CLIMB ANGELS TWO-FIVE - BUSTER!

History Denied And Then Forgotten Finally Recognized

The cloud cover was 500 feet above the freezing Sea of Japan on 18 November 1952. Visibility was estimated at two miles in blowing snow as a Siberian blizzard howled over the pitching, rolling ships of Task Force 77. The weather in the Sea of Japan had been marginal throughout the month of November, with flight operations cancelled on six of the previous 18 days. The fleet was far north of its usual operating position in the Sea of Japan off the east coast of Korea above the Main Line of Resistance, where the carrier air groups had responsibility for the interdiction of enemy movements and resupply over northeastern North Korean supply lines and storage areas, destruction of enemy troops, and air support of naval gunfire.

Seventh Fleet commander Vice Admiral J.J. “Jocko” Clark, one of the most aggressive senior admirals in the Navy, had pushed for months for the opportunity to hit the North Korean port of Hoeryong at the mouth of the Tumen River since taking command of the naval forces the previous May. With the exception of a limited strike in September, the admiral had run into opposition from his superiors with every request for further action, due to the fact that Vladivostok, the main Soviet naval base in the Pacific, was only some fifteen miles distant. Ever since the summer of 1951, the main point of United Nations and American strategy in the war was to keep it confined to Korea and end the war on the conditions which had existed prior to the outbreak of war on 25 June 1950, when North Korean forces invaded South Korea.

The possible chance of an international incident between U.S. and Soviet military units was high. Protracted failure in the peace talk negotiations at Panmunjom had finally led to approval by top commander General Mark Clark of a strike against Hoeryong, in hopes that this operation might be the one to provide the “tipping point” that would bring Chinese and North Korean negotiators back to the negotiating table and bring an end to the war.

Maximum-effort strikes had been flown on November 17 against Chongjin and the supply center at Kilchu, with strikes flown against Hoeryong. the morning of November 18. The Hoeryong mission was difficult, since the aircraft could only approach their targets in the port by circling around the city to the south and then to the west, to attack on an easterly heading, staying just south of the river, so they would exit their bomb runs heading away from the Soviet base in an effort to insure they stayed out of “neutral” Soviet airspace. As they made their attacks, the pilots could see the silver MiG-15 fighters on the runway of the Vladivostok air base, and several reported seeing Soviet jets airborne over Soviet territory.

The pilots of the task force were unaware that the heavy cruiser USS Helena (CA-75) was host to a special team of Russian linguists of the new and then-unknown National Security Agency. Their task was to monitor Soviet radio broadcasts, to provide warning of any Soviet response to the American air strikes. At 1340 hours, the linguists in Helena’s radio room intercepted conversations between Soviet ground controllers and a group of Soviet Navy MiG-15s that had just taken off. A minute later, Helena’s radar picked up seven “bogies” climbing through 12,000 feet on a southerly heading. Word was passed to the carriers. Radio warnings went out to the pilots of the Combat Air Patrol in their F9F Panthers patrolling above the clouds over the fleet.

USS Oriskany flight deck - November 18, 1952

Oriskany’s Air Group 102, which a year before had been the second Reserve Air Group to see action in Korea and was now a “regular” fleet air group, drew the assignment of launching a supplemental CAP, since their jet fighter squadron, VF-781 “Pacemakers,” was the first Navy fighter squadron in Korea equipped with the new F9F-5 Panther. While the F9F-5 utilized the Pratt & Whitney J-48, an engine based on the British Tay, which was a more powerful version of the Nene that powered the F9F-2 in its “Americanized” version as the J-42, this increase in power did not bring the “first generation” Panther into a competitive position vis-a-vis the “second generation” MiG-15. Still, every little bit might help in investigating what the Soviets were up to.

Lieutenant Claire Elwood was assigned as division leader with Lt(jg) John Middleton as wingman. Lieutenant E. Royce Williams was assigned as section leader with Lt(jg) Dave Rowlands as his wingman. Williams remembered that “None of us had ever flown together before. When the captain of the Oriskany decided to launch an extra Combat Air Patrol, our squadron commander gave it to the four of us because for various reasons we hadn’t been able to fly a lot recently. I hadn’t flown a mission in ten days after catching a cold until I went on the first strike against Hoeryong that morning.”

At 1350 hours, the flight deck crews began maneuvering the four Panthers across the icy deck into position for launch. Elwood and Middleton were positioned first, with their airplanes attached to the hydraulic catapults that would fling them into the air with just enough speed to stay airborne. In response to directions from the launch officer, the two pilots advanced their throttles to full power and stood on their brakes. The launch officer watched the pitching deck and gave the launch signal as the bow reached maximum down angle and began to rise. The two dark blue jets were catapulted in quick succession, going into the air at the maximum up angle and still dipping low over the grey seas as they tucked their gear and started to climb. Back on deck, Williams and Rowlands moved into position and soon followed Elwood and Middleton into the dark, stormy sky.

