Flying Rams and Air to Air Ramming

I did mention some Japanese attacks in posts 19,21,22,30,35.

 

my apologies, I joined this thread later and did not read the earlier posts.

 

No problem my friend . I do that sometimes too LOL.

 

One unique account was that of Lt. Alexi Khobistoff of the Red Air Force, who perfected an unusual method of destroying enemy aircraft when his plane's guns froze from ice build-up. With his sights set on a Heinkel 111, the distracted Khobistoff struggled to clear his guns when all of a sudden the prop of his plane tore through the bomber's wing. He managed to stay airborne while his target careened into the ground. He repeated this act a second time, but on this day it was intentional, cutting the rudder off of yet another German bomber. The third time and his fifth kill happened when a 109 mortally wounded his plane. Rather then go out quietly, the tenacious Khobistoff dove his plane into the nearest enemy fighter he saw, chewing its tail to bits. He bailed out and spent several weeks in the hospital, never to repeat his unorthodox tactic.
P-40 and Zero

 

I think that the concept of self sacrifice came alot easier for the Japanese pilots then to the Western and European pilots. Thats why the Kamikaze concept was more acceptable to them. I think in the case of Western pilots it was perhaps a more of an act of desperation and anger or just wanting to get the kill. Though I cant account for the mulitiple acts by certain pilots LOL.

 

"In popular press legend it is often claimed that this bomber was attempting to attack Buckingham Palace but in fact it wasn't going to attack anywhere, because it had already been abandoned by its surviving crew, and was flying on autopilot by the time Ray Holmes rammed it.
The Dornier was from I/KG 76 and flown by Oberleutnant Robert Zehbe, and was part of a mission to bomb the railway lines running between Clapham Junction and Battersea power station. However the formation had come under heavy attack, and Zehbe's aircraft had been badly hit with two crewman dead, so Zehbe ordered the two other crew members to bale out, he then set the aircraft on to autopilot and baled out himself. The bomber flew on, as part of the formation at first, but soon the main formation changed course, and the abandoned bomber flew on alone, until its meeting with Ray Holmes."
source, The Most Dangerous Enemy, A History Of The Battle Of Britain. By Stephen Bungay

 

I haven't seen the FZG-76 Reichenberg mentioned. While Hanna Reitsch lobbied Hitler relentlessly to put together a suicide squad using the "piloted V-1" he kept a ban on the idea.

The Reichenberg I was a 1 or 2-seat glider for training purposes while the Reichenberg II was a fully powered version with the addition of a landing skid for landing and reuse. The Reichenberg III was the operational craft which would have a 540 MPH maximum level speed and a 1,870-lb. amatol warhead.

In Japan the Oka 11 was actually used in the conflict but The Oka 22 was tohave a very small jet engine so it could be launched farther away. It had a auxillary wing rocket motors to provide boost to elude interceptors. It was tested in July 1945 but not put into production before the war ended.

The Oka 33 would have used a NE-20 turbojet of 1,047-lbs. thrust and a final Oka 43 was envisioned using a ground launch system for repelling an invasion fleet.

The Kawanishi Baika (Plum Blossom) was specifically designed to be ground launched against invading ships. It used a Maru-ka Model 10 pulsejet though the prototype was not completed by war's end.

 

Not exactly ramming but suicide attacks. We did discuss this in the thread I created titled "German Kamikazes".

http://www.ww2f.com/weapons-wwii/22346-german-kamikazes.html

 

Rammed at 15,000 Feet

by Hank Cervantes

September 1944, Berlin, Germany: Ultimate defeat was staring the Nazi’s in the face and Luftwaffe leaders were scrambling for new ideas to turn the tide. Thirty-year old Oberst (Group Captain) Hans-Joachim “Hajo” Hermann said to Reichs-marschall Hermann Goering, “With our new Messerschmitt Me-262 jet fighters coming on-line, the day of the propeller-driven fighter is over. I propose that we gather our Messerschmitt Me 109 fighters and in one massive attack, ram the American bombers in midair. If we crash into them amid-ship, the Me 109’s steel propeller will act as a saw. The sturdy wing with a steel beam running through it will snap the bomber’s fuselage in two, and the long nose will help protect the pilot in order for him to bail out. I believe that the assault will so terrorize the American bomber crews, that they will refuse to fly any more missions. At the very least, it will force them to stop the bombings until more aircraft can be brought over from America to replace their losses. More importantly, the respite will buy us time to improve our fuel supplies and build more Me 262 jet fighters with which to regain air superiority.” He continued, “I estimate that possibly half of our pilots will die in the crashes, but it’s better to lose them in this manner than to have them gradually annihilated with nothing to show for it as is happening today.” Goering favored the idea, but given Adolf Hitler’s dream of world domination, he had reser-vations about requesting the Fuhrer’s approval of a strategy that would clearly acknowledge the desperate nature of their situation. Doubtful that a sufficient number of pilots would volunteer for the Kamikaze-like mission, Hitler sat on it. In the meantime, the American fighters and gunners were downing the less experienced Luftwaffe pilots at an ever-increasing rate.

