At p.m.
on the 26th of June, 1943, Captain Robert S.
Johnson sat in the cockpit of his P47 Thunderbolt, 27,000 ft over France, watching his canopy disintegrate under sustained fire from a Faulk Wolf FW190.
22 years old, 9 months with the 61st Fighter Squadron, zero ways to escape what was happening.
The German pilot had positioned himself perfectly, high, 200 yd back.
His 4 20 mm cannons were tearing Johnson’s aircraft apart piece by piece.
Standard procedure said, “Bail out when your aircraft takes catastrophic damage.” Training said a burning aircraft is a coffin.
Common sense said, “Nobody survives what Johnson was experiencing.
” Johnson had a different idea.
In the next 11 minutes, he would absorb 21 direct cannon hits, lose most of his aircraft’s control surfaces, prove that the P47 Thunderbolt could survive damage that would destroy any other fighter, and teach the Luftwaffa that the aircraft they’d been mocking as the Jug was about to become their worst nightmare.
This is the story of how one pilot’s refusal to die validated an aircraft everyone doubted.
how engineering superiority defeated tactical advantages and how the most mocked fighter of 1943 became the most feared aircraft in the European theater.
Robert Samuel Johnson was born the 21st of February 1920 in Lton, Oklahoma.
Nothing about his childhood suggested he’d become one of America’s top fighter aces.
His family wasn’t wealthy.
His father worked construction.
His mother took in laundry.
They moved frequently, chasing work during the depression years.
Johnson dropped out of high school at 16 to help support the family.
He worked oil fields, cattle ranches, whatever paid.
At 18, he enrolled in a civilian pilot training program in Tulsa.
The government was building aviation infrastructure.
Anyone could learn to fly for free.
Johnson showed immediate aptitude.
His instructor said he had natural feel for aircraft, instinctive understanding of how planes behaved in three dimensions.
By 19, Johnson had his private pilots license and 100 hours logged.
When Pearl Harbor happened, he was 21.
He enlisted Army Air Forces immediately.
Pilot training, then fighter training at Farmingdale, Long Island.
That is where he first saw the P47 Thunderbolt.
And that is where the laughing started.
German pilots weren’t the only ones who mocked the P-47.
American pilots hated it first.
The Republic P47 Thunderbolt looked wrong the moment you saw it.
Big, bulbous, clumsy.
It looked like someone had strapped wings to a water tower.
The fuselage was enormous.
The cowling was massive.
The whole aircraft seemed designed by engineers who’d never seen an actual fighter plane.
The numbers confirmed what pilots eyes told them.
Empty weight 9,900 lb, nearly 5 tons.
The P-51 Mustang weighed 7125 lb.
The Spitfire weighed 5,65 lb.
The German Messers BF-19 weighed 5,900 lb.
The P47 outweighed its closest competitor by 4,000 lb.
That is the weight of two complete Spitfire engines, just extra mass the P-47 was hauling around for no apparent reason.
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Back to Johnson.
The performance numbers were equally embarrassing.
The BF-19 could execute a 360° turn in 20 seconds.
The FW190 turned in 18 seconds.
Pilots training on P47s timed their turns 26 seconds.
In a dog fight, those extra 8 seconds meant death.
A German pilot could turn inside you, get on your tail, and kill you before you completed your turn.
The P-47 climbed at 2500 ft per minutes.
If a German fighter dove away from you, he could extend, then outclimb you back to altitude.
You couldn’t catch him.
You couldn’t escape him.
The tactical mathematics seemed brutal and final.
The P-47 was inferior in the two most important fighter characteristics, turning and climbing.
The aircraft everyone expected to dominate European skies was a flying liability.
American pilots at Farmingdale complained constantly.
They’d trained on P40s or P39’s nimble aircraft.
Responsive.
The P47 felt like flying a truck.
Controls were heavy.
The stick required physical force to move.
The rudder pedals were stiff.
Everything about the aircraft felt sluggish.
Pilots transferring from other fighters requested reassignment.
They didn’t want to die in an overweight piece of Republic Aviation’s engineering failure.
