They Mocked His “Modified” M1911 Pistol — Until 35 Germans Couldn’t Stop Him

At 11:02 on April 9th, 1944, Lieutenant Colonel David Schilling banked his P-47 Thunderbolt hard left over German-occupied France, watching his entire fighter group disappear into cloud cover 2,000 ft below. 25 years old, 52 combat missions, six aerial victories. 30 to 35 German fighters were climbing toward the American bomber formation 3 miles ahead.

 Schilling glanced at his wingman’s P-47, 500 yd off his right wing. Two American fighters against more than 30 Germans. The arithmetic was simple. The decision was not. 3 months earlier, his squadron mates had laughed at the pistol he carried in his shoulder holster. Schilling had taken a standard M1911 Colt .45 and welded three magazines together.

 21 rounds instead of seven. He added a forward hand grip from a Thompson submachine gun, modified the action for automatic fire. His commanding officer, Colonel Hubert Zemke, had called it his latest engineering gadget. The other pilots called it Frankenstein’s pistol. Schilling’s answer was always the same. If he went down behind enemy lines, he wanted every advantage.

 No German patrol would expect 21 rounds from a handgun. No German would expect automatic fire. That mindset defined everything about David Schilling. He graduated Dartmouth with a geology degree in 1939, joined the Army Air Corps 3 months later, arrived in England with the 56th Fighter Group in January 1943 as commander of the 62nd Fighter Squadron.

 First kill came October 2nd, 1943, a Messerschmitt Bf 109 over occupied France. The 56th Fighter Group flew P-47 Thunderbolts, 7 tons of American steel and firepower. Eight .50 caliber machine guns could take punishment that would shred a German fighter. But the Luftwaffe pilots were experienced, aggressive, deadly.

 By early April 1944, the 56th had lost 17 P-47s in combat. 11 pilots killed, six captured. The group’s first ace, Major Walker Mahurin, had been shot down over France on March 27th. He survived, evaded capture, but his loss hurt morale. Fighter escort missions over Germany were brutal.

 German fighters attacked in formation. 30 to 40 aircraft at once. Focke-Wulf 190s, Messerschmitt 109s, fast, maneuverable, flown by pilots with hundreds of combat hours. American bomber crews called the German fighters wolves. They hunted in packs, coordinated attacks, hit the bombers from multiple angles simultaneously. A single B-17 could withstand enormous damage, but concentrated fire from six German fighters could shred a Flying Fortress in seconds.

The P-47s were there to stop that. Break up the German formations before they reach the bombers. Force the Germans to fight the escorts instead of attacking the heavies. But on April 9th, Schilling’s group had scattered in the clouds. Radio discipline broke down. Formations split apart.

 And now Schilling was alone with one wingman, watching a massive German formation climb toward undefended American bombers. Every instinct told him to break off, find his group, reform the escort. But the bombers had maybe 3 minutes before the Germans reached them. 3 minutes before 800 American air crew faced 35 German fighters without protection.

If you want to see how Schilling’s decision turned out, please hit that like button. It helps us share more forgotten stories from World War II. Subscribe if you haven’t already. Back to Schilling. Schilling checked his airspeed. 320 mph, altitude 22,000 ft. The German formation was climbing through 18,000.

 His wingman held position, waiting for orders. Schilling armed his guns, eight 50 calibers, 400 rounds per gun, and somewhere in his cockpit, strapped in his shoulder holster, a Frankenstein pistol with 21 rounds that might never matter at all. He pushed the throttle forward and rolled into a dive toward 35 German fighters. The German formation spotted them at 19,000 ft.

 Schilling counted the enemy aircraft as he dove. 18 Messerschmitt Bf 109s in the lead element, 17 Focke-Wulf 190s behind them. They were climbing in a standard Luftwaffe attack pattern. The 109s would engage the escorts, the 190s would hit the bombers. Schilling aimed for the lead 109. Standard fighter tactics said to never attack head-on.

 Too much closing speed, too little time to aim. But standard tactics assumed you had wingmen, support, numbers. Schilling had one wingman and 30 seconds before the Germans reached the bombers. He opened fire at 800 yards. The eight 50 caliber shredded the air. Tracer rounds arced toward the German formation. The lead 109 broke left. Two more broke right.

