18th Fighter-Bomber Wing in Korea

Second Lieutenant MIKE DAVID - F-51 Mustangs Won't Float

Wonsan, North Korea, October, 1950

Those who have experienced the painful loss of dear friends in battle already know the feeling. Those who have not shall probably never know; for it is impossible to truly describe such heartfelt feelings.

....But I will once again try to relate some of the circumstances which enabled me, personally, to endure some of those feelings.

Because of the men I was priviliged to be associated with during my Korean air war experiences, I remain firmly convinced that valor and courage are not inborn, they are not hereditary; instead, they are the result of their then-current environment:

“WHEN YOU ARE SURROUNDED BY HEROES, IT IS DAMNED DIFFICULT
TO NOT PERFORM IN A COURAGEOUS MANNER!”

Undeniably, for me, Korea in 1950 and 1951 were vintage years for Courage, Valor and Heroism.

And, while I was serving with the 18th Fighter Group pilots of those old derelict F-51 Mustangs, I can proudly state that: ... I ate with heroes ... I drank with heroes, and to a certain extent, a part of me died with many of those heroes..

Perhaps the personal experience described below will help to explain what I mean....

Following the North Korean invasion of South Korea on Sunday morning, June 25, 1950, I had gone into Korea in mid-July 1950 with the first increment of volunteer fighter pilots from the US Air Force's 18th Fighter-Bomber Group, then stationed at Clark Field in the Philippine Islands.

Initially we were code-named the 'Dallas Project', then became the '51st Provisional Squadron, ultimately being redesignated the 12th Fighter-Bomber Squadron. As the full-time Squadron Intelligence Officer and part-time Combat Pilot, it didn't take me long to realize that our gallant, but feeble efforts, flying ten weary F-51 Mustangs from the dirt airstrip at Taegu, South Korea, were having little effect in slowing the North Korean's relentless offensive drive toward Pusan.

MIKE DAVID, Second Lieutenant and flying school classmate of 2nd Lt. Billie Crabtree, our Squadron's first wartime fatality, were close friends ... even their officer serial numbers were just one digit apart. They'd flown together during training, graduated at the same time, and had requested overseas assignments together... arriving at Clark Field, Philippines, in 1949.

Mike was devastated by Billie's death from hitting the ridge top in southwest Korea in late July, 1950, but he bravely continued flying his combat missions as if nothing was churning inside him. Who could know ... he never voiced his opinion to us about the fairness or unfairness of life, or the degree of his hatred for the North Koreans who were responsible for the death of his good friend. But Mike was turning out to be an aggressive young fighter pilot, and a good one. He wouldn't hesitate to go in on heavily-defended targets, and he consistently got good hits with his bombs and rockets.

By mid-October, 1950, Mike was leading elements, with newer Captains and Majors flying wing position on the young, "hot" Second Lieutenant. It was quite an honor for him, but he deserved it. It wouldn't be long before he would have a promotion to 1st Lieutenant.

During the third week of October, just before the Marines were to make an amphibious landing on the east coast, near the North Korean city of Wonsan, Mike was attacking targets along the coast near Hungnam when his airplane was hit in the engine by ground fire. He knew he had been hit, because he could see oil streaming up through the top of the cowling, and even though it was still running, he knew it would not be for long. He couldn't know how long the prop would continue to turn and, being a hundred miles behind enemy lines, he reasoned that his best chance for pick-up would be with the Navy flotilla steaming north; but it was still some fifty miles south and east of Wonsan ... with a lot of the Sea of Japan in between.

Mike headed out over the sea to intercept them, nursing his crippled Mustang as it gradually lost power and altitude. Mellow Control was alerted by radio, and they, in turn, notified the Navy, who was to arrange for a helicopter to be prepared for rescue.

If Mike could keep his F-51 airborne for another 15 minutes, the helicopter could meet him and be ready to pick him out of the water the instant that he ditched.

Despite the tenseness of the situation, things were beginning to fall into place; there was hope, after all. Seas were almost calm ... just very gentle, long swells; the skies were clear, and even the water temperature was a mild 57 degrees.

Mike David could see the Navy formation off on the distant horizon, as his engine finally sputtered and froze, but the helicopter was just four or five miles from a rendezvous. Since Mike still had almost five thousand feet of altitude remaining, he'd have an easy glide down to the smooth surface of the sea, and the helicopter could by then be overhead; a few more minutes and he'd "have it made..."

The sun was beating in thru the Mustang's clear plastic canopy, and with the silence of the dead engine Mike was undoubtedly reminded more of the quiet sensation of gliding with a jet engine.

His dead-stick glide brought him closer and closer to the vast watery expanse. Finally, turning slightly left to head more directly into the wind, he raised the Mustang's nose ever-so slightly, as if to flare for landing on a long paved runway.

Then, while the helicopter hovered several hundred yards off to the side, Mike touched gently onto the placid surface of the Sea of Japan. Instantaneously there was a great splash and spray of water as first the propeller hit, then the belly airscoop. As if in slow motion, the Mustang's nose dipped under the surface, and with the continuing momentum of it’s landing speed, the entire airplane slid immediately under the water.

From the air above, Mike could be seen trying vainly, and belatedly, to jettison his canopy. It was, by then, being held forcefully on by water pressure, and could not be budged. As the airplane settled deeper into the sea, it's silvery outline was quickly changed to a darker and darker tone of blue-green. Soon it was gone from sight, and all that remained on the surface was an oil-slick to mark it's passing.

Young Mike David died that day in late October, just as his good friend Billie Crabtree had died three months earlier. Mike was the 18th Group's sixteenth pilot fatality in just those three short months.

Mike's death served as a belated reminder of some things we "old timers" had heard 'way back when', but had perhaps neglected to emphasize to the newer pilots ... such as: "Don't ever attempt to ditch a Mustang, except as a last desperate resort!"

The position and depth of the belly scoop causes it to 'snag' the water early, causing the nose to pitch down before the craft has a chance to slow down. If there is no alternative, and ditching is absolutely necessary, then the theoretical (but unproved) "factory solution" was to dip a wing into the water and hit full opposite rudder at the exact instant that the plane touches the water. This, they hoped, would cause the ship to slip-slide sideways and have the water strike the slab-sided fuselage long enough to stop forward motion and allow the pilot to evacuate before the airplane sank ...just a matter of brief seconds. In all cases, however, it was vital to cinch seat belts and shoulder harness and jettison the canopy before hitting the water.

Was Mike David a Hero"?

He died before his 24th birthday, doing his dangerous duty the best way he knew how and, right up to that last instant, he'd done one helluva fine job. 'Damn but we were proud of the way that young fellow could hit the targets, and wasn't afraid to tackle the tough ones!'

Why in the hell did he have to 'screw up' during the trauma of his first-ever crash-landing into the ocean, and neglect to jettison his canopy before he hit?

There will never be an Air Force Base named after Mike, nor will there ever be a street dedicated in his honor, because Second Lieutenant Mike David was just one of the multitude of every-day " buck pilot fighter jocks" who went off to do his duty for his country on some unknown, far away shore, and didn't make it back. He, too, deserved much, much more!

Duane E. 'Bud' Biteman,
Lt. Col, USAF, Ret
‘...One of those Old, Bold Fighter Pilots’
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