Johnson didn’t request reassignment.
He’d flown the P47 for 6 months.
By the time he deployed to England in January 1943, he’d noticed things other pilots missed.
The aircraft had strengths.
They just weren’t obvious.
The P47’s engine was a Pratt and Whitney R2800 double Wasp, 18 cylinders arranged in two rows, 2,000 horsepower at takeoff power.
The engine alone weighed 2360 lb, more than an entire Spitfire Mark.
That weight was why the P47 was so heavy, but that weight bought something nobody appreciated yet.
The R2800 was mated to a turbo supercharger.
Most fighter engines used mechanically driven superchargers, a compressor bolted directly to the engine, driven by the crankshaft.
Mechanical superchargers worked well at low altitude, but lost efficiency as air pressure dropped.
At 25,000 ft, a mechanically supercharged engine might produce 60% of its seale power.
The P47’s turbo supercharger was different.
It used exhaust gases to spin a turbine.
The turbine drove a compressor that forced air into the engine.
The system was complex, heavy, and temperamental.
But it had one massive advantage.
It maintained full engine power at altitude.
At 25,000 ft where German engines were gasping, the R2800 was producing 2,000 horsepower.
Full power, same as sea level.
That capability translated to speed.
At high altitude above 25,000 ft, the P47 could reach 433 mph.
The BF-19G topped out at 386 mph at that altitude.
The FW190 a managed 395 mph.
The P-47 was 40 mph faster than anything Germany flew.
Nobody cared.
Speed at altitude seemed irrelevant when you couldn’t turn or climb.
But Johnson understood something crucial.
You don’t dog fight at altitude.
You attack from altitude.
There is a difference.
The P47’s massive weight became an advantage in one specific flight regime.
Diving.
When you point the nose down and push the throttle forward, mass becomes velocity.
The P-47 could dive at 550 mph without structural problems.
German fighters started experiencing compressibility issues above 450 mph.
Control surfaces stopped responding.
The aircraft became difficult to control.
At 500 mph, some German pilots couldn’t pull out of dives.
Their aircraft kept accelerating until they hit the ground.
The P-47 was controllable at speeds that were lethal for German fighters.
That meant American pilots could dive on German formations, attack at maximum speed, and extend away before Germans could respond.
If a German tried to follow, the P-47 would accelerate away.
The German would either give up or lose control trying to keep up.
Jonen arrived in England with the 56th Fighter Group in January 1943.
The 56th was the first P47 unit deployed to Europe.
They began combat operations in April.
The results were catastrophic.
In their first month, the 56th flew 67 missions and claimed three German aircraft destroyed.
They lost seven P47s.
The killto- loss ratio was a disaster.
The worst performance of any American fighter unit in the European theater.
Luwaffa pilots did exactly what American pilots feared.
They engaged P47s in turning fights and slaughtered them.
Radio intercepts captured German pilots laughing.
They called the P47 the jug, short for juggernaut, but they didn’t mean it as a compliment.
They meant it looked like a fat jug of water.
Slow, heavy, easy to kill.
Some German pilots deliberately sought out P47s.
Easy victories.
Confirmation kills for new pilots.
The Americans were flying inferior aircraft with inferior tactics.
It was target practice.
American pilots returned to base demoralized.
Their aircraft couldn’t compete.
The P-47 couldn’t turn with German fighters, couldn’t climb with them.
In traditional dog fighting, it was completely outclassed.
Morale plummeted.
Pilots requested transfers to P-51 units.
Some refused to fly combat missions in P-47s.
They’d rather face court marshal than die in an aircraft that couldn’t win.
The Eighth Air Force Command was facing a crisis.
They’d invested massive resources in the P47 program.
Republic Aviation had built 15,636 Thunderbolts.
More P-47s were built than any other American fighter, and pilots hated them.
The aircraft seemed like a billiondoll mistake.
Then, Colonel Hubert Zemped everything.
ZMI commanded the 56th Fighter Group.
He was 30 years old, experienced, analytical.
He’d flown the P-47 longer than anyone.
He’d studied its performance envelope.