The formation scattered. That was the goal, break their attack run, force them to fight instead of hitting the bombers. The Germans reformed fast, professional pilots, experienced. They recognized the American tactic immediately. Four 109s peeled off to engage Schilling. Six more went after his wingman.

 The rest continued toward the bombers. Schilling rolled inverted and pulled through. The P-47 could dive faster than any German fighter. He dropped 4,000 ft in 12 seconds, leveled out at 15,000, pulled six Gs. His vision tunneled, blood drained from his head. But the Thunderbolt stayed together. One Bf 109 followed him down. The German pilot was good.

 Stayed on Schilling’s tail through the dive. Opened fire at 600 yards. Cannon shells exploded around Schilling’s cockpit. 20-mm rounds. Larger than American 50-calibre. Deadlier. Schilling broke hard right. The 109 overshot. For 3 seconds the German was directly ahead. Perfect firing solution. Schilling squeezed the trigger. All eight guns fired simultaneously.

400 rounds per second combined. The 109’s engine exploded. Black smoke poured from the cowling. The canopy separated. The pilot bailed out at 14,000 feet. One down. Then Schilling’s cockpit disintegrated. Metal fragments from the destroyed 109 hit his P-47 at closing speed. Pieces of German aircraft punched through his windscreen.

Something struck his right wing. The Thunderbolt shuddered. Oil pressure dropped. Coolant temperature spiked. Another 109 was on him. Schilling pulled up into clouds at 12,000 feet. Lost visual contact. His engine was running rough. Temperature climbing past limits. He had maybe 10 minutes before catastrophic failure.

 The radio crackled. His wingman’s voice. Under attack. Four Germans. Schilling broke through the cloud layer. Saw his wingman 3 miles east. Surrounded. Schilling pushed his damaged Thunderbolt toward the fight. Engine temperature hit redline. The airplane was dying. But his wingman was alone. He reached the fight at 11:18.

 Fired on a 109 attacking his wingman from above. Missed. The German broke off. Schilling’s engine began trailing smoke. White at first. Then black. Fire warning light illuminated. His wingman shot down one German. The others scattered. The two Americans turned west toward England, toward safety, 280 mi away. Schilling’s oil pressure hit zero at 11:24.

Engine temperature exceeded maximum limits. The P-47’s massive Pratt & Whitney radial was cooking itself to death. But it kept running, kept pushing the 7-ton fighter toward the English Channel. They crossed into Allied airspace at 11:41. Schilling’s engine seized completely at 11:47.

 He glided the dead Thunderbolt toward an emergency strip near the coast. Touchdown with no power, no hydraulics. The landing gear collapsed on rollout. Schilling walked away. His wingman landed safely 10 minutes later. Two American fighters had engaged 35 Germans, disrupted their attack, shot down one confirmed, possibly damaged three more, saved an entire bomber formation.

 The Distinguished Service Cross citation would arrive 6 weeks later. But that night, Schilling sat in the officers’ club with his Frankenstein pistol still in its holster, knowing he had 8 months left in his combat tour, and the Luftwaffe wasn’t getting any weaker. The Distinguished Service Cross arrived in May 1944. Schilling pinned it to his uniform and flew another combat mission the same afternoon. 26 years old by then.

Promoted to group executive officer in August 1943. Now second in command of the deadliest fighter group in the Eighth Air Force. The 56th Fighter Group destroyed more enemy aircraft than any other American fighter unit in Europe. By summer 1944, the group had shot down over 400 German planes. Colonel Hubert Zemke commanded.

Schilling ran daily operations. Together, they built a unit that German pilots learned to fear. Zemke called the group the Wolfpack. Aggressive tactics, coordinated attacks, no defensive flying. When German fighters appeared, the 56th attacked first. Always. Schilling fit that philosophy perfectly.

 He spent every spare hour modifying equipment, improving tactics, testing new approaches. His modified pistol was just one example. He also redesigned gun sight adjustments, tested different ammunition loading patterns, experimented with fuel tank configurations. Other pilots called him the gadget man. Zemke said David was up to some engineering gadget all the time, but those gadgets saved lives.

 Schilling’s fuel tank modifications extended P-47 range by 40 mi. His ammunition loading pattern reduced gun jams by 15%. Small improvements, but in combat, 15% fewer jams meant 15% more German fighters shot down. On August 12th, 1944, Zemke transferred to command the 479th Fighter Group. Schilling took command of the 56th.

