At 11:14 a.m.
on May 10th, 1945, First Lieutenant Robert Klingman reached 38,000 ft above Okinawa, pursuing a Japanese Nick reconnaissance plane.
28 years old, he had flown 43 combat missions since arriving at Kadina airfield 6 weeks earlier.
His F4U Corsair was 3,000 ft above its service ceiling, where the air was thin enough to kill.
The Japanese Kawasaki Ki45 Nick could cruise at 35,000 ft, photographing American fleet positions for kamicazi strikes that had sunk 12 ships in the past week.
Every reconnaissance flight meant another wave of suicide attacks.
Every photograph meant more American sailors burning in oil sllicked water.
The Knicks completed two full passes over the fleet before heading home.
They flew too high for interception, too high for anti-aircraft fire.
Untouchable.
Marine Fighter Squadron 312 had lost four pilots to kamicazi attacks in April.
The Japanese launched 1,400 kamicazi sorties during the Battle of Okinawa.
26 American ships went to the bottom.
368 more suffered damage.
The reconnaissance flights made it possible.
The Knicks photographed fleet positions, transmitted coordinates to strike coordinators, then disappeared into Japanese airspace before American fighters could climb high enough to intercept.
Clingman and three other Corsair pilots had launched from Kadina at 9:40 a.m.
on combat air patrol.
Captain Kenneth Rouser led the flight.
At 10:37, radar detected a bogey approaching from the north at 25,000 ft.
The Nick Rouser ordered the flight to climb.
He ordered them to drop their belly tanks containing reserve fuel.
He ordered them to fire off ammunition to reduce weight.
Clingman fired 2,000 rounds into empty ocean.
687 lb of weight disappeared in 30 seconds.
The lightened Corsair climbed faster.
Not fast enough.
At 20,000 ft, two pilots experienced engine trouble in the thin air.
Captain Jim Cox and Second Lieutenant Frank Watson reported rough running engines.
Royer ordered them back to normal patrol altitude over the fleet.
The Nick completed its second reconnaissance pass.
It turned north for home.
Royer and Clingman went to maximum emergency power.
The Nick pulled away.
Both pilots pushed their Corsaires beyond design limits.
Cylinder head temperatures reached the red line and kept climbing.
The engines could fail at any moment.
At 36,000 ft, the Corsair’s rated service ceiling, both aircraft kept climbing.
37,000, 38,000, 3,000 ft beyond what chance VAT engineers promised.
The air was thin as mountaintops.
Control surfaces responded slowly.
Any sharp turn would stall the aircraft.
A stall at 38,000 ft meant an uncontrollable spin.
No recovery, no bailout, death.
The two Corsaires closed the distance slowly.
Royer reached gun range first.
He fired his remaining ammunition at the Nick.
Bullets tore through the right engine.
Flames erupted from the cowling.
The Nick slowed but kept flying on one engine.
Royer’s guns went empty.
He moved aside.
Clingman lined up his shot 50 ft behind the nick.
The Japanese rear gunner swiveled his Type 98 machine gun toward the approaching Corsair.
Bullets punched through Clingman’s right wing.
He ignored them.
He pressed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
The guns had frozen solid at 38,000 ft.
The extreme cold had locked the firing mechanisms.
2,000 rounds already gone to reduce weight.
What remained was useless frozen metal.
The Nick pulled away again, trailing smoke from the damaged engine.
but still airborne, still capable of transmitting reconnaissance data to Japanese commanders, still capable of guiding tomorrow’s kamicazi attacks against American destroyers and carriers.
Klingman had climbed for 90 minutes.
He had pushed his Corsair 3,000 ft beyond its design limits.
He had one chance before the Nick escaped.
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back to 38,000 ft.
He made his decision in seconds.
He advanced throttle to maximum.
He climbed above the nick.
He told Royster his plan over the radio.
Three words.
He would ram the Japanese aircraft with his propeller.
At 38,000 ft, 3,000 ft above his aircraft’s ceiling, where the air could barely support flight, he would use his Corsair as a weapon.
The four-bladed Hamilton standard propeller spinning at 2,000 revolutions per minute became his only gun.
He nosed down toward the Nick’s tail.
The Japanese rear gunner fired frantically.
Bullets tore through the Corsair’s right-wing fabric.
Clingman held his dive.
20 ft 15 ft 10 ft.
The propeller blades closed the distance.
The Nick’s tail section filled his windscreen.