He’d read the engineering specifications, and he’d realize something crucial.
American pilots were fighting the wrong fight.
They were trying to dogfight German aircraft using German tactics.
Turn and burn.
Get into a turning engagement and outturn your opponent.
That is how German pilots fought.
That is how Spitfire pilots fought.
That is not how P-47 pilots should fight.
Zenki developed new tactics.
Never turn with German fighters ever.
Use altitude.
Use speed.
Attack from above.
Dive through enemy formations at maximum velocity.
Fire.
Extend away before Germans can react.
Climb back to altitude using the turbo supercharger’s power advantage.
Reset.
attack again.
The tactic had a name, boom and zoom.
The concept was simple but psychologically difficult.
It required pilots to refuse combat on German terms.
When a German fighter tried to engage in a turning fight, the correct response was to run away, extend at maximum speed.
Don’t chase.
Don’t turn.
Just leave.
That felt cowardly.
Pilots are trained to be aggressive, to press attacks, to dominate enemies.
Zki’s tactics required restraint, discipline, the willingness to look like you are running away.
Zemp drilled his pilots relentlessly.
Mock combat exercises.
He’d play the German fighter.
He’d bait pilots into turning engagements.
If they took the bait, he’d kill them.
If they refused and extended away, they survived.
The lesson was brutal but clear.
Discipline equals survival.
Aggression equals death.
By June 1943, the 56th Fighter Group had adopted ZMI’s tactics completely.
Their combat performance improved dramatically.
Pilots stopped trying to turn with German fighters.
They attacked from altitude, dove fast, fired, extended.
The kill ratios reversed.
By mid June, the 56 was destroying German aircraft at a 3:1 rate.
Johnson had flown 41 combat missions by then.
Zero confirmed kills.
Not because he couldn’t shoot, because German pilots wouldn’t engage him on his terms.
They’d try to bait him into turns.
He’d refuse.
They’d escape.
Frustrating, but survivable.
That changed on the 13th of June 1943.
Johnson’s flight intercepted 16 FW190s over the Dutch coast.
Johnson spotted one FW190 separated from the formation.
He dove from 28,000 ft.
The P47 accelerated rapidly, 400 mph, 450 mph.
The German never saw him coming.
Johnson closed to 300 yd fired.
The P-47 carried 850 caliber M2 Browning machine guns, four in each wing, 3,400 rounds total ammunition.
When Johnson pressed the trigger, all eight guns fired simultaneously.
The combined rate of fire was 100 rounds per second.
A 2cond burst put 200 rounds into the target area.
Johnson’s burst lasted 3 seconds.
350 caliber rounds walked up the FW190s fuselage from tail to cockpit.
The 50 caliber M2 fired a 710 grain bullet at 2,910 ft per second.
Each round carried 13,350 ft-lb of energy, enough to penetrate armor plate, enough to destroy engines, enough to shred aluminum aircraft structures.
The FW190 disintegrated.
The tail section separated.
The engine exploded.
Pieces of aircraft tumbled through the sky.
The pilot never had time to bail out.
The aircraft ceased to exist as a functional machine in 1/4 seconds.
From first hit to total destruction.
That is what 850 caliber machine guns could do.
Johnson extended away at 500 mph.
Climbed back to altitude using his turbo supercharger.
The entire engagement lasted 8 seconds.
Boom and zoom.
Exactly as Zempi taught.
Johnson’s first confirmed kill.
13 days later, Johnson would prove the P47’s other critical advantage, survivability.
The 26th of June, 1943.
Mission to escort B7 bombers attacking targets near Paris.
Johnson was flying P47 number 286.
Approximately 40 hours since major maintenance.
Everything functional.
The mission was routine until p.m.
Johnson’s flight encountered 12 FW190s at 27,000 ft.
The Germans were positioned above a bomber formation preparing to attack.
Johnson’s flight engaged standard boom and zoom, dive, fire, extend.
But Johnson made a mistake.
He fixated on one target and didn’t check his .
Another FW190 dropped in behind him.
The German pilot was experienced, probably 20 or 30 kills.
He knew how to position.