March 8, 1945, Ober-kommando der Luftwaffe: Hitler finally gave the go-ahead, and Goering sent a highly classified message to all fighter and air combat training units. In part, it stated, “I summon you to perform a mission from which your chances of return will be minimal.” With no more than this nebulous disclosure, over 2,000 students and recent graduates of flying schools stepped forward. With that, “Hajo” Hermann formed Rammkommando (Ram Command) Elbe and under great secrecy, the best candidates were interviewed at Stendal, an airfield west of Berlin. The good pilots were ruled out; they were needed alive. Those not deemed brave enough to perform the maneuver were also turned away. A few men backed out; they thought that they were volunteering to attend a training course, not commit suicide.

March 20, 1945, Stendal: The selected pilots were wined and dined then fully briefed on the mission. No one had experience ramming aircraft, so most of the instruction the men received was ideological. However, they were extended one option: they could either keep or eject the canopy before the crash, most elected to leave it on for added protection. Meanwhile, at five airfields from where the attacks would be launched, arriving Me 109s and long-nose Focke-Wulf Fw 190s were being stripped of nonessential equipment. On the Me 109s, this included removal of the cannon that fired through the hub of the propeller and one of the two wing-mounted MG131 machine guns. Only sixty rounds were left aboard for the remaining gun. However, because the intent was to shock and dispirit the air crews, the Elbe pilots were ordered to not fire at the bombers and to use the gun only in case of attack by an American fighter. The battle plan called for the stripped-down fighters to climb to altitudes above the normal operating levels of the B-17s and B-24s and heavily armed Mustangs and Thunderbolts. At the same time, the Me 262s would stay low and decoy the American fighters away from the area, thus, freeing the Elbe pilots to dive down into the bombers. During the final stages of preparation, the Germans found that rather than a shortage of volunteers, the overriding problem was a lack of aircraft and fuel. Combat losses together with operational and mechanical problems had whittled down the number of available propeller-driven fighters to no more than 200. Desperately and possibly against their better judgment, they forged ahead anyway.

April 6, 1945, Eighth Air Force Headquarters: The next day’s operational plans directed a “maximum effort” against sixteen targets in northern Germany. (The brass called them “ME’s.” Down in the trenches, tongue-in-cheek, we called them “EG’s” for Everybody Goes, including the colonels.) Over 1,300 bombers and 850 fighters were alerted to fly the mission. Of the 40 bomber groups on Bomber Alley, only two would stand-down and of the 14 fighter groups, one would stay home.

The Luftwaffe had not seri- ously challenged the bombers since Dresden a month earlier. Therefore, the mission planners had no reason to believe that the Germans would come up in significant numbers on the 7th. Unaware of the Rammkommando Elbe plan, they directed that the bombers fly at exceptionally low altitudes ranging from 15,000 to 22,000 feet. The planners reasoned that this would enable maximum bombing accuracy and spare the crews from the toe-numbing altitudes where they normally flew. This well-meaning blunder effectively increased the separation between the lower-flying bombers and the high-flying Elbe pilots. This would enable them to achieve faster, more lethal speeds before they crashed into the bombers.

0400, April 7, The “Bloody 100th” Bomb Group, Thorpe- Abbots, England: Ceiling zero, visibility zero, standard springtime weather. In the mission briefing room a colonel, pulled back a frayed black curtain to reveal the 100th’s target: Buchen, a small city 50 miles southeast of Hamburg, Germany. Silence was strictly enforced during briefing sessions. Nevertheless, when the crews saw that the string did not extend very far into Germany and that the flight altitude was 15,200 feet, everyone grinned and began mouthing, “milk-run” to each other. After a pause for his audience to savor the moment, the colonel continued, “Upon your arrival back to the local area, expect weather conditions to be heavy cumulus clouds, with bases varying between 200 and 800 feet, and a mile visibility with fog and haze.” The fog delayed the takeoffs until 1030.