 25 years old, Lieutenant Colonel, commanding 120 pilots and 75 P-47 Thunderbolts. He was promoted to full Colonel on October 1st, 1944, age 25 years, 9 months. One of the youngest full Colonels in the Army Air Forces. By then, he was flying a P-47 coded LMS, personal aircraft. Painted with distinctive shark teeth on the cowling, red nose band, unique artwork on the port side, a cartoon character called Hairless Joe from the Dog Patch comics, club wielding, aggressive.

The nickname fit both the aircraft and the pilot. Schilling flew Hairless Joe on every mission after July 1944. The ground crew maintained it like a race car. Every system checked twice, every gun bore cleaned after each flight, oil changed every 10 hours. The P-47 became an extension of Schilling himself. His victory tally climbed.

 Two Focke-Wulf 190s on September 21st, one Messerschmitt 109 on October 4th, another 109 on November 2nd. By December, he had 17 and 1/2 aerial victories, making him the third ranking ace in the 56th Fighter Group, behind only Francis Gabreski and Robert Johnson. But December brought something unexpected.

 On the 16th, German forces launched a massive offensive through the Ardennes forest. 200,000 German troops, 12 Panzer divisions, the largest German attack since 1940. Americans called it the Battle of the Bulge. Weather grounded most Allied aircraft for the first week. Heavy fog, snow, cloud cover down to 500 ft. German forces advanced 40 miles in 6 days.

American ground troops fought desperate defensive actions, but without air support, they were badly outnumbered. The 56th Fighter Group sat at Boxted Airfield in England. Schilling watched the weather reports, watched German forces push deeper into Belgium, watched American casualties mount, and couldn’t fly.

Fog covered the English Channel. Clouds blanketed France. Visibility was less than 1 mile across most of Europe. The Germans had planned their offensive around the weather. They knew Allied air superiority would crush them in clear skies. For 7 days, the weather held. German forces reached within 4 miles of the Meuse River.

 Another breakthrough would split the Allied armies, possibly force a negotiated peace. Then, on December 22nd, meteorologists detected a high pressure system moving south from Russia. Cold air, clear skies. The weather would break on December 23rd. Schilling called his squadron commanders together that evening.

 Briefing at 0500 hours. Target, German fighters supporting the the offensive. Expected enemy strength, over 100 aircraft. The largest air battle of the winter was coming, and Schilling intended to lead it personally in Hairless Joe. At 06:15 on December 23rd, 1944, the fog lifted over Boxted Airfield, first time in 7 days.

 Ground crews had worked through the night preparing aircraft. Every P-47 in the 56th Fighter Group was armed, fueled, and ready. Schilling walked to Hairless Joe in full flight gear. Temperature was 28° F, clear skies, visibility unlimited, perfect flying weather, perfect killing weather. The mission briefing had been direct. German fighters were providing cover for panzer columns pushing toward the Meuse River.

 Luftwaffe had concentrated everything they had left. Fighter units pulled from airfield defense, training squadrons sent into combat, even night fighter units were flying daylight missions. Intelligence estimated between 100 and 150 German aircraft would be airborne over the Bulge. Messerschmitt Bf 109s, Focke-Wulf 190s, some Messerschmitt 410 twin-engine destroyers.

 The largest concentration of Luftwaffe fighters since D-Day. The 56th would fly with three other P-47 groups, 160 American Thunderbolts total. Their job was simple, find the Germans, destroy them, protect the bombers hitting German supply lines. Schilling climbed into Hairless Joe’s cockpit at 06:42, strapped in, checked instruments, oil pressure good, fuel full, all eight guns loaded, 400 rounds per gun, 3,200 rounds total.

 He started the engine at 06:48. The massive Pratt & Whitney radial coughed once, twice, then roared to life, 2,000 horsepower shaking the airframe. Schilling let it warm up for 3 minutes. Checked magnetos, propeller pitch, everything normal. The 56th took off in flights of four, 64 P-47s total.

 They formed up over the airfield at 8,000 ft, then turned southeast toward Belgium, toward the bulge, toward the largest air battle Schilling had ever seen. They crossed the English Channel at 07:23. France appeared below, snow-covered fields, frozen rivers, roads packed with military vehicles moving toward the front.

