At exactly 11:14 in the morning on January 11th, 1944, Major James Howard guided his silver P51B Mustang through thin sheets of frozen cloud 4 mi above the small German town of Ostra Lebanon.
The air temperature outside his cockpit hovered at -42° F.
Ice fog drifted across his canopy.
Below him, 60 American B17 bombers crawled across the winter sky, heavy with steel and explosives, engines droning in steady formation.
Suddenly, his eyes caught movement.
30 German fighters were diving out of the sun.
They came down fast.
Messersmidt BF1009s and Faulolf FW190s, some of the deadliest interceptors in the world, falling toward the unprotected bomber formation like wolves onto wounded prey.
Howard felt his chest titan.
There were no friendly escorts nearby.
No thunderbolts, no lightnings.
His radio crackled with static.
His four-lane flight had scattered, chasing another threat.
Now he was alone.
At 33 years old, James Howard had already flown 86 combat missions with the legendary Flying Tigers over China.
But this was only his 37th day flying the brand new P-51 Mustang, an aircraft many in the military still believed was suicidal for long range escort missions.
The Mustang was fast, yes, but untested.
Its range was theoretical.
Its reliability unknown.
In the previous 4 months, the 8th Air Force had lost 180 bombers in only three unescorted missions deep into Germany.
On Black Thursday alone, October 14th, 1943, 60 bombers had been shot down in a single day.
600 airmen lost.
The daylight bombing campaign had nearly been abandoned.
Now 60 bombers and 600 lives hung in the balance once again.
Howard pushed the throttle forward and rolled his aircraft over.
He dove.
The Mustang screamed as it plummeted through the thin air, accelerating past 400 mph.
His gun sight settled onto the nearest Faul.
At 500 yd, he squeezed the trigger.
650 caliber machine guns erupted, hurling armor-piercing fire into the German fighter.
The rounds shredded its tail.
The aircraft cartwheelled violently, trailing smoke and flame.
Howard yanked back on the stick, pulling 7Gs.
Blood drained from his head.
His vision narrowed to a tunnel.
He forced his eyes open, lined up another target, fired again.
A Messor Schmidt exploded in fragments of glass and aluminum.
He rolled inverted, dropped onto another fighter, fired.
Three enemy aircraft destroyed in 40 seconds.
27 remained.
There was no voice on the radio, no orders, no help.
Major James Howard was now the only American fighter between 30 attacking Luwaffa interceptors and 60 defenseless bombers.
More than 300 m inside enemy territory.
The Germans regrouped quickly.
15 fighters broke toward the bombers.
15 turned to destroy the lone Mustang.
They expected him to retreat.
Howard charged instead.
He climbed back above the formation, placing himself directly between the attackers and the bombers.
German pilots hesitated.
This wasn’t standard American doctrine.
Escort fighters were supposed to stay close, defensive, protective.
Howard hunted.
Three Messor Schmidts came at him headon.
Closing speed exceeded 700 mph.
Both sides opened fire.
Howard’s tracers walked up the nose of the lead fighter.
The German pilot broke away, trailing coolant and smoke.
Howard reversed hard, blacked out for a split second, recovered, and slammed another FW 190 out of the sky.
Four down.
Inside the bomber formation, Ball turret gunner staff Sergeant William Thompson stared upward in disbelief.
He had flown 19 missions.
He had seen escorts turn back at the German border.
He had seen bombers ripped apart.
He had never seen this.
The Mustang never stopped moving.
It dove, climbed, rolled, attacked, repositioned, attacked again.
Always placing itself between the bombers and death.
Minute after minute, Howard kept charging, scattering formations, breaking attack runs, forcing German pilots to defend themselves instead of killing bombers.
His tactics were aggressive, relentless, exhausting.
At 11:26, his first gun jammed.
ICE had seized the bolt.
Standard procedure demanded retreat.
Howard ignored it.
He kept attacking.
By now, German pilots realized this wasn’t normal.
This wasn’t rational.
They changed tactics, setting traps, attempting to bracket him between formations.
Howard flew directly into them.
He dove from the sun, obliterated another fighter, then climbed straight into an ambush, only to roll inverted and dive headlong through it, scattering the attackers once again.
Six kills.
Seven.
Eight.
His ammunition supply dwindled.
His guns froze one by one.
The temperature bit into his hands.
His oxygen system flickered warnings.
Hypoxia crept into his bloodstream, narrowing his vision, dulling his reactions.
Still, he fought.
At 11:34, 22 German fighters launched a coordinated multiaxis attack on the bombers.
Howard hit them headon.
He destroyed two more aircraft in seconds.
10 kills, 11, but now his guns were empty.
No ammunition remained, and still 18 enemy fighters swarmed the sky.
Howard had a choice.
He could leave.
His fuel was low, his oxygen failing, his aircraft damaged, or he could stay.
He stayed without ammunition.
He turned his fighter into a weapon of intimidation.
He dove at enemy aircraft close to within feet, forcing them to break.
German pilots, unsure if other Mustangs lurked nearby, disengaged rather than risk collision.
Howard chased them, harassed them, disrupted every attack.
Minute by minute, he bought time.
Time for the bombers.
Time for reinforcements.
At 11:44, distant dots appeared in the western sky.
P 47 thunderbolts, 36 of them.
The Luwaffa finally broke off.
They had lost 11 fighters, 11 pilots.
Howard had held them alone for 37 minutes.
Every single bomber survived.
At 12:23 p.m., his Mustang crossed the English coast with just 11 gall of fuel remaining.
When Howard landed, his aircraft was riddled with bullet holes.
His legs nearly buckled as he climbed out of the cockpit.
He had spent 90 minutes in continuous combat, much of it without ammunition, oxygen, or heat.
He quietly told his crew chief, “Maybe three or four.
Hard to tell.” Gun camera footage later confirmed 11 confirmed kills.
2 days later, the commander of the 8th Air Force personally recommended him for the Medal of Honor.
Major James Howard became the only American fighter pilot in the European theater to receive the Medal of Honor during World War II.
Not because of how many enemies he destroyed, but because 600 airmen lived.
His actions changed fighter doctrine forever.
Escort pilots were no longer bound to defensive formations.
They were unleashed to hunt, to dominate, to destroy.
The P51 Mustang went on to become the most feared Allied fighter of the war.
And one winter morning over Germany, a lone silver aircraft proved that courage, aggression, and determination could overcome impossible odds.
Because one pilot refused to turn away.
Because one pilot chose to fight alone.
Because one pilot saved 600 lives.