He closed to 200 yd.
Optimal range for 20 mm cannons.
Then he opened fire.
The FW194 carried four 20 mm MG151 cannons.
Two in the wing roots, two in the outer wing panels.
The 20 mm round was devastating, high explosive.
When it hit, it exploded.
The impact created a blast wave that destroyed surrounding structure.
One 20 mm hit could take out an engine.
Two hits could sever a wing.
The German pilot put the first burst into Johnson’s engine cowling.
Three 20 mm rounds hit the Pratt and Whitney R2800.
The cowling shredded.
Metal flew off.
Smoke poured out.
Johnson felt the impacts through the control stick.
The engine should have stopped.
Most engines did when hit by 20 mm fire.
The connecting rods bent, the crankshaft warped, oil pressure dropped, temperature spiked, the engine seized.
The R2800 kept running.
The radial engine’s design gave it redundancy.
18 cylinders.
Losing two or three cylinders reduced power, but didn’t stop the engine.
The massive construction.
All that weight absorbed damage that would kill lighter engines.
The second burst hit Johnson’s canopy.
The bulletproof glass was 2 in thick, designed to stop rifle rounds.
The 20 mm rounds didn’t stop.
They punched through.
The canopy exploded.
Fragments cut Johnson’s face and hands.
Blood ran into his eyes.
Wind blast filled the cockpit at 300 mph.
Temperature was 40° below zero at altitude.
The wind chill was instant.
Johnson’s face went numb.
He couldn’t see clearly.
couldn’t hear.
The wind noise was deafening.
He tried to maneuver.
The P47 responded sluggishly.
Something was wrong with the controls.
The third burst hit his right wing.
Two 20 mm shells punched through the wing structure.
Fuel sprayed from the ruptured tank.
Johnson could see it.
A white stream of aviation gasoline flowing back past his destroyed canopy.
If the fuel ignited, he’d burn.
The P-47 had self-sealing fuel tanks, rubber lining that expanded when punctured.
The rubber sealed bullet holes automatically, but 20 mm cannon shells created massive holes 3 in in diameter, too large for immediate ceiling.
The rubber needed time to expand.
Time Johnson didn’t have the fourth burst hit his left wing.
Both wings were leaking fuel now, six gallons per minutes combined.
The P47 carried 305 gallons internal.
At this rate, Johnson would be dry in 25 minutes, but he wouldn’t survive that long.
The German was still firing.
The fifth burst hit Johnson’s tail.
The rudder shredded.
Control cables severed.
The P47 started yawing right.
Johnson couldn’t correct.
The rudder pedals were useless.
He tried to bail out.
Standard procedure was simple.
Roll inverted.
Jettison canopy fall out.
Johnson reached for the canopy.
Jettison handle pulled.
Nothing happened.
The mechanism was jammed.
Damaged by the cannon fire.
He was trapped.
The sixth burst hit the cockpit armor.
120 mm shell punched through the armor plate behind Johnson’s seat.
Republic Aviation had installed 3/8 inch armor, hardened steel, supposed to stop anything.
The 20 mm round penetrated, but the armor deflected it.
Instead of going through Johnson’s back, the shell angled upward, tore through the headrest, exited through the canopy frame, 6 in lower, and Johnson would have been dead instantly.
The seventh burst hit his right wing again.
The aileron disintegrated.
Johnson lost roll control.
The P47 could barely maintain wings level flight.
The eighth burst hit his engine again.
Three more 20 mm hits.
The Prattton Whitney absorbed them.
Still running.
The German pilot must have been stunned.
He just put 11 direct cannon hits into an American fighter.
Any other aircraft would have exploded.
The P47 was still flying, still under control, still moving at 300 mph.
Johnson made a decision.
He couldn’t escape, couldn’t fight back, couldn’t bail out.
His only option was to fly the crippled P-47 home.
Hope the German ran out of ammunition.
Hope the aircraft held together.
Hope was a terrible strategy, but he had no alternative.
The German hadn’t run out of ammunition.
The ninth burst hit Johnson’s tail again.
The elevator took damage.