1245, Nearing Dummer Lake, Germany: Our crew was aboard B-17G #338514, better known by her name E-Z Goin’, which was emblazoned over a green turtle, blithely toting an ugly black bomb. True to the appellation, she had safely carried us through flak and air battles twenty-four times with little to talk about, and we were inordinately proud of her.

As the 100th neared the well-known navigational checkpoint, preceding groups could be heard calling for fighter support. Our pilot, Lieutenant Joe Carl Martin and I looked knowingly at each other and all thoughts of a “milk run” were forgotten. We scrunched our battle helmets down and prepared for battle. On the intercom, Carl called the crew, “Get ready men. Keep your turrets moving. Let them know we’re watching them. Suddenly, tail- gunner Paul Gerling said, “Here comes one from five o’clock high!” I looked to my right just as a diving Me 109 swooshed by so close that we bounced from the shock wave. Inexplicably, the pilot had not fired at us nor was he at his gun-sight aiming at some one below — he was looking at me. We stared at each other for a fleeting moment then he was gone. He crashed into Lieutenant Arthur Calder’s Candy’s Dandy in the squadron below; they exploded and everyone died. Up and down the line, Elbe pilots were crashing into other bombers.

1323, Aboard E-Z Goin: Caarraash! The nose yawed left, we skidded right and the plane waggled like a dog shaking water off itself. Instinctively Carl and I kicked hard right rudder -- both pedals disappeared under the instrument panel then returned to dangle uselessly; the control columns were violently jerking back and forth, the number one engine was streaming white smoke, and all the radios including the intercom were dead. We had no way to ascertain the crew’s con-dition or to get their damage assessments. However, like the stubborn old war-horse unwilling to give up the fight, E-Z Goin’ seemed to still want to fly, so we stabilized the rocking and rolling with the ailerons and hung on.

1328, Over the target: Toggler (bombardier) Ralph Spada released the bombs, and the nose lurched up sharply. Carl rolled the elevator trim wheel forward to add nose-down trim, but the wheel spun ineffectively. Now, we were on a collision course with a B-17 in the squadron above. Quickly, we exerted our combined strength to push the control columns forward. But it was insufficient and at the last possible moment, Carl retarded the throttles. E-Z Goin’ shuddered into a stall and the B-17 slid by close enough for us to see the startled look on the tail-gunner’s face. By trial and error, we found that E-Z Goin’ was most stable at an airspeed of 105-110 miles an hour. This is just above the stall speed at that altitude, but although we could not understand the reason at the time, drag induced by the damaged tail was causing the engines to labor even at that airspeed.

As the strung-out remnants of the 100th disappeared into the haze, we wallowed through the sky alone. Now the number one engine oil pressure was dropping rapidly; to prevent a friction-induced fire in the engine, we feathered the propeller and shut it down. This put an additional strain on the three functioning engines. The battle ended, and flight engineer William “Dude” Dudecz toured the ship to assess our condition. He reported back, “Everyone’s OK. Paul (Gerling) says that a Me 109 crashed into us; it just missed hitting him. The left elevator and the top half of the rudder are gone. There’s two big gashes in the fuselage aft of the left gunner’s window and the flight control cables and electric wire bundles are cut there. What’s left of the tail’s flapping up and down so hard that it looks like it might break off. Oh yeah, there’s bullet holes in the left side of the nose. We think a gunner in another B-17 shot out the number one engine and the master radio control box, that’s why the radios are dead.” (The box was in the nose just above navigator Tony Picone’s head).

On a B-17, the tips of the horizontal stabilizers are visible from the pilots’ side windows, and I looked back to determine what was causing the control wheels to jerk back and forth so violently. “Carl,” I said, “Dude’s right. The tail’s really bobbing up and down on my side. What’s yours doing? Carl checked his and asked, “Are you sure we’re supposed to be able to see the tail from here?” “Yeah, I’m sure.” “I don’t have one.” Dude tapped me and asked, “Do you want to come back and take a closer look at the damage?” “No Dude”, I replied, “I’m needed here. How’s Paul doing? Is he still in the tail?” “No, I ordered him out of there. He says that when parts from our plane went flying back, they knocked off the left horizontal stabilizer on another B-17 behind us. They’re back there somewhere.”