 At 07:51, they crossed into Belgium. Schilling could see smoke from ground fighting 30 miles ahead. Artillery fire, burning vehicles. The bulge was a clearly visible bulge on the landscape below. German forces had pushed a massive salient into Allied lines. The radio crackled at 08:04. Multiple bogies, bearing 120, angels 22. Fighter command estimated 40 plus contacts.

Schilling banked right. The 56th followed. 64 P-47s turning toward combat. He climbed to 24,000 ft. Altitude advantage. Always take the high ground in a fighter engagement. At 08:11, he saw them. German fighters, not 40, more like 80, maybe 90. A massive formation stretching 5 miles across the sky.

 Bf 109s in front, Fw 190s behind, all heading southwest toward American bomber formations. This wasn’t a fighter sweep. This was a coordinated Luftwaffe offensive. Every available German aircraft thrown at the Allied Air Forces, a desperate attempt to regain air superiority over the battlefield. Schilling checked his formation.

 All 64 P-47s were with him. He looked at the German formation again. 80 to 90 aircraft against his 64. Better odds than 9 months ago. Much better than April 9th when it was two against 35. He armed his guns, checked altitude, 24,000 ft. Germans were at 22,000. Schilling had the height advantage. The sun was behind him. Tactical advantage.

The Germans hadn’t seen them yet. Still climbing, still focused on reaching the bombers. Schilling rolled Hairless Joe inverted, pulled the stick back, started his dive. Behind him, 63 P-47 Thunderbolts followed their commander into the largest air battle of December 1944. The Germans saw them at 08:13. Too late.

The Wolfpack was already diving. Already committed. Already bringing eight .50 caliber guns per aircraft toward the German formation. 512 .50 caliber machine guns were about to open fire simultaneously. Schilling opened fire at 1,000 yd. Eight .50s. Tracer rounds streaked toward a Messerschmitt Bf 109 climbing through 21,000 ft.

The German pilot never saw him coming. Rounds stitched across the 109’s wing root. Fuel tank exploded. The aircraft disintegrated in midair. One down. 08:14. The sky erupted into chaos. 64 P-47s hit the German formation from above. Luftwaffe fighters scattered. Some dove. Some turned into the attack.

 Most just tried to survive the initial onslaught. Schilling pulled through his dive at 19,000 ft. 6 G load. Vision tunneled. Blood drained from his head. But he stayed conscious. Found another target. Focke-Wulf 190 at his 11:00, 1 mile out. The 190 was turning hard left trying to get behind a P-47.

 Standard Luftwaffe tactic. Get on the Americans’ tail, use superior maneuverability. But the Thunderbolt pilot saw him coming, rolled inverted, dove away. The P-47 could out-dive anything the Germans had. That left the 190 exposed. Schilling closed to 600 yards, opened fire. The 190’s canopy shattered, pilot slumped forward.

 Aircraft rolled inverted and began a death spiral toward the ground below. Two down. 08:16. All around him aircraft were fighting, diving, climbing, firing. P-47s against Bf 109s against Fw 190s. Contrails marked every turn. Tracers marked every burst. Black smoke marked every kill. Schilling counted at least 12 German aircraft already destroyed.

Three P-47s were damaged and heading home. One Thunderbolt was trailing heavy smoke but still flying. The odds were shifting toward the Americans. But the Germans weren’t retreating. They were fighting harder, more desperately. This wasn’t a normal combat patrol. This was everything the Luftwaffe had left. Every pilot, every aircraft, thrown into one massive battle.

A Bf 109 crossed in front of Schilling at 500 yards. Perfect deflection shot. He led the target, squeezed the trigger. All eight guns fired. The 109’s engine exploded. Pilot bailed out immediately. Parachute deployed at 18,000 feet. Three down. 08:19. Schilling’s tactical awareness was absolute.

 He tracked friendly aircraft, enemy positions, altitude, air speed, ammunition remaining. Three kills meant approximately 900 rounds fired. 2,300 rounds remaining. Enough for six more engagements at current rate. Another 190 appeared at his 2:00 high, diving toward a damaged P-47 below. Schilling pulled up hard, climbed 1,000 ft in 8 seconds, rolled inverted, dove onto the 190’s tail.