Metal contacted metal at 300 mph.
The propeller blades chewed into the aluminum rudder.
Pieces of metal flew past the cockpit canopy.
The nick shuddered violently but kept flying.
Clingman pulled up for a second pass.
His Corsair shook violently.
The damaged propeller created severe vibration through the entire airframe.
The cylinder head temperature climbed higher into the red zone.
He had minutes before catastrophic engine failure.
The Nick’s gunner turned his weapon toward Royer who was flying alongside.
Clingman dove again into the prop wash.
This time the propeller tore through the rear cockpit canopy.
The machine gun mount sheared off.
The gunner and his weapon disappeared into the slipstream at 300 mph.
Still, the Nick flew level on its remaining engine.
Clingman had two damaged propeller blades.
His engine was overheating.
He climbed for a third attack.
Clingman’s third dive came from directly above.
He pushed the control stick forward.
The Corsair nosed over into the Nick’s tail section.
The damaged propeller struck at the base of the vertical stabilizer.
Metal shrieked.
The entire tail assembly separated from the fuselage.
The nick pitched forward into an uncontrolled dive.
Pieces of the aircraft tumbled through the sky.
The fuselage spun as it fell toward the Pacific Ocean 15,000 ft below.
No parachutes appeared.
The crew went down with their reconnaissance photographs.
The kamicazi coordinators would receive no intelligence from this flight.
Clingman’s Corsair immediately shook violently.
The third impact had bent two propeller blades almost back to the engine cowling.
6 in of the third blade had sheared off completely.
The unbalanced propeller created catastrophic vibration.
The control stick bucked in his hands.
Metal groan throughout the airframe.
He could barely read his instruments.
He cut power to idle.
The vibration decreased slightly.
He worked the rudder pedals carefully.
At 36,000 ft, any sudden input would worsen his situation.
He applied opposite rudder.
The Corsair slowly stabilized.
The nose came up.
Level flight returned, but the aircraft handled like it had structural damage.
The cylinder head temperature gauge showed maximum red.
The oil pressure was dropping.
The Prattton Whitney R2800 engine had operated at maximum emergency power for nearly 2 hours at altitudes where it was never designed to function.
Every component was stressed beyond specifications.
Engine failure was imminent.
Clingman turned south toward Kadina airfield 70 mi away.
He reduced power further to prevent complete failure.
The Corsair descended slowly through thin air.
Rooster formed up on his wing.
Neither pilot spoke on the radio.
Both understood the situation.
The damaged Corsair might not survive the flight home.
At 20,000 ft, the fuel gauge read nearly empty.
Clingman had burned fuel at maximum rate during the 90-minute climb in pursuit.
He calculated remaining fuel, maybe 20 minutes, maybe less.
The distance to Kadana required 15 minutes at his current power setting and descent rate.
No margin for error.
Black smoke began trailing from the engine cowling.
Not fire, the thin smoke of burning oil.
A seal had failed inside the engine.
Oil leaked onto hot metal.
Without lubrication, the engine would seize.
The propeller would stop.
A dead stick landing with a propeller that could barely turn.
At 10,000 ft, Klingman saw Okinawa ahead.
Cadana sat on the western coast.
The runway stretched 3600 ft, long enough for normal landings.
Not long enough for emergency landings without engine power.
Not with a damaged propeller creating unpredictable drag.
He would have one attempt.
Roer radioed the tower.
He reported Clingman’s emergency.
Crash crews rolled toward the runway.
Fire trucks, ambulances.
They positioned along the approach.
Damaged propellers could tear engines from their mounts on landing.
The engine could cartwheel through the cockpit.
Several pilots had died that way.
At 5,000 ft, the engine coughed.
The fuel gauge touched empty.
Clingman switched to reserve tank.
Nothing.
He had burned reserves during the climb.
The engine coughed again.
Black smoke poured from the cowling.
The propeller began windmilling as power dropped.
3 mi from the runway.
He adjusted his glide path.
The damaged propeller created drag he could not predict.
The aircraft handled unlike any emergency he had trained for.
He lowered landing gear manually.
The hydraulic system had enough pressure for one extension.
The wheels locked down with green lights.
At 1,000 ft, the engine quit.
The propeller stopped.
Complete silence except for wind over the wings.
Clingman trimmed for best glide.
85 knots.
He aimed for the runway threshold.
He would land and use maximum braking.
The alternative was rough terrain before the runway.