We later learned that the pilot of that aircraft, Captain Joe King was not scheduled to fly that day. However, during the time that we were waiting for the morning fog to lift, he heard that it was to be an easy mission, and pleaded and cajoled until they allowed him to tack-on as tail-end Charlie. Fortunately, he was able to nurse his damaged B-17 to a safe landing. Two P-51s came by. The pilots bracketed us and tried to establish radio contact. However, that was impossible, so they looked us over, shook their heads hard, gave us a “thumbs up,” and headed home. To us, their departure meant that we were no longer vulnerable to enemy attack. Except for emergency equipment, the crew jettisoned everything that was not nailed down. This increased our airspeed by an encouraging blip or two on the dial, and we all breathed a bit easier. An hour later, the coastline came into view and it was decision-time again. Should we try to land on one of the abandoned fighter airstrips below us? If so, we risked committing ourselves to a damaged runway or having the tail break off on touchdown with no medical help available. On the other hand, a decision to continue on to England required that we trust E-Z Goin’ to hold together long enough to cross 150 miles of the frigid North Sea. Further, once there, we would have to let down through the overcast, locate an airfield and land on instruments without radio communications. We de- cided to go on, so I dialed the Thorpe-Abbotts frequency on the Instrument Landing System (ILS).

The cockpit display for the ILS instrument consists of two crossed needles. The system uses two fixed radio beams to guide a plane to a landing; one beam provides lateral guidance and the other establishes a glide path to the runway. Stray off course left or right and the error is revealed in the movement of a vertical needle. Stray above or below the glide slope and a hori-zontal needle provides that indication.

Visually, the ILS seemed to be operating properly. However, with the radios inoperative, we could not verify what station, if any, the instrument had locked on, so we had to gamble that it would guide us home. We began a long, slow descent into the clouds, and as we neared the ground but still had not broken out, it appeared certain that the morning fog had returned.

1815: We broke out at 700 feet above the ground with a mile visibility and our home runway directly ahead. Waist gunners Norman Larsen and Matthew “Matt” Schipper began firing red flares, and we made a sweeping left turn into a long final approach to the runway. Carl signaled, “Wheels down.” I flipped the landing gear switch, but the motor was dead. Quickly, Dude scurried back to the bomb bay, manually cranked the gear down with the emergency system and the green indicator light came on.

We were nearing touchdown when another B-17, also firing red flares, cut in front of us to land. There was no alternative; we had to go around. However, that is impossible with an outboard engine out, the wheels down, and no rudder control. Now Dude laboriously cranked the gear back up and Carl applied power to the three faulty engines. As we staggered over nearby villages at treetop level, I could clearly see traffic coming to a stop and people scrambling off bikes and out of stores to point at us. Given the number of badly damaged B-17s most of them had probably seen, the attention seemed a dubious honor. We returned to the final approach. Carl made a perfect two-point landing, and as everyone held his breath, we gently lowered the tail-wheel to the runway. E-Z Goin’ screeched, grated and groaned in protest (picture a giant beer can being scrunched on the sidewalk), but she held together and a fleet of emergency vehicles trailed us to our hardstand. Five hours had elapsed since the collision, but no one cheered, embraced or shook hands — we were all barely into our twenties, and at that age everyone thinks he is going to live forever.

Collectively, the 100th’s gunners claimed eight kills during the battle. I questioned each marksman, but none asked to be credited with shooting-up E-Z Goin’. Twenty-three bombers went down that day. It is known that at least eleven were rammed. Perhaps, due to the bizarre aspects of the battle, exaggerations about our flight persist to this day. One of the more popular tales alleges that, “Because the flight control cables to the tail were severed, the pilots made it back with the help of the crew, who moved to the rear of the plane to raise the nose and to the front to lower it.” When asked to confirm the story, I facetiously reply, “Certainly it’s true. You should have seen me directing traffic when we came in to land then had to go-around.” They forget that the right horizontal stabilizer and elevator were undamaged.

When I was in flight school, our Theory of Flight instructor explained the rule in physics that governs why an airplane must have a tail to fly. I didn’t question their wisdom then. But less than a year later, on 7 April 1945, God made an exception to the rule for nine very lucky airmen.

