50 caliber machine guns converge.
96 rounds per second of armor-piercing incendiary ammunition.
The Oscar simply disintegrates.
Wings separate.
The fuselage crumples.
Kirby’s air speed.
540 mph.
He flashes past the debris so fast the other Japanese pilots barely register what happened.
Now comes the test of his theory.
Instead of turning to pursue other targets, Kirby pulls back on the stick hard.
G forces crush him into his seat.
5gs, 6Gs.
His vision grays at the edges, but the P47’s rugged construction holds.
His speed converts to altitude.
18,000 ft.
20,000 22,000.
15 seconds after destroying the Oscar, Kirby is back above the Japanese formation with retained energy.
The enemy fighters below are in confusion, trying to locate their attacker.
Hawk flights, reset, and execute second pass.
The eight P47s dive again.
This time, the Japanese pilots see them coming, but it doesn’t matter.
The Oscars are at 16,000 ft, air speed 240 mph, climbing.
The P47s dive from 22,000 ft at 520 mph.
The closure rate exceeds 750 mph.
Japanese pilots frantically break in all directions.
Three try to turn into the attack.
It’s useless.
The P47s scream through the formation in 3 seconds.
Two more Oscars explode.
One spins downward, trailing smoke.
Kirby executes another zoom climb.
His wingmen follow.
Within 90 seconds, they’re back at 23,000 ft.
The remaining Japanese fighters abandon their attack on the bombers and flee toward their base.
Kirby’s radio crackles with bomber crews.
Hawk lead.
This is Whiskey 21.
I don’t know what you just did, but that was beautiful.
Not a single bandit reached us.
Post mission assessment.
Five Japanese fighters destroyed.
Two probables.
Zero American losses.
The bombers completed their mission without taking defensive fire from interceptors, but one mission proves nothing.
The real test comes on October 11th, 1943.
That morning, Kirby leads four P47s on a fighter sweep over Weiwok.
The same mission described in act one.
Intelligence reports heavy Japanese activity.
4050 fighters protecting a critical supply base.
The odds are 12 to1 against.
Standard doctrine says avoid combat and return home.
Kirby sees 40 targets.
Hawk flights combat spread.
Stay above 20,000 ft until I call the dive.
The Japanese fighters circle their airfield at 14,000 ft.
Unaware of the four P47s positioned at 23,000 ft invisible against the high alitude haze, Kirby selects the most promising target, a formation of six Oscars in close formation.
Their tight spacing is perfect for what he has planned.
Execute.
Four P47s roll into nearvertical dives.
The Japanese formation is still turning lazily when Kirby’s fighter screams into them at 545 mph.
He opens fire at 250 yd.
His first burst shreds the lead Oscar without pause.
He walks his tracers through the formation.
2 3 4.
The Japanese fighters are so close together that his cone of fire encompasses multiple targets simultaneously.
Four Oscars destroyed in a single 5-second firing pass.
Kirby pulls into a zoom climb, his momentum carrying him back to 20,000 ft.
His three wingmen each claim kills on their first passes.
Seven Japanese fighters destroyed in 30 seconds.
The surviving enemy pilots scatter in panic, trying to identify their attackers.
Some die for the deck.
Others climb frantically, searching the sky above them.
Kirby resets and dives again.
This time, a skilled Japanese pilot sees him coming.
The Oscar pilot executes a hard break, attempting to force Kirby into a turning engagement.
Kirby ignores him completely.
His target is a different Oscar straight ahead.
He fires a 3-second burst.
The target explodes.
Kirby zooms past the Oscar that tried to intercept him.
Too fast for the Japanese pilot to track.
Fifth kill.
One more dive.
One more target.
Perfectly positioned.
Kirby’s ammunition bins are nearly empty, but he has rounds for one more burst.
Sixth kill.
Kirby executes his final zoom.
Climb and checks his fuel.
Enough for the return flight.
His wingmen report nine total kills between them with zero losses.
The entire engagement lasted 11 minutes.
Lieutenant Colonel Yoshio Yoshida, one of the Japanese pilots who survived the engagement, later writes in his combat diary, “Four American fighters attacked from impossible altitude.
Their diving speed exceeded anything we could match.
They appeared and vanished like ghosts.
We could not turn with them because they never turned.
They simply dived, fired, and climbed away before we could react.
It was like being hunted by diving hawks.
We were helpless.
The October 11th mission sends shock waves through both air forces.
For the Americans, Kirby becomes an instant legend.