At 500 ft, he was high.
The Corsair would float past the threshold.
He slipped the aircraft sideways to lose altitude.
The damaged propeller caught wind wrong.
The nose yawed.
He corrected with rudder.
200 ft.
100 ft.
The threshold passed beneath.
The main wheels touched down 800 ft past the threshold.
2,800 feet remaining.
Clingman stood on the brakes.
The Corsair slowed, but the locked propeller created no drag.
Normal propellers windmilled and helped deceleration.
His was useless.
1,800 ft.
1,400 1,000.
The aircraft rolled toward the far end at 40 knots.
Crash crews raced alongside.
Clingman pumped the brakes hard.
The tires smoked against concrete.
30 knots 20 knots the runway end the runway end approached 600 ft 400 200 the Corsair stopped with 300 ft remaining shut down all systems his hands shook ground crew swarmed the aircraft they stared at the propeller two blades bent to the cowling 6 in missing from the third bullet holes in the wing
Oil covering the engine.
The Corsair looked destroyed.
Maintenance crews inspected the damage.
They declared the aircraft beyond repair.
The engine was destroyed.
The propeller unusable.
Stress damage throughout the airframe.
They would strip it for parts and scrapped the frame.
Clingman had killed an enemy reconnaissance plane and destroyed his own Corsair simultaneously.
Intelligence officers debriefed him immediately.
Navy regulations required pilot statements within hours of combat.
Clingman described everything.
The frozen guns at altitude, the decision to ram, three propeller attacks, the Nick’s tail separating, the dive without parachutes, the entire engagement at 38,000 ft.
They confirmed the kill.
Royster had witnessed it.
The Nick went down with its crew and reconnaissance data.
No kamicazi strikes would use those photographs.
No American ships would burn from that intelligence.
The mission succeeded despite impossible circumstances.
2 days later, Klingman experienced hydraulic failure on another mission.
He bailed out over ocean.
A destroyer recovered him after 30 minutes in the water.
He returned to Kadana and flew the next day.
But what he did on May 10th would define his entire war service.
At 38,000 ft with frozen guns and no alternatives, he had turned his aircraft into a weapon.
Robert Klingman was born January 12th, 1917 in Binger, Oklahoma, one of nine children.
The Great Depression hit his family hard.
His parents sent him to Fort Sil for civilian military training during summer 1934.
The government fed and clothed participants for 30 days, free relief for struggling families.
Klingman learned military discipline and discovered he wanted more.
He enlisted in the Marine Corps August 1934 at age 17.
Basic training at Paris Island.
Assignment to Marine Barracks Washington DC as a drummer in the ceremonial unit.
Four years of service sending paychecks home to his mother in Oklahoma.
discharge in 1938.
He returned home and opened a burger cafe.
The business barely survived.
His brother encouraged him to join the Navy in 1940.
Better pay, better opportunities.
Clingman enlisted and reported to USS Tennessee as aircraft maintenance mechanic.
He advanced to first class quickly.
His timing was terrible.
December 7th, 1941, Japanese aircraft attacked Pearl Harbor.
USS Tennessee took two bomb hits.
Clingman was ashore at San Diego completing carrier training when his ship burned.
He finished carrier operations training September 1942.
The Navy discharged him to inactive reserve and selected him for aviation cadet training.
He was 25 years old.
Most cadets were 19 or 20.
He worked harder than younger men to keep up.
He finished top 10% of his pre-flight class.
Flight school at Naval Air Station Corpus Christi.
Graduation and commission as Marine second lieutenant.
Orders to Marine Fighter Squadron 312 at Paris Island.
Training on the F4U Corsair.
The aircraft was new to carrier operations.
The Navy preferred the easier F6F Hellcat.
The Marines got Corsa for land-based operations.
VMF 312 trained for 6 months.
They deployed to the Pacific in March 1945.
The squadron arrived at Kadana airfield early April.
American forces had captured the field during the initial Okinawa invasion.
Japanese resistance continued across the island.
The battle would last 82 days, the longest and bloodiest Pacific campaign, 12,000 American deaths, 77,000 Japanese deaths, 150,000 Okinawan civilian deaths.
The kamicazis were worse than ground combat for the Navy.
Japanese pilots flew loaded aircraft directly into American ships.
Conventional attacks could be evaded.
Kamicazis only needed to hit once.
A 500lb bomb on a zero fighter became a guided missile.
American destroyers and carriers burned from single hits.