Fast-forward to September, 1945: The war ended, and I came home. After a 45-day leave, I along with 200 other airmen was assigned to a pilot pool at Minter Field near Bakersfield, California. With little to do, we epitomized the old saying, “There is nothing more useless than a pilot in peace time.” To break the monotony, I volunteered to ferry war-weary B-17s from Plains Field at Lubbock, Texas, to Kingman Field, Arizona. Thousands of bomber crewmen had trained at the former gunnery school, but it was now a collection point for Air Corps aircraft on their way to auction, a smelter or the scrap heap. At one time, over 1,800 B-17s were parked on the desert floor southeast of the airfield, and I knew that E-Z Goin’ had been repatriated and was among them.

After the April 7th mission, our superb maintenance people had grafted a new tail on E-Z Goin’ and on April 20, with her flying like a wounded duck, we flew on the 100th’s last combat mission to Oranienburg.

Once when time was no object, I borrowed a jeep and went to the B-17 parking area determined to find E-Z Goin. From a distance, the fleet appeared to be seaplanes floating on shimmering heat waves, but up close they looked more like long rows of grimy, aluminum beached whales. Gone were the ground crew men in greasy sheepskin jackets, dirty fatigues and floppy caps. So too, were the combat crews with their flight kits, yellow Mae-Wests and parachutes. There were no fuel or oil trucks, tugs, bomb trailers, hard stands or maintenance tents; only an armada of old war-horses silently living out their last days hunched against a fiery wind. Some were cannibalized and others haif-deconstructed, but all were still adorned with a dizzying array of designs, circles, stripes, bars, insignias and names. Once honored emblems, the markings now seemed no more meaningful than a proud mother’s display of her child’s art.

After an hour of bouncing in and out of gopher holes, I spotted the 100th’s black combat markings and E-Z Goin’s nose art. Her paint had peeled, a tire was flat, the engine nacelles were clogged with tumbleweeds, and the flight control surfaces were flapping in the breeze. I greeted her as one would a sick friend, “Hi,” I said. “Long time no see. They’re not treating you very well here, are they?” Patting her here and wiping a smudge there, I circled her slowly, then went inside. It was like an abandoned roaster oven; dust, dirt and cobwebs were everywhere. I squeezed through the bomb bay. On the flight deck, my two long, USAAF, emergency yellow, back-cushions were still in place, and a cloud of dust arose when I sat down. Rather than months, it seemed like years since this had been my confessional from where I had prayed the fer-vent prayers that all combatants offer up at one time or another.

Time came to leave. I closed my eyes and thanked E-Z Goin’ for all the times she brought me home, even when I had little faith she could. I locked the flight controls, returned the levers, switches and knobs to off and closed the windows and doors. Although she had fallen on hard times, to me she was still a battle-tested friend and a proud member of the “Bloody 100th.” As I drove away, I avoided looking into the rearview mirror; I wanted to remember her as she had been in her glory days as a mighty Flying Fortress.

Rammkommando - German Kamikaze, WWII [Archive] - Military Photos

 

When assigned for air-to-air ramming attacks the KI-45 Toryu often seems to have had the rear canopy opening faired over with sheet metal . Some sources (B-29 Hunters) suggest an observer was still carried in these aircraft.

 

St.Sgt. Matsumi Nakano



Corporal Nakano's Hien on display outside Tokyo's Matsuya Dept. Store, Christmas 1944 (428K, 207K, 242K)


Colour profile of Corporal Nakano's Ki-61-I-Otsu. The hiragana on the rudder reads "na" (by Shigeru Nohara, 100K)

Click the thumbnails to view larger photos of Matsumi Nakano and some other Shinten-pilots of 244 Sentai On December 3, 1944, Corporal Matsumi Nakano of 244 Sentai's special Shinten (body attack) detachment, flying from Chofu airfield near Tokyo, caught up with a box-formation of twelve B-29s. After two failures to approach, he made a third dive on an aircraft in the centre of the box. He missed and ended up just under the bomber's fuselage. After a few seconds of level flight he zoomed in at full throttle and tore into one of the horizontal stabilizers with his propeller. He then ascended, as if his Hien was fixed to the B-29. After a while the bomber began to fall down and a moment later Nakano somehow managed to disengage and belly-landed safely.
His plane was displayed outside of Tokyo's Matsuya Department Store during Christmas, together with a full scale mock-up of the B-29 and some parts of the bombers wreck. (See photographs. The moderate damage to the lower parts of the Hien seems to indicate Nakano possibly landed gear-down!).
On January 27, 1945, Nakano, now promoted to St.Sergeant, was flying together with Sgt. Masao Itagaki (who had also succeeded in two ramming attacks!). They found a formation of ten B-29s flying slightly below. Nakano dove, missed again, tore off the bombers tail, just like on the first occasion, and made another safe belly-landing.
The a/c used the first time was a Ki-61-I-Otsu, probably with armament removed (see colour profile). Some sources claim the "33's" on the gear doors were red. The markings of the second a/c are not known. (Thanks to Ryusuke Ishiguro for research!)