 The German pilot was focused on the damaged Thunderbolt, didn’t see Schilling behind him, didn’t see the 850s tracking his aircraft, didn’t see the tracers until they were already hitting. Schilling fired a 3-second burst. Rounds hit the 190’s fuselage just behind the cockpit. The aircraft broke apart in two pieces. Front half tumbled forward, rear half fell away spinning. Four down. 08:21.

7 minutes of combat, four confirmed kills. Schilling’s score jumped from 17 and 1/2 to 21 and 1/2 victories. Three and 1/2 away from matching Robert Johnson’s 27. Four and 1/2 away from matching Francis Gabreski’s 28. But the fight wasn’t over. Schilling looked around, counted aircraft. Still 30 to 40 German fighters airborne, still fighting, still [snorts] dangerous.

 His radio crackled. One of his squadron commanders reported a massive dogfight 5 miles southwest. Another 40 German aircraft engaging P-47s from another group. This wasn’t one battle. This was multiple engagements across 50 square miles of sky. Schilling checked his fuel, half full. Enough for another 20 minutes of combat.

 His ammunition was down to 2,300 rounds, still plenty. He spotted another 190 at his 10:00, 2,000 yards out, turning toward a group of P-47s. Schilling pushed the throttle forward. Hairless Joe accelerated toward the fifth kill of the day. The Focke-Wulf 190 was diving toward three P-47s in a tight formation. German pilot was good, positioned himself perfectly, high 6:00, closing fast.

 The Americans hadn’t seen him yet. Schilling dove steeper. Hairless Joe accelerated past 400 mph. The airframe shook, control surfaces stiffened, but the P-47 stayed together, built like a tank, could handle punishment and speed that would tear apart a lighter fighter. He closed to 800 yd, still too far for accurate fire.

The 190 opened fire on the lead P-47. 20-mm cannon shells. Schilling saw tracers arc toward the American formation, 600 yd. Schilling centered the 190 in his gunsight, led the target. The German was in a 30° dive. Schilling adjusted for deflection, for airspeed, for gravity drop. He fired all eight guns, 3-second burst, roughly 240 rounds total.

 The 190’s left wing separated at the root, clean break. The aircraft snap rolled right. Pilot tried to recover, couldn’t. The 190 entered a flat spin, descended through 17,000 ft, 16,000, 15,000. The pilot finally bailed out at 14,000 ft. Five down. 0824, Schilling was now an ace in a day. Only 38 Army Air Force pilots achieved that status during the entire war.

 Five aerial victories in a single mission, the rarest achievement in fighter combat. His total score was 22 and a half, sixth ranking ace in the Eighth Air Force, fourth ranking ace still flying combat missions. Gabreski and Johnson had completed their tours. Only two active pilots had more victories than Schilling now, but he wasn’t thinking about records.

 He was thinking about fuel, down to 40%, ammunition at 1,800 rounds, 20 minutes of combat time remaining at most. The German formation was breaking up. Luftwaffe fighters were retreating east back toward their bases in Germany. The Americans had won this engagement decisively. Schilling counted wrecks on the ground below.

 Saw at least 23 impact craters, mix of German and American aircraft, black smoke rising from each impact point. Some pilots had bailed out. Most hadn’t. High-speed impacts at low altitude gave no time for escape. His radio crackled. Squadron commanders reporting in. 61st Fighter Squadron claimed 11 kills. 62nd Fighter Squadron claimed 13. 63rd Fighter Squadron claimed eight.

Total 32 confirmed German aircraft destroyed. 32 kills in one mission. The 56th Fighter Group’s best single day total of the war. And that brought the group’s overall score to 807 enemy aircraft destroyed. Air and ground combined. First American fighter group in the European theater to exceed 800 kills. Historic milestone.

Schilling called for formation. The surviving P-47s assembled at 20,000 ft. He counted aircraft. 58 Thunderbolts formed up. Six were missing. Three had been shot down. Three had turned back damaged but were still flying. The formation turned northwest toward England, toward Boxted airfield, toward debriefing and maintenance and hot food and sleep.

Schilling’s hands were shaking on the stick, adrenaline wearing off. Nine minutes of pure combat, five kills, 22 and a half total. Second Distinguished Service Cross earned. Though he wouldn’t know that until the citation arrived weeks later. They crossed the English Channel at 09:15. White Cliffs of Dover appeared ahead.