The Japanese called the tactic tookai, special attack units.
American sailors called them kamicazis.
Divine wind.
Between April 1st and June 22nd, Japan launched, 1900 individual kamicazi sordies against American ships off Okinawa.
They sank 36 ships.
They damaged 368 more.
5,000 American sailors died.
4,600 were wounded.
The reconnaissance flights enabled the kamicazis.
Japanese Nick aircraft flew above American fighter altitude.
They photographed fleet positions twice daily, morning and afternoon passes.
The photographs went to Toko Thai coordinators who assigned specific targets to specific pilots.
Destroyer DD724 at these coordinates.
Carrier CV16 at those coordinates.
The kamicazis launched with precise navigation data.
American fighters could not stop the reconnaissance flights.
F6F Hellcats had service ceilings of 38,000 ft, but could not maintain combat capability that high.
F4U Corsair’s were rated to 36,000 ft.
Both aircraft could barely climb to intercept altitude before the Nicks completed their passes and departed.
The Japanese flew with impunity.
The MF312 lost four pilots to kamicazis in April.
not direct hits.
The squadron operated from Kadina, but kamicazi attacks disrupted operations constantly.
Japanese aircraft attacked the airfield.
American fighters scrambled to intercept.
Some pilots never returned.
The kamicazis killed Americans on land and at sea.
Clingman flew his first combat mission April 8th.
Combat air patrol over the fleet.
No contact with enemy aircraft.
His second mission, April 10th, intercepting a kamicazi attack.
He shot down one zero.
His third mission, April 14th, ground support for Marines fighting in southern Okinawa.
He fired rockets at Japanese positions.
Standard missions, nothing unusual.
By May 10th, he had flown 43 combat missions in 32 days, one mission per day average, sometimes two missions daily.
When the tempo increased, he had three confirmed kills, two zeros, one reconnaissance aircraft that flew too low.
The standard targets, nothing like what he would face that morning.
The mission brief at 0830 was routine.
Four ship combat air patrol.
Altitude 13,000 ft.
Station 10 mi north of Kadina.
Standard intercept position.
Captain Rouser would lead.
Clingman as wingmen.
Two additional Corsairs for backup.
They expected normal patrol.
Maybe intercept a kamicazi.
Maybe return without contact.
Nobody mentioned the high alitude Nick problem.
The radar operators detected the bogey at 1037.
Altitude 25,000 ft.
Heading south.
Speed 220 knots.
A nick on reconnaissance.
Rooster made the decision immediately.
They would intercept.
They would climb beyond normal altitude.
They would stop this reconnaissance flight.
The next kamicazi wave depended on it.
What happened when four Corsaires pushed beyond their limits to catch one nick? Would the extreme altitude kill them before they reached the enemy? At 38,000 ft, where engines failed and controls froze, could American pilots stop Japanese reconnaissance? The answer would determine how many ships burned tomorrow.
Royster ordered immediate climb.
All four Corsaires pushed throttles forward and pulled up from 13,000 ft.
The F4U was designed for this.
Maximum power, full throttle.
The Prattton Whitney R2800 engines roared, 18 cylinders per engine, 2,000 horsepower each.
The Corsair’s climbed at 4,000 ft per minute initially.
At 15,000 ft, Royer ordered them to drop external fuel tanks.
The belly tanks held fuel for extended range missions.
They also created drag.
Eight pilots reached for tank release handles.
Four tanks fell away and tumbled toward the ocean.
The Corsaires immediately climbed faster without the weight and drag.
At 18,000 ft, Royer gave the next order.
Fire off ammunition to reduce weight.
Clingman pressed his trigger.
Six Browning M2 machine guns fired simultaneously, three in each wing.
50 caliber rounds at 800 rounds per minute per gun.
He held the trigger for 40 seconds.
2,000 rounds disappeared into empty ocean.
687 lb gone.
The other three pilots did the same.
12,000 rounds fired into the Pacific in 2 minutes.
The ammunition was insurance against enemy fighters, but the Nick was not a fighter.
It was a reconnaissance aircraft, lightly armed.
The Americans needed altitude more than ammunition.
They needed to catch the nick before it completed its mission and escaped.
At 20,000 ft, the air grew thin.
The engines worked harder to maintain power.
Superchargers compressed the thin air before forcing it into cylinders.
The system was designed for this altitude, but it consumed more fuel.
The Corsair had dropped their reserve tanks.