"Blue 24" of Maj. Kobayashi

Two Ki-61-I-Tei machines flown by CO 244 Sentai Maj. Teruhiko Kobayashi in February (blue "24") and April (red "87"), 1945 (128K)


Kobayashi's Ki-61-I-Otsu in which he scored his 6th victory (64K)


Kobayashi's "Blue 24" Ki-61-I-Tei as commonly illustrated (I.Hasegawa, 98K). See also below


Another profile of "Blue 24", by K. Hashimoto, FAOW #98/1978 (114K)


Click the four thumbnails to view larger photos of Maj. Kobayashi Maj. Teruhiko Kobayashi started his career in the JAAF as a light bomber pilot over China. He rose to fame as a CO of the 244 Sentai defending the skies over Tokyo in 1944/45. Kobayashi's final credit is 14 (20?) kills, most of them B-29s, and although formally not a "shinten" pilot, he scored his 6th victory on January 27, 1945, by ramming a Superfortress. For this merit he received the Bukosho Medal of Honour (see photograph). He flew several different Hien and the very fact that the many markings of his aircraft are well documented is a confirmation of his popularity.
There's a controversy about his most famous mount, the "Blue 24", illustrated in at least two different versions, the first when freshly received after his ramming attack, in natural metal finish, the second camouflaged in drab blotches with 8 additional kill marks added. Careful study of photographs (particularly in Watanabe's "Air War Over Japan") reveal that Mr. Hashimoto was probably right in 1978 when he illustrated the plane with blue wing bands, parallel to the fuselage and located midway between the end of the ID-band and the Hinomaru (see illustrations). Please also note the obvious dark band on the starboard wing of the a/c on the photograph of the 244 Sentai Shinten pilots. The correct colour of the "24" on the gear door is blue. The tail inscription on the second "Blue 24" says "I win everytime". Ususally in the JAAF, the numbers on the gear doors were the last digits of the serial number, but there's a possibility that the blue (red?) "24" flown by Kobayashi in November -44 was in fact a different airframe.

Ki-61 / Type 3 Fighter Hien / Mark's Index Japanese Aviation

 

"During the war, the Soviet Air Force recorded some 636 rammings. During the first and most difficult period of the war, 358 aerial rammings, 56% of the total occurred. A breakdown by type pilot/aircraft reveals the rammings were carried out by 561 fighter pilots (including 33 who did this twice, Hero of the Soviet Union(HSU) Lt. A.A. Khlobystov, who did it three times and HSU Lt. B.I. Kovzan, four times), 19 ground attack crews and 18 bombers. Of this number, 233 safely landed their damaged aircraft, 176 bailed out, 216 were killed and 11 missing in action. The Soviet Air Force claims the enemy lost 272 bombers, 313 fighters, 48 reconnaisssance aircraft and 4 transport aircraft."

Aircraft ramming in ww2! - Armchair General and HistoryNet >> The Best Forums in History

 

WING COMMANDER HOWARD PETER "COWBOY" BLATCHFORD, D.F.C., of Edmonton, Alberta, enlisted in the RAF as a pupil pilot on 3 February 1936. When the war broke out he was a Flying Officer with No. 41 Squadron and subsequently served with Nos. 212 and 257 Squadrons. He commanded No. 257 Squadron from 6 July 1941 until he was promoted to Wing Commander (Flying) for Station Digby on 8 September 1941. W/C Blatchford was killed in action on 3 May 1943 while on flying duties with Station Coltishall.
Known as "Cowboy" Blatchford, he accounted for 6 enemy aircraft destroyed 3 probables and two others damaged.
The citation for his D.F.C. reads, in part: "In November 1940, this officer was the leader of a squadron which destroyed eight and damaged a further five enemy aircraft in one day. In the course of the combat he rammed and damaged a hostile fighter when his ammunition was expended, and then made two determined head-on feint attacks on enemy fighters which drove them off."