Boxted airfield was 40 miles northwest. Schilling led the formation down through 8,000 ft, 6,000, 4,000. He landed at 09:38. Hairless Joe touched down smooth despite having fired over 1,400 rounds and pulled multiple high-G maneuvers. Ground crew counted hits. Found three small-caliber bullet holes in the left wing, probably machine-gun fire from a 109, nothing serious.

Schilling climbed out of the cockpit, walked to the debriefing room, sat down with intelligence officers, reported five confirmed kills, times, locations, aircraft types, witnesses for each engagement. The intelligence officer wrote it all down, then looked up and said, “Congratulations.” Schilling was officially an ace in a day, one of 38, one of the rarest achievements in American military aviation.

 Schilling nodded, asked about the three pilots who went down. Intelligence had no information yet. Search and rescue was looking. Two had been seen bailing out. The third went down with his aircraft. Schilling walked to the officers’ club. December 23rd, eight months remained in his combat tour, and the Luftwaffe still had fighters left.

Schilling flew his last combat mission on January 5th, 1945. Hairless Joe carried him over Germany one final time. No enemy contact. The Luftwaffe was finished. Fuel stocks exhausted, experienced pilots dead or captured, training programs collapsed. He relinquished command of the 56th Fighter Group on January 27th, 26 years old, full colonel, 132 combat missions, 22 and 1/2 aerial victories, two Distinguished Service Crosses, eight Distinguished Flying Crosses, 19 Air Medals. The 56th had destroyed 677 enemy

aircraft in aerial combat under his and Zemke’s leadership, more than any other fighter group in the Eighth Air Force. The Wolfpack had earned its reputation. Germany surrendered May 8th, 1945. Schilling returned to the United States. Most combat pilots left the service, went home, started families, found civilian careers, tried to forget the war.

Schilling stayed in. The Army Air Forces became the United States Air Force in September 1947. Schilling stayed in. Fighter aviation was changing. Propeller aircraft were obsolete. Jet engines were the future. In 1948, Schilling took command of the 56th Fighter Group again. But now they flew Lockheed P-80 Shooting Stars, America’s first operational jet fighter.

 460 mph, faster than any propeller aircraft that ever flew. That summer, the Soviet Union blockaded West Berlin, cut off all ground access. 2 and 1/2 million civilians trapped. The United States responded with Operation Vittles, the Berlin Airlift. Supply planes flew around the clock, but the airlift needed protection.

 Schilling led the 56th Fighter Group to Germany in July 1948. Show of force. Demonstration that American jets could deploy anywhere, fast. The mission was called Fox Able. First mass deployment of jet fighters across the Atlantic, but they flew the jets by ship. Loaded them in cargo holds, sailed across. Too far to fly.

 Jets had limited range, no aerial refueling capability yet. Schilling looked at that problem and saw an engineering challenge. Same mindset that created his Frankenstein pistol. Same approach that modified fuel tanks and ammunition loading patterns. Jets could cross the Atlantic, they just needed refueling. In 1950, the British had developed probe and drogue aerial refueling.

 A tanker aircraft trailed a hose. Fighter aircraft extended a probe, connected in flight, transferred fuel. But no one had tried it on a transatlantic crossing. Schilling volunteered, planned the mission himself. Three refueling points, one over Scotland, one over Iceland, one over Labrador. Three different tanker aircraft, Lancaster bomber, Lincoln bomber, KB-29 Superfortress.

 On September 22nd, 1950, Schilling took off from Royal Air Force Manston in an F-84E Thunderjet. Colonel William Ritchie flew another F-84E. Both aircraft headed west over the Atlantic Ocean. First refueling went perfectly. Lancaster tanker over Prestwick, Scotland. Schilling connected, transferred fuel, disconnected, continued west.

 Second refueling over Iceland. Lincoln tanker. Connection successful. Fuel transfer complete. Ritchie’s probe was damaged during this refueling. Small crack in the connection fitting, but he continued. Third refueling offshore from Labrador. KB-29 tanker. Schilling connected. No problems. Ritchie tried to connect.