Pitch control degraded.
The P47 wanted to nose down.
Johnson had to hold the stick back with both hands.
The tenth burst hit his left wing.
The wing tip tore away.
The P47 rolled right.
Johnson couldn’t correct.
The aircraft entered a slow spiral.
He was losing altitude.
26,000 ft.
25,000 24,000.
At this rate, he’d hit the ground in 11 minutes.
The 11th burst missed.
The German was adjusting position getting closer.
The 12th burst hit Johnson’s engine.
For the fourth time, the cowling was gone.
Johnson could see the cylinders.
The R2800 was still producing power, losing oil, but running.
Black smoke poured from the exhausts.
The 13th burst hit his right wing.
The flap mechanism failed.
The 14th burst hit his fuselage.
The radio compartment exploded.
Johnson was alone.
No communication, no way to call for help.
The 15th burst hit the cockpit.
The gun sight shattered.
The instrument panel cracked.
The airspeed indicator broke.
The altimeter stopped working.
Johnson was flying blind.
The 16th burst hit his left wing.
Fuel leak increased.
Gasoline vapor filled the cockpit.
Johnson could smell it.
One spark would turn everything into fire.
The 17th burst hit his tail.
Vertical stabilizer took more damage.
Directional stability gone.
The 18th burst hit his engine.
Fifth time.
The Pratt and Whitney R2800 was still running.
German pilot had to be questioning reality.
The 19th burst hit Johnson’s rightwing.
Massive holes now torn metal, barely attached.
The 20th burst hit his fuselage.
More systems failing.
Then the German pulled alongside 20 feet away.
Wing tip to wing tip, he wanted to see the American pilot.
See his face before killing him.
Johnson looked across.
Young German, maybe 25, blonde hair, leather helmet.
The German gestured, pointed down.
Land.
Surrender.
Johnson gave him the finger.
The German shook his head, then pulled ahead and dove away.
Done.
Out of ammunition or patience, he’d fired 21 cannon bursts into Johnson’s aircraft.
Nothing suggested the American could survive.
He left.
Johnson was alone at 19,000 ft in an aircraft that shouldn’t fly.
Both wings damaged, tail damaged, engines smoking, canopy shattered, instruments destroyed, fuel leaking, controls barely responsive.
He was 150 mi from England.
over occupied France.
German flack batteries below.
German fighters above.
The P-47 was losing altitude.
400 ft per minutes.
He’d hit ground 60 mi short of England.
But Johnson refused to quit.
He couldn’t bail out.
Canopy jammed.
Trying to exit through the shattered remains would kill him.
Better to fly as far as possible.
Johnson nursed the crippled P47 west.
He couldn’t maintain altitude.
Descended slowly 18,000 ft.
17,000.
The engine continued running.
Oil pressure dropping, temperature rising, but it ran.
The self-sealing tanks finally worked.
The leaks stopped.
Johnson still had fuel maybe 80 gallons, enough to reach coast if the engine held.
At 12,000 ft, he crossed the French coast.
English Channel.
Now water was cold.
Ditching meant death.
At 8,000 ft he saw England, white cliffs, green fields.
At 4,000 ft, he spotted his base.
Horscham St.
Faith.
He lowered landing gear.
Hydraulics damaged but functional.
Gear extended, locked.
He couldn’t lower flaps.
System destroyed.
Landing without flaps meant higher speed, 140 mph instead of 110.
He needed 4,000 ft of runway to stop.
Jansen lined up final approach.
The P47 was barely controllable, wanted to roll right.
He held full left aileron.
At 100 ft, the engine quit.
The Pratt and Whitney finally died.
No power, no thrust.
The P47 dropped.
Johnson pulled back.
Nose came up.
Aircraft settled onto runway.
Hard landing gear held.
The P47 rolled at 140 mph.
No engine, no brakes.
Hydraulics failed.
He couldn’t slow down.
End of runway approached.
The P47 rolled off the end at 60 mph.
Hit a drainage ditch.
Nose gear collapsed.
Aircraft stopped.
Johnson sat for 30 seconds.
alive, then climbed out.