RCAF.com : Archives : Aces of the Royal Canadian Air Force

 

Ive noticed that some pilots instead of ramming would try and use the propeller to try and chew the tail off or otherwise damage the enemy aircraft to bring it down. I wonder what made them chose that over ramming? Perhaps to save thier aircraft to be used again after landing?

 

Marine Lt Robert Klingman earned the Navy Cross for downing a Ki-45 with his propellor. This excerpt from VMF-312 Checkerboarders VMF-312 web site


"…We closed on the bogey until I was 20 or 30 feet behind him-I couldn't get any closer to him due to his prop wash. It held me back and kept me from running into him. I had to slowly climb above the airplane, and then I nosed over and ran into his tail with my prop. I only had enough extra speed to chew off some of his rudder and elevator before being blown away (from Nick's prop wash) Since he was still flying, I climbed above him for a second run. I nosed down and I pulled out too soon and only got some of his rudder and part of the top of the rear canopy. At this time I remember seeing the rear seat gunner frantically looking around and trying to operate his machine gun. I imagine at this altitude he was probably freezing to death. I realized that a third wasn't necessary, but I was even more determined so I climbed above him for my third run and chopped the right side of his elevator, and we both went into a spin. This run did the most damage to my plane, but I recovered after losing only about 1,000 feet. Ken was along side then, and we both observed the enemy plane in a spin with both wings coming off at about 15,000 feet."

 

That is the guy I was trying to think of his name !

I wonder if ramming was used in air to air combat in WWI ? Seems like it would be alot safer ramming one of those aircraft due to the lower speeds and the wing struts you could chop off the other guys aircraft.

I don't know too much about WWI, as you hear some pilots carried parachutes and others did not. If you did not then ramming would be a worse idea than it already is !

 

I was looking up information on WWI ramming and found this reference on a Mig-21 ramming a B-52 during the Viet Nam war. I had never read about that before, even though I read alot on the Viet Nam air war.

Ramming - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

 

Ramming I guess has been around since men began fighting in the air . There have been quite a few instances of this happening too over the years.

 

[SIZE=+2]Willi Batz and Air-to-Air Rammings in the Eastern Air War[/SIZE]

The Air War on the Eastern Front had many peculiarities. One of them was the phenomenon known as Taran, or air-to-air ramming. Throughout the war, Soviet airmen carried out these self-sacrificing acts on hundreds of occasions. Every Luftwaffe unit operating on the Eastern Front was sustained casualties due to tarans. The moral effect on the German airmen through these rammings was even higher than the actual physical losses. The German fighter ace Willi Batz describes how he on one occasion witnessed such a taran.​

Willi Batz​

Since early 1943, German Army Group A held the so-called Kuban Bridgehead north of Novorossiysk in northwestern Caucasus. Repeated Soviet attempts to compress the Kuban Bridgehead had been fruitless. On August 7, 1943, the Soviets renewed their attacks, this time concentrated against German 98th Infantry Division at Kiyevskoye, northwest of Krymskaya. But the air was the field where the Germans held the advantage. The whole Fliegerkorps I, mustering nearly 900 German aircraft, was concentrated to the small Kuban Bridgehead. Thus the Germans enjoyed a numerical superiority over the contested Kuban skies.The Soviet aviation still was in no position to challenge the Germans of their air supremacy in this sector.
The most important German fighter unit in the Kuban area was II./JG 52. This Bf 109 G-equipped Gruppe included highly skillful aces such as Oblt. Heinz Schmidt, Ofw. Werner Quast, Fw. Otto Fönnekold, and Hptm. Gerhard Barkhorn. Among upcoming aces were to be found Fw. Heinz Sachsenberg, Fw. Hans Waldmann, Lt. Walter Wolfrum, and an old fighter pilot instructor by the name of Willi Batz, with the rank of an Oberleutnant.
August 7, 1943 was a day filled with heavy air fighting elsewhere on the Eastern Front. When the day was over, the Germans counted 27 own aircraft losses, while 86 Soviet aircraft were claimed shot down. But despite the heavy fighting on the ground at Kuban, August 7 was mainly calm in the air. Early that morning, a formation of 4./JG 52 pilots tangled with a group of Yak-1s, resulting in Ofw. Werner Quast claiming three (for his 82nd through 84th victories) and Lt. Hans-Werner von Rudloff one shot down. But in return, two of the German aircraft were lost, "White 1" and "White 2", and so were both pilots. The latter aircraft was rammed by one of the Yak-1s--the last one that was shot down by Quast--and the German ace ended up in Soviet confinement.
But for most of the day, there was only little air activity. The Soviets conducted a series of swift hit-and-run attacks with Il-2s against the forward German lines. 5./JG 52's ace Fw. Otto Fönnekold paid back by shooting down an Il-2 and one of the Soviet Spitfires that operated in this sector. Spitfires in Soviet service was a special feature for the Soviet aviation in the Kuban sector. These Lend-Lease aircraft had been introduced on the Eastern Front by 57 GIAP at Kuban in the spring of 1943.
Willi Batz took off for the day's first combat mission at 0955 hours. It was a scramble against a report of incoming Soviet aircraft, but no enemy was encountered. This was repeated again two hours later. It was only on the third occasion, late in the afternoon, that Batz came across any Soviet aircraft. And this was not surprising, since by then the German artillery was directed straight against the Soviet troop concentrations by an Fw 189 from Nahaufklärungsgruppe 9. The Fw 189--nick-named Rama ("Frame") by the Soviets, had earned a special hatred among the Soviets. The Fw 189 A-2 piloted by Ofw. Robert Neugebauer--with Stfw. Ernst Kontzke as observer and Uffz. Heinz Kaap as gunner--circled above Kiyevskoye and reported directly to the German artillery. In response, the Soviets scrambled two Spitfires from 4 VA's 821 IAP against the reconnaissance plane. Meanwhile, Il-2 Shturmoviks took off to attack the German artillery.​