He receives the Medal of Honor, the highest military decoration.
His victory tally of six aircraft destroyed in a single engagement sets an Army Air Force’s record that still stands.
For the Japanese, the engagement represents a tactical nightmare.
Previously reliable victory ratios collapse.
Japanese commanders issue urgent bulletins warning pilots about new American diving tactics.
But the bigger story unfolds across the Pacific theater over the following months.
The 348th Fighter Group, fully employing Kirby’s tactics, achieves devastating results.
Between August and December 1943, the group claims over 150 aerial victories while losing only eight pilots.
Kill ratios exceed 19 to1.
Other P47 units adopt the tactics.
The 56th fighter group in Europe commanded by Colonel Hubert Hubze Zena implements similar dive and zoom methods against Luftwafa fighters.
Their kill ratios double.
By January 1944, the P47’s reputation transforms completely from flying brick to jug, a term of endearment, referencing its rugged juglike durability.
Pilots who once requested transfers now fight to fly thunderbolts.
General Kenny reverses his earlier position.
He requests additional P47 groups instead of P38s.
The aircraft he tried to remove from Pacific service becomes one of his most effective weapons.
The story gets even more remarkable.
While you’re here, check out our documentary on the pilot who flew 200 missions without a single loss.
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Now, here’s what happened next.
Neil Kirby never gets to see the full impact of his innovation.
On March 5th, 1944, Kirby leads another fighter sweep over Weiwok.
By now, he’s credited with 22 confirmed victories.
He’s the highest scoring P47 pilot in the Pacific.
His tactics are taught at every fighter school from Brisbane to Pearl Harbor.
But on this mission, after destroying three Japanese fighters, his aircraft suffers hits from a fourth Oscar whose pilot gains a fleeting position advantage.
Kirby’s P47, Fiery Ginger 4, crashes into the jungle.
He is killed instantly at age 32.
The wreckage remains undiscovered until the 1990s.
The tail section recovered by investigators shows evidence of catastrophic battle damage.
Today, fragments of Fiery Ginger 4 are displayed at the National Museum of the US Air Force as testament to both the pilot and the aircraft.
But Kirby’s legacy far outlives him.
By war’s end, over 15,636 P47 Thunderbolts are produced, making it one of the most numerous American fighters of World War II.
In the Pacific theater, P47s destroy over 3,900 Japanese aircraft.
In the European theater, they account for more than 7,000 German aircraft destroyed.
The dive and zoom tactics Kirby pioneered become standard doctrine.
Post-war fighter development embraces his principle.
Energy management trumps maneuverability.
The F86 Saber jets that dominate Korean war skies employ the same boom and zoom methods.
Modern fighter tactics still teach energy conservation and vertical combat maneuvering.
Direct descendants of Kirby’s innovations.
The P47’s design philosophy influences the A10 Thunderbolt 2.
named an explicit homage.
Rugged construction, heavy firepower, ability to absorb damage and keep flying.
All P47 characteristics carried forward.
What about the man himself? Unlike many fighter aces who become celebrities, Kirby shunned publicity during his life.
Letters to his wife reveal a deeply private man focused entirely on getting his boys home alive.
He refused media interviews.
He dismissed his Medal of Honor as belonging to the whole group, not just me.
After his death, the surviving members of the 348th fighter group established a tradition.
Every year until the last veteran passed away in 2009, they would gather and raise a glass to the colonel who taught us physics could beat instinct.
In 1971, a young Air Force pilot named John Boyd, who would become legendary for developing energy maneuverability theory, studied afteraction reports from Kirby’s missions while developing his own tactical innovations.
Boyd later wrote, “Everything I formalized mathematically, Kirby understood intuitively in 1943.
He proved that understanding your aircraft’s performance envelope matters more than natural flying talent.
Perhaps the most moving tribute comes from a letter written in 1986 by Robert Denton, a B-24 bomber pilot who flew the mission on October 11th, 1943.
The mission where Kirby shot down six Japanese fighters.
Denton wrote, “I’m 72 now.
I have six grandchildren.
All because Colonel Kirby figured out how to make a 7-tonon fighter kill zeros before they could kill us.
He never knew my name.
I never got to thank him.
But every time I hold one of my grandchildren, I think this life exists because an aircraft mechanic from Texas refused to accept that losing was inevitable.
Sometimes the most important innovations come not from the most credentialed experts, but from mechanics who understand machines better than anyone thought possible.
The P47 Thunderbolt.