They were operating on internal fuel only.
Maybe 90 minutes of flight time remained at this power setting.
Captain Jim Cox reported engine trouble.
His Corsair was running rough, cylinder head temperature climbing, oil pressure fluctuating.
The extreme altitude was stressing his engine beyond normal limits.
Second Lieutenant Frank Watson reported similar problems moments later.
Both pilots were at 22,000 ft, still 8,000 ft below the nick.
RER made the decision.
He ordered Cox and Watson back to normal patrol altitude over the fleet.
Two Corsaires would continue the pursuit.
Ruer and Clingmen.
The Nick was completing its second pass over American ships.
It turned north for home.
The window was closing.
They had minutes to intercept or the reconnaissance data would reach Japanese commanders.
Ruer and Clingman went to maximum emergency power beyond normal maximum.
The throttles had a wire safety that prevented advancement past normal maximum thrust.
Both pilots broke the wire and pushed past it.
Emergency war power.
The engines could sustain this for 5 minutes before damage occurred.
Maybe 10 minutes, maybe less.
They would need more than 10 minutes.
The cylinder head temperature gauges climbed into red zones.
The oil temperature gauges followed.
Every bearing in the engines was operating beyond design specifications.
Every piston was cycling faster than Prattton Whitney engineers intended.
The superchargers screamed as they compressed increasingly thin air.
The engines could fail at any moment.
At 25,000 ft, they saw the Nick, a dark speck against blue sky, 4 m ahead, climbing.
The Nick crew had spotted the pursuing Corsaires.
They were running for Japanese airspace at maximum speed.
The Kawasaki Ki45 had two Mitsubishi HA 102 engines, 1,080 horsepower each, less than the Corsair’s, but the Nick was designed for high altitude.
Its service ceiling was 32,800 ft.
The Corsaires were rated to 36,000, but that was theoretical.
In practice, the Corsair struggled above 30,000.
At 30,000 ft, both pilots felt the controls go soft.
The air was too thin to provide normal aerodynamic force.
The control surfaces responded slowly.
A sharp turn would stall the aircraft.
A stall would become an uncontrollable spin.
Recovery would be impossible.
They had to maintain smooth control inputs.
No sudden movements, no panic.
The Nick climbed to 35,000 ft.
Royer and Klingman followed.
Their engines were past the 10-minute mark on emergency war power.
15 minutes.
20 minutes.
The cylinder head temperature stayed buried in the red.
The oil pressure gauges fluctuated.
Something would break.
It was a question of when, not if.
At 36,000 ft, they reached the Corsair’s rated service ceiling.
The nick was still climbing.
37,000 ft.
The Corsaires followed.
The engines were screaming.
Metal was stressed beyond any test flight specifications.
Chance fought engineers had never imagined their aircraft would operate at this altitude with this power setting for this duration.
Nobody had designed for this scenario.
At 38,000 ft, 3,000 ft above design limits, the two Corsaires finally closed within gun range of the Nick.
The Japanese aircraft was one mile ahead.
Roer was slightly faster.
His Corsair reached firing position first.
He lined up behind the Nick’s tail.
The Japanese rear gunner saw him coming.
The Type 98 machine gun swiveled toward Royer’s Corsair.
Roer fired first.
His remaining ammunition tore into the Nick’s right engine.
The engine cowling shredded.
Flames erupted.
Black smoke poured from the damaged engine.
The Nick slowed but continued flying on one engine.
The rear gunner fired back.
Tracers arked toward Royer’s aircraft.
He broke left to evade.
His guns went empty.
He had fired everything.
Clingman moved into position.
50 ft behind the Nick’s tail.
The perfect firing position.
His finger found the trigger.
The rear gunner turned toward him.
The Japanese machine gun fired.
Bullets punched through Klingman’s right wing.
Fabric tore.
Metal pinged.
He ignored the impacts.
He pressed his trigger.
Nothing.
He pressed again.
Nothing.
The guns were frozen solid.
What happened when a pilot reached his target after 90 minutes of climbing only to discover his weapons would not fire? Could King Clingman stop the Nick without guns? At 38,000 ft, where the air was too thin to breathe and engines operated beyond their limits, what options remained? Clingman’s mind calculated options in seconds.
Return to
base meant the Nick would escape.
The reconnaissance photographs would reach Japanese commanders.
Tomorrow’s kamicazi wave would use that intelligence.
American ships would burn.
Sailors would die.