The ground crew arrived, stared at the aircraft.
Crew Chief Technical Sergeant Joe Egan walked around twice, counted damage, 21 impact points where 20 mm shells hit, both wings shredded, tail barely attached, engine cowling gone, canopy destroyed, cockpit full of holes.
Egan looked at Johnson.
Sir, how did you fly this home? Johnson said it kept flying.
I just steered.
They towed the P47 to maintenance.
Engineering officer Captain William Haney conducted detailed assessment.
His report documented damage that should have been fatal.
Five direct hits to the engine.
The R2800 absorbed five 20 mm rounds and ran for 11 minutes.
That shouldn’t be possible, but radial engines have redundancy.
18 cylinders lose several engine keeps running.
Fuel tank damage was remarkable.
Both wings had multiple punctures.
Estimated fuel loss 180 g, but self-sealing tanks eventually closed the holes.
Rubber lining needed time.
4 minutes of leaking then sealed.
That 4-minute delay saved Johnson.
Structural damage was severe, but not catastrophic.
Wings lost 40% of surface area to holes.
Tail lost 60% of vertical stabilizer, but primary structure remained intact.
Main wing spars weren’t severed.
Fuselage structural members weren’t broken.
Republic Aviation built the P47 with massive strength margins.
Overengineered components designed for 12G loads experiencing 8G loads in combat.
That overengineering saved Johnson’s life.
Captain Haney’s report concluded that no other fighter could have survived.
A P-51 would have lost its liquid cooled engine after first hit.
Coolant system would fail.
Engine would seize in 90 seconds.
A Spitfire would have experienced structural failure.
Lighter airframe couldn’t absorb multiple 20mm hits.
An FW190 or BF-9 would have burned.
Their self-sealing tanks were less effective.
Only the P47 had the combination necessary to survive.
engine durability, structural strength, fuel tank protection.
The reports circulated throughout ETH Air Force pilots read it.
The aircraft they’d been mocking had just proven it could survive what would destroy anything else.
Attitudes changed overnight.
Pilots who’d requested transfers withdrew them.
The Thunderbolt became preferred aircraft for pilots who valued survival.
You couldn’t turn with German fighters in a P-47, but you could survive getting shot.
That mattered more.
Johnson became a celebrity.
He’d survived the unservivable.
Proven the aircraft’s capabilities.
Other pilots asked advice.
He gave them Zemp’s doctrine.
Never turn with Germans.
Use speed.
Use altitude.
Attack from advantage.
If you get hit, trust the aircraft.
It’ll bring you home.
By 1944, the P47 dominated as fighter bomber, not because of maneuverability, because of durability, firepower, and range.
The P47 could carry 2,500 lb of bombs plus 850 caliber guns.
Could escort bombers to Berlin and back, could survive flack that destroyed other aircraft.
Pilots trusted it.
That trust translated to effectiveness.
The Eighth Air Force flew 14234 35 combat sorties in Europe.
P47s flew 546,000 of them, more than any other type.
They destroyed 11,874 German aircraft, 9,000 locomotives, 86,000 railway cars, 6,000 armored vehicles.
The numbers told the story.
The aircraft everyone mocked became the weapon the Luwaffa feared most.
Jansen returned to United States in 1944.
Completed combat tour, 91 missions, 28 kills, zero missions aborted due to aircraft failure.
The P47 never let him down.
He spent rest of war training new pilots, teaching tactics that kept him alive.
Boom and zoom.
Use speed.
Use altitude.
Trust the aircraft.
After the war, Johnson remained in Air Force Reserve.
retired as colonel in 1966, wrote memoir Thunderbolt, published 1958.
The book detailed his experiences and praised P47 engineering, spent decades speaking at aviation events, promoting the aircraft that saved his life.
Never flew anything but P47s when given choice.
Died the 27th of December, 1998, age 78.
Funeral at Arlington National Cemetery.
They flew a P47 over the ceremony.
Low pass missing man formation.
The sound of that Pratt and Whitney R2800 echoing across cemetery.
Same sound Johnson heard for 91 missions over Europe.
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