 His damaged probe wouldn’t seal. Fuel leaked. He couldn’t complete the transfer. Ritchie ran out of fuel over Labrador, ejected at 12,000 ft, landed safely, recovered by search and rescue within 2 hours. Schilling continued alone. His refueling had worked perfectly. All three connections successful. He flew across Canada, across Maine, descended toward Limestone Air Force Base.

 10 hours and 8 minutes after takeoff from England, Schilling touched down in Maine. First nonstop transatlantic flight by a jet fighter. Historic achievement. He received the Harmon Trophy in 1951, international award for outstanding achievement in aeronautics. The trophy joined his two Distinguished Service Crosses, his eight Distinguished Flying Crosses, his 19 Air Medals.

In 1952, Schilling led another pioneering flight, Fox Peter 1, first nonstop jet crossing of the Pacific Ocean. England to Japan via aerial refueling. Another success, another first. The Air Force Association created an award for outstanding flight achievement, named it the David C. Schilling Award, given annually to the most exceptional flight accomplishment.

By 1956, Schilling was assigned to Strategic Air Command’s 7th Air Division in England, Inspector General position, staff assignment, no more flying combat missions. The war was 11 years past. He was 37 years old. On August 13th, 1956, he flew his last flight, B-47 Stratojet bomber, staff orientation flight, routine.

 He landed safely. The next day, he drove toward Royal Air Force Lakenheath in his Cadillac Allard sports car. The road between Royal Air Force Lakenheath and Royal Air Force Mildenhall was narrow, two lanes, stone walls on both sides, country road through Suffolk farmland. Schilling knew it well.

 He had driven it dozens of times during his assignment to 7th Air Division. August 14th, 1956, temperature was 72°, clear skies, perfect summer day in England. Schilling drove his Cadillac Allard sports car, high-performance vehicle. He was part of a racing stable, Sports Car Club of America events. General Curtis LeMay and several other officers had purchased the same model.

The Allard could reach 120 mph, built for speed, built for handling. But the narrow English roads weren’t built for American sports cars. At approximately 1400 hours, Schilling approached a stone bridge near the village of Eriswell in Suffolk. The bridge crossed a small stream, stone railings on both sides, standard English construction from decades earlier.

His cap started to blow off in the wind. He reached up to grab it, natural reflex, split-second movement. The car skidded sideways, struck the stone railing. The impact cut the vehicle in half at the driver seat. Front section toppled into the stream below. Rear section remained on the bridge. Schilling died instantly, 37 years old.

The day before, he had flown his last flight. A B-47 orientation mission, routine staff flight, safe landing, then this. A country road, a stone bridge, a moment of inattention. The Air Force investigation determined it was an accident. No mechanical failure, no external factors, just a tragic moment on a narrow road.

 Services were held at Arlington National Cemetery in Washington. Full military honors. Two Distinguished Service Crosses, eight Distinguished Flying Crosses, 19 Air Medals, British Distinguished Flying Cross, French Croix de Guerre, Harmon Trophy, 22 and 1/2 aerial victories, 132 combat missions, first transatlantic jet crossing, first transpacific jet crossing.

The fighter community gathered the night before the funeral. Carlton Hotel in Washington. Pilots from the 56th Fighter Group, aces from the European theater, Pacific veterans. They remembered December 23rd, 1944. They remembered the modified pistol. They remembered Hairless Joe. They remembered a colonel at 25 who led from the front.

Francis Gabreski was there, 28 victories. Robert Johnson couldn’t attend, but sent condolences. Hub Zemke attended, 19 and 1/2 victories. They had all flown with Schilling, all knew his skill, his leadership, his engineering mind that never stopped improving equipment and tactics. On March 15th, 1957, Smoky Hill Air Force Base in Salina, Kansas, was renamed Schilling Air Force Base.

Named for the geology major from Dartmouth who became one of America’s deadliest fighter pilots. The base operated until 1965 when it was deactivated. The Air Force Association’s David C. Schilling Award continues today. Given annually for outstanding flight achievement. Named for a man who pushed boundaries, who crossed oceans in jets when everyone said it was impossible.

Who attacked 35 German fighters with one wingman. Who modified a pistol because he wanted every advantage. David Carl Schilling is buried in Section 8, site 459 at Arlington National Cemetery. His wife Georgia died in 1950, age 28. They rest together. Full military honors, white headstone, simple inscription.

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