The mission would fail.
He could ram the Nick directly, fly his Corsair into the Japanese fuselage.
Both aircraft would go down, both crews would die, but the mission would succeed.
The reconnaissance data would sink with the nick.
It was a kamicazi solution, the Japanese way, not the American way.
There had to be another option.
The propeller, four blades, 13 ft 4 in diameter.
Hamilton standard hydroatic, threeblade version on early Corsair’s, fourblade on later models.
His was fourblade.
Spinning at 2,000 revolutions per minute, 40,000 lb of thrust.
When the blade tips broke the sound barrier, the propeller could cut metal.
He advanced his throttle and climbed above the Nick.
He told Royster his plan over the radio.
He would use the propeller as a weapon.
He would strike the Nick’s tail section.
The propeller blades would cut through aluminum.
The tail would separate.
The Nick would lose control and crash.
Both pilots knew the risk.
The propeller could shatter.
The Corsair could go down with the Nick.
Royer did not question the decision.
He moved his Corsair to the Nick’s flank.
he would distract the rear gunner.
Clingman positioned himself 200 ft above the nick.
He nosed over into a shallow dive.
The Corsair accelerated slowly in the thin air.
The nick grew larger in his windscreen.
150 ft.
100 ft.
50 ft.
The Japanese rear gunner saw him coming.
The machine gun swiveled upward.
Muzzle flashes.
Tracers arked toward the corair.
Bullets struck the right wing.
More fabric tore.
Metal pinged against the airframe.
Clingman held his dive angle steady.
He aimed for the Nick’s vertical stabilizer, the tail fin, the rudder.
The propeller would strike there first.
20 ft, 15 ft, 10 ft.
The propeller disc filled his view.
Four blades rotating at 2,000 RPM became a circular saw 4 m wide.
The Nick’s tail section centered in that circle.
Metal contacted metal at closing speed of 50 knots.
The sound was catastrophic, grinding, shrieking, tearing.
The propeller blades hit the rudder and chewed through aluminum skin.
Pieces of metal flew in all directions.
Some struck the Corsair’s windscreen.
Spider cracks appeared in the glass.
The nick shuddered violently from the impact, but it kept flying.
The rudder was damaged, but not destroyed.
The tail section remained attached.
Clingman had not hit hard enough.
He pulled up and climbed for a second attempt.
His Corsair shook violently.
The propeller was damaged.
At least one blade was bent.
The imbalance created severe vibration through the entire airframe.
The control stick bucked in his hands.
His instrument panel blurred.
He could barely read the gauges.
The cylinder head temperature had climbed even higher.
The engine was destroying itself.
The Nick’s rear gunner tracked Royer’s Corsair.
The Japanese gunner fired at the easier target.
Royer broke right to evade.
The gunner followed.
Clingman dove again.
This time he aimed for the rear cockpit.
The gunner’s position.
He would remove the defensive weapon before his third attack.
The dive angle was steeper.
The damaged propeller screamed as it accelerated.
The vibration worsened.
Metal groaned throughout the airframe.
Clingman fought the controls to hold his aim point.
The rear cockpit grew larger.
The gunner spotted him at the last second.
Too late to fire.
The Japanese soldier’s face was visible through the canopy glass.
Young, maybe 20 years old.
Terrified.
The propeller struck the rear canopy at full force.
Glass exploded.
Metal shredded.
The machine gun mount tore free from its base.
The gun and gunner were flung into the slipstream at 300 mph.
Both disappeared into thin air.
The rear cockpit was gone, just a ragged hole in the fuselage.
But the Nick still flew level on its remaining engine.
Clingman pulled up for his third attack.
Two of his propeller blades were bent almost back to the engine cowling.
He could see them through his windscreen, bent at 90° angles.
The third blade was missing 6 in from the tip, sheared off completely.
The fourth blade was intact, but badly damaged.
The vibration was catastrophic.
The engine was seconds from failure.
He climbed above the nick one final time.
This had to work.
His engine would not survive another attack.
The propeller could not withstand more damage.
He had one chance.
He positioned himself directly above the Nick’s tail section.
He nosed over into a vertical dive.
Maximum speed.
The damaged propeller howled.
The Nick’s pilot attempted evasive maneuvers.
Too late.
Too slow.
The Corsair came straight down.
The propeller struck the tail section at its base at the fuselage junction where the tail attached to the main body, the weakest structural point.
Metal shrieked.
