1945-1991 közötti időszak
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robgros #591 No problemo.
Frankfurt-Berlin Air Corridor: 1100, October 18, 1948
“Bogies, 12 o’clock low!” Lieutenant Russell Brown, USAF, watched the Soviet Yak-9s roll in from 20,000 feet, then make a diving head-on pass at the C-54 Skymaster. He was flying combat air patrol, leading the three other F-80s of Blue flight at 30,000 feet over the transport stream in the Frankfurt–Berlin air corridor.
Lieutenant Charlie “Boots” McCoy’s Texas drawl came through Brown’s headset. “Looks like Ivan’s in the mood to…” McCoy never finished his sentence. Bright sparks appeared on the C-54, then its left wing exploded into flames and snapped off, throwing the plane into a dive.
The Yaks split. The lead element, the one that fired on the C-54, pulled up and to the left of the descending F-80s. The trail element continued diving past the falling, spinning C-54, then started to pull up to the right.
Brown and McCoy, his wingman, went after the lead element, rolling left and diving. The F-80s were coming out of the sun. Before the Yaks realized they were there, Brown got off a 45 degree deflection shot at a closing velocity of around 900 knots. He knew it was not a high-percentage shot, but took it anyway, and so did McCoy.
The two Yaks were cold meat. They were watching the C-54 go in—there were no parachutes—and were not paying attention. Brown got the lead and McCoy got the wingman. Brown saw the engine of the leader burp a ball of flame as he shot past. McCoy saw the canopy come off the wingman. They zoomed back up. Over the radio, Blue 3 called: “Bandits 4 o’clock low, running for it.” Blue 3 was Lieutenant Ralph Gibson, Brown’s second element leader. He had been keeping track of the other Yaks, who had seen Brown and McCoy bounce their buddies and were now diving for the deck and running for the edge of the corridor.
Brown rolled inverted and started to go down after them, when he heard the call from the GCI (Ground Controlled Intercept) Fighter Controler: “Blue flight—break off! Break off!”
“Home Plate—they’ve splashed a C-54!”
GCI came back: “Break off, that’s an order!”
Reluctantly, Brown pulled up and continued around to the right, climbing back to 30,000 feet, and led Blue flight on to Berlin.
An hour later, Brown, McCoy, and the rest of Blue flight stood at attention in front of the desk of Colonel Royal N. Baker, commander of the 36th Fighter Group. Brown finished his report: “Those Yaks are supposed to be tough from behind, sir, but they’re not so tough from ahead.” He paused, then added: “We could have knocked down more.”
Colonel Baker looked hard at the lieutenant. “It’s a good thing you didn’t, that wasn’t just my order, it was General LeMay’s. And I have another order for you—from even higher up. Everything you just told me is secret. In fact, it’s beyond secret,” he continued. “Neither you nor Lieutenant McCoy can claim a kill. No press release, no stories at the Club—not a word, not to anyone, maybe not ever. Do you read me?”
Brown and the rest of Blue flight knew there was only one answer to that question, and it was a smart “Yes, Sir!” Softening, Baker continued: “Don’t worry, the Air Force knows what you did, and that’s going to have to be enough. Dismissed!”1
With that, a disappointed yet relieved Lieutenant Brown and his Blue flight officers saluted and left his Group Commander’s office, silenced by an official order that would remain in force until the end of the Cold War.2
It may have been bad luck or it may have been plain stupidity, but the action of that Yak pilot on a bright October day in 1948, caused a ripple effect that went thousands of miles beyond Berlin. A spark had been tossed into the powder magazine that was occupied Germany. The undeclared Cold War had just gone hot.
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