The Focke Wulf Fw 189​

Like on his two previous missions that day, Batz manned the "Black 5" when he took off together with Fw. Otto Fönnekold's four-plane Schwarm from the airfield at Gostagayevskaya at 1720 hours. The Bf 109s climbed while they flew toward the frontline at Kiyevskoye, and after only slightly more than ten minutes they ran into a formation of Il-2s. These were aircraft of the latest type, equipped with rear guns. Fönnekold managed to shoot down one of the ground-attack planes before the combat was over and the remaining Soviet planes had escaped.
The German fighter pilots continued climbing while they circled above the battlefield. They also saw the Fw 189, flying in a southwestern direction and heading toward Kiyevskoye. In that moment, the two 821 IAP Spitfire pilots were approaching the same area, from a higher altitude. ​

Spitfire Vb fighters made ready for service with the VVS​

Led by 21-year old Mladshiy Leytenant Vladimir Lobachyov, the Spitfire Para had shortly before been pulled into combat with two other Messerschmitt 109s at 3,000 meters altitude, probably from the Slovakian 13./JG 52. But since their mission was to intercept the Fw 189, they had withdrawn from that combat--but not before they had expanded all their ammunition. Nevertheless, Lobachyov was determined to destroy the German reconnaissance plane. From a position at around 4,500 meters, Lobachyov saw the Fw 189, but also realized the four Bf 109s. He realized that he had only one chance, and that surprise was the only factor that could lead to success. He shoved the stick forward and his Spitfire Vb with red stars on wings and fuselage started diving toward the Rama.
The German fighter pilots caught sight of the two diving Spitfires--erroneously identifying them as "Airacobras"--too late to interfere. We will never know if the Fw 189 pilot Ofw. Robert Neugebauer and his crewmembers ever saw what struck them--they all were listed as missing. Willi Batz recounted:
I saw two Airacobras come diving steeply from high above in order to attack the Fw 189. I opened fire against the attacking pair from too large a distance and saw how one of the Airacobras flew straight into the Fw 189, thus ramming it. The second Airacobra made a sharp turn to the left and tried to attack the crewmembers of the Fw 189, who had bailed out. I managed to open fire against the Airacobra while I was turning, and saw shrapnel fly from the aircraft and the cockpit started burning. The pilot bailed out and the Airacobra was destroyed as it hit the ground.
Lobachyov's Spitfire chopped off the Fw 189's tail plumage, and the successful Soviet fighter pilot was lucky enough to survive and bail out. And so were, as seen also through Batz's account, the German flight crew. According to the Soviet report, Lobachyov found the three parachuted German airmen on the ground. After a short exchange of fire, during which one of the Germans was wounded by a bullet from Lobachyov's flight pistol, Soviet troops arrived to capture the enemy fliers.
The Spitfire that Batz shot down was recorded as Willi Batz's 12th aerial victory. Batz would survive the war, bringing his total tally to 237 victories. He passed away on September 11, 1988.

Batz and Taran​

 

...........................