Aluminum tore.
The entire tail assembly separated.
The nick pitched forward immediately.
No tail meant no control.
The aircraft tumbled.
Pieces broke away.
The fuselage spun.
It fell toward the Pacific 15,000 ft below.
No parachutes appeared.
The pilot and remaining crew went down with their reconnaissance data.
The photographs would never reach Japanese commanders.
But Klingman’s Corsair entered its own violent spin.
The third impact had destroyed the propeller completely.
The engine was failing.
The airframe was damaged beyond limits.
At 38,000 ft with a dead engine and destroyed propeller, could survive the flight home? The Corsair spun clockwise.
Clingman’s vision blurred.
The horizon rotated.
Sky, ocean, sky, ocean.
The damaged propeller created asymmetric drag.
The spin accelerated.
Standard recovery procedures did not apply.
The propeller was not creating normal forces.
The airframe was damaged beyond any training scenario.
He was inventing solutions in real time.
He chopped the throttle to idle.
The propeller stopped windmilling.
The asymmetric forces decreased.
He applied full opposite rudder.
The Corsair’s spin slowed but did not stop.
He pushed the stick forward to gain air speed.
More speed meant more control authority.
The Corsair’s nose dropped toward the ocean.
The spin continued, but slower.
At 36,000 ft, he regained partial control.
The spin became a spiral, still descending, but less violent.
He centered the rudder pedals.
He pulled back gently on the stick.
Too much input would stall the aircraft again.
The Corsair’s nose came up slowly.
The spiral flattened into a descending turn.
At 34,000 ft, he achieved level flight.
The damaged propeller hung uselessly on the engine shaft.
Two blades bent backward.
One blades missing its tip.
The fourth blade cracked along its length.
The entire assembly was unbalanced.
Starting the engine would tear it apart.
He was committed to a dead stick glide.
70 mi to Kadina.
Starting altitude 34,000 ft.
Glide ratio approximately 12:1.
The mathematics worked barely, but the fuel gauge read empty.
Clingman had burned fuel at maximum rate for 2 hours.
The internal tanks were dry.
He switched fuel selectors, checking each tank.
Main, reserve, auxiliary, all empty.
The engine was cold, dead.
Even if he wanted to restart it, there was no fuel.
The propeller would not turn.
He was gliding a 10,000lb aircraft toward a runway 70 mi away.
The oil pressure gauge showed zero.
The engine had pumped its last oil during the combat.
The seals had failed from extreme heat and stress.
Oil had leaked onto hot metal, creating the black smoke he had seen.
Without oil, even a cold engine could seize.
The propeller shaft might lock, but it did not matter.
The propeller was destroyed.
The engine would never run again.
Royer formed up on Clingman’s wing.
His Corsair was undamaged.
His engine ran smoothly.
He had fuel.
He could escort Clingman all the way to Kadina.
or he could return to base immediately to report the kill.
Regulations required immediate confirmation of aerial victories, but Reisser stayed.
He would not leave his wingman.
At 20,000 ft, Klingman calculated his glide path.
He needed to reach Kadina with at least 1,000 ft of altitude, enough height to maneuver into the landing pattern.
If he arrived too low, he would crash short of the runway.
If he arrived too high, he could circle to lose altitude.
But circling without power was dangerous.
One miscalculation meant death.
The wind was from the east at 15 knots.
It would push him west during descent.
He adjusted his heading to compensate.
The wind would help him once he turned final approach.
A headwind reduced ground speed during landing.
That helped, but it also reduced his glide range.
The calculations were complex.
He estimated constantly.
At 15,000 ft, he saw Okinawa.
The island was brown and green.
Kadina sat on the western coast.
The runway was visible.
A thin gray line against darker terrain.
3600 ft long, 150 ft wide.
Plenty of room for a normal landing.
Not enough room for an emergency without power.
Not with a destroyed propeller creating unpredictable drag.
Riser broke radio silence.
He transmitted to Kadina Tower.
Emergency inbound.
One Corsair.
No engine power.
Damaged propeller.
Request priority landing.
Clear the runway.
Position emergency equipment.
The tower acknowledged.
Crash crews scrambled.
Fire trucks rolled from their stations.
Ambulances started engines.
Medical personnel grabbed equipment.
Everyone prepared for the worst.
At 10,000 ft, Clingman lowered his landing gear.
The hydraulic system had residual pressure.
One gear extension was possible.
Maybe he pulled the gear handle.