The four jets were quickly swallowed in the clouds as the pilots contended with snow flurries and did their best to maintain close enough formation to keep visual separation on each other without colliding. The Fighter Direction Officer’s voice crackled in their headphones: “Climb Angels Two-Five. Buster!” (“Climb to 25,000 feet, maximum performance”)

Noses high, the Panthers climbed under maximum power at 5,000 feet per minute. The FDO passed the information that the bogies were now 83 miles north, inbound.

After several minutes in the clouds, the sky brightened above. Suddenly, the Panthers popped out of the clouds into a clear deep blue sky at 12,000 feet. They continued their climb. As they passed through 16,000 feet, Williams spotted seven contrails far above, at 40,000 feet or more, and called the bogies. A moment later, his sharp eyes caught the sun flash on the shiny swept-wing MiG-15s flying abreast each other, each wearing the red star of the Soviet Union on their flank as contrails spread behind them. “I flipped on my gunsight and fired a burst to test my guns,” he recalled. At that moment, division leader Elwood reported his fuel pump warning light had come on. The FDO directed him to break off and report overhead Oriskany. Elwood passed lead to Williams as he and his wingman Middleton turned away and dived toward the clouds.

“We were just going through 26,000 feet when the Russians split up and dove out of the contrail layer,” Williams remembered. “The first ones came at us from the right side in a four-plane formation and opened fire. I pulled into a hard climbing left turn and came around on the Number Four MiG. I fired a burst and hit him solidly in the rear fuselage. He went down smoking, and my wingman then followed him, leaving me alone.” Williams, now alone, faced six Soviet fighters.

The three remaining MiGs of the first group easily accelerated away from the Panther and climbed to position themselves for another firing run. Williams saw their left wings come up as they reversed course. “They had me cold on maneuverability and acceleration - the MiG was vastly superior on those counts to the F9F. The only thing I could do was out-turn them.” He managed to cut loose a burst of fire as the MiGs flashed past, but failed to score any hits.

As the first three pulled away again, the other three joined in. Williams sweated as he reversed, jinked and rolled to get away from each firing run. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a MiG locked on his six o'clock. Pulling the stick back into his gut, he threw it against his right leg as he stomped right rudder and executed a very hard wings-vertical right turn with contrails spinning off his wingtip fuel tanks. The MiG flashed past his tail.

In the rush of adrenaline, the fight seemed like it had been going on for an hour. The enemy formations became ragged and Williams got several opportunities to track an individual MiG as the pilot bored in to attack. Some rounds seemed to hit, but he couldn’t follow up as he stomped rudder and slammed ailerons to keep his six o'clock clear. “I was firing at every MiG that passed within gun range as they came by.”

Turn. Turn again. Not a second spent straight and level. Fire a quick burst to throw off their aim. Turn some more. Then again.

“Finally, the leader and his wingman went off to the right and I went after the section leader of the plane I’d shot down. He pulled up into the sun and I lost him, then I saw the leader and his wingman come around for a diving attack. I turned into them and fired at the leader. He turned away and the wingman rolled down on me and we went past belly-to-belly as I raked him with a long burst. He caught fire and went down. The section leader then came around and I turned into him and fired at him practically point-blank and he went down. The Leader then came around again and I fired and parts came off him as he dove away.”

The fight wasn’t over.

“As I maneuvered to avoid the wreckage, I porpoised to try and clear my tail. I was tracking another wounded MIG when I suddenly spotted one of the other two as he slid in on my six. He fired a burst with his 37mm cannon and hit me in the wing. The shell went into the engine area and messed up the hydraulic unit in the accessory section. I suddenly lost rudder and flaps and only had partial aileron control. The only thing that really worked were the elevators. I dove toward the cloud deck below at 13,000 feet, and he was 500 feet behind me and still shooting all the way down. It seemed like it was taking forever to drop that 10,000 feet! My wingman finally got back in the fight and came in on the MiG and he pulled away as I went into the clouds.”

Williams fought to control the Panther, hoping he could pull out of the dive. “I came out of the clouds at around 400 feet. I was way too low to eject - you had to be above 1,200 feet and in a climb to successfully eject from a Panther - so I was stuck with staying in the airplane, like it or not. I soon discovered it was uncontrollable below 170 knots, so I had to maintain high speed regardless.”

As he passed over the fleet a few hundred feet above the freezing ocean, several escorting destroyers opened fire as he flashed past. “Fortunately, I was low enough and fast enough they didn’t have a chance to really aim, so nobody hit me.”

Aboard Oriskany, the deck was ordered cleared for what was obviously going to be a crash landing. “I told them I couldn’t fly slower than 170 knots and I could see the ship visibly speed up as she turned into the wind.” Williams set himself up on final approach; the carrier was taking spray over the bow as the stern rose and fell through a twenty-foot arc. “I didn’t want to ditch, because I wasn’t sure I could make a successful ditching, and that water was cold enough I knew I wouldn’t last ten minutes even in my poopy suit.”

The F9F’s normal landing speed was 105 knots. Williams kept the bucking Panther under control and made a straight-in approach at 170 knots. “The Oriskany’s captain headed the ship just away from the wind, which gave me the opportunity to come aboard.” Williams slid his canopy open and flew a “Roger pass” with the Landing Signal Officer holding his paddles straight out to either side. The flight deck bottomed out and started back up just as the LSO gave the cut. “I caught the three wire and shut her down.”

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Williams climbed out of the riddled jet and was surprised he’d made it back when he saw the damage. “They counted 263 holes in the airplane, mostly from 23mm hits and some 37mm hits, including the one in the wing that went into the engine accessory section. If it had been six inches forward, it would have hit the spar and blown my wing off. Eight inches to the rear and it would have blown up the engine. I had fired off all 760 rounds of 20mm I had aboard. I wouldn’t have had a chance if I hadn’t been armed with those cannons.”

After the airedales pulled everything of value from F9F-5 BuNo 125459, the broken carcass was heaved overboard, where it disappeared into the dark sea.

In the fight of his life, Royce Williams had accomplished what no other American fighter pilot would ever accomplish: shoot down four MiG-15s in one fight. Given that the F9F-5 Panther was outclassed and outperformed on all points - speed, maneuverability and firepower - by the MiG-15, which was nearly 100 mph faster and had a superior thrust-to-weight ratio, it was truly a performance for the record books.

Oriskany departed her station and arrived in Yokosuka the following week. There, Williams received orders to report to Vice Admiral Robert P. Briscoe, Commander Naval Forces Far East. Admiral Briscoe informed Williams about the National Security Agency team aboard Helena. There was no way Williams’ fight could be publicized, since there was too much chance the Soviets would discover how they had been spotted.

There was real fear at the highest levels of the US government and UN command that such an “incident” could change the Korean “police action” into World War III. Never mind that Air Force pilots 100 miles to the west were fighting Russian “volunteers” flying MiG-15s with North Korean markings in “MiG Alley,” Williams’ nose-to-nose fight had directly pitted the two great Cold War adversaries against each other. So far as the United States Navy was concerned, the fight had never happened.

After ordering Williams to tell no one, Admiral Briscoe informed him the NSA team had proof from recorded radio transmissions that he had gotten at least three of the MiGs, while the fourth had crashed in Siberia. Unfortunately, the gun camera footage had been “edited” aboard Oriskany, leaving only a portion showing two MiGs hit solidly.

Naval commanders ordered a version of the mission created that became the official account as found in the Oriskany and Air Group 102 Action Reports, though it had little connection with the facts: Williams was credited with one kill and a probable/damaged while Lt(jg) John Middleton, wingman to Division leader Elwood who had never been anywhere near the fight, was credited with a kill on the basis that, at the end of the 35 minute fight, he been vectored toward a descending MIG whose pilot had ejected when Middleton approached it and fired a burst from out of range. Both pilots were awarded the Silver Star for their “accomplishments.” Dave Rowlands, who never fired a shot in the entire fight, was awarded a probable and the Distinguished Flying Cross.

The history books have told the story that way ever since.

Except now they won’t.

After a long campaign by those of us who believed Royce’s historic and heroic story should be part of the history of the United States Navy, and of the United States, on January 20, 2023, at the San Diego Air and Space Museum, the Admiral commanding the 11th Naval District will award my friend, 97 year old Captain Royce Williams, USN (Ret), the Navy Cross, the highest award for military valor after the Medal of Honor. The Navy will officially admit (after going so far as to remove the USS Oriskany Monthly Report for November 1952 - which gives the official cover story - from the records at the Navy History and Heritage Command) that the incident happened and that a Naval Aviator holds the record for the most MiGs shot down in one fight.

Better late than never.

You can support That’s Another Fine Mess with your paid subscription for only $7/month or $70/year, saving $14.

Comments are for paid subscribers.