Nothing happened.
He pulled again.
The nose gear dropped and locked.
Green light.
The right main gear dropped.
Green light.
The left main gear stuck halfway.
Red light.
He recycled the gear handle up then down.
The left gear remained stuck.
He tried again.
Still stuck.
The hydraulic pressure was too low for full extension.
He was landing on two wheels and whatever the left gear could provide.
The Corsair would pull left on touchdown.
He would need full right rudder to keep it straight.
If the left gear collapsed, the wing would hit first.
The aircraft would cartwheel.
At 5,000 ft, his glide path looked good.
He would reach the runway threshold with altitude to spare, maybe 500 ft, enough to maneuver.
But the stuck left gear changed everything.
He needed a perfect approach angle.
Too steep and the impact would collapse the gear.
Too shallow and he would float long and run off the far end.
The wind shifted now from the northeast at 20 knots.
Stronger.
The increased headwind reduced his glide range.
His altitude advantage disappeared.
He recalculated.
He would reach the threshold at 200 ft.
Maybe the margin was gone.
One updraft would save him.
One downdraft would kill him.
At 2,000 ft, he was 3 mi from the runway.
The approach angle was critical.
He could see crash trucks positioned along the runway, fire trucks, ambulances, dozens of personnel watching.
Everyone knew what happened when aircraft landed with damaged gear.
The Corsair could cartwheel at 100 knots.
Metal and fuel and ammunition would scatter across half a mile.
Pilots rarely survived.
At 1,000 ft, he was one mile out.
The runway threshold was visible.
He aligned with the center line.
The Corsair descended steadily.
The air was smooth.
No turbulence, no windshar.
Perfect conditions.
But the stuck left gear remained red.
500 ft.
Half a mile.
The threshold approached.
He had one chance.
Would the left gear hold? The runway threshold passed beneath at 150 ft.
Clingman held his glide at 85 knots.
The Corsair descended toward concrete.
100 ft.
75 50.
The damaged left gear showed red.
It could collapse on impact.
At 20 ft, he flared slightly.
The nose came up.
Air speed bled off.
The nose gear touched first.
Gentle contact.
The right main gear touched.
Solid.
The left main gear hit last.
The red light stayed red, but the gear held.
All three wheels on concrete.
Clingman stood on the brakes.
No engine thrust, no propeller drag, just friction.
The Corsair slowed from 70 knots.
The runway end approached.
2800 ft remaining.
2400 2,000.
He pumped the brakes harder.
The tires smoked against concrete.
40 knots.
30 20 Crash crews raced alongside.
1,000 ft remaining.
800 600.
The Corsair slowed to 15 knots, 10.
It stopped with 320 ft of runway remaining.
Clingman shut down electrical systems.
His hands shook.
2 hours of flying beyond every limit.
He was alive.
Ground crew swarmed the aircraft.
They stared at the propeller.
Two blades bent to the cowling.
6 in missing from the third.
The fourth cracked and twisted.
Bullet holes in the wing.
oil covering the engine.
The Corsair looked destroyed.
The maintenance chief examined the damage.
Master Sergeant, 22 years in the Marines.
He had seen damaged aircraft from Guadal Canal to Ewima.
He walked around the Corsair twice.
He checked the engine, the propeller, the wing structure, the landing gear.
His conclusion was immediate.
Total loss.
The engine was destroyed.
Bearings seized, cylinders scored.
2 hours at maximum emergency power at impossible altitudes.
Every component stressed beyond specifications.
Rebuilding was impossible.
The propeller was destroyed.
All four blades damaged beyond repair.
The hub cracked.
The airframe had stress damage throughout.
The aircraft would never fly again.
They would strip it for parts, instruments, radios, anything undamaged would be salvaged.
The rest would be scrapped.
The Corsair that killed the Nick would cease to exist within days.
But Klingman had accomplished his mission.
One enemy reconnaissance aircraft destroyed.
One set of kamicazi photographs prevented.
Intelligence officers arrived within minutes.
Navy regulations required pilot statements within 6 hours of combat.
The information was time-sensitive.
Other units needed to know the Nick’s capabilities.
Other pilots needed to know the propeller technique.
Clingman described everything.
The climb to 38,000 ft, the frozen guns, three propeller attacks, the Nick’s tail separating, no parachutes, the crew going down with their data.
The officers asked specific questions.
What altitude did guns freeze? 38,000 ft.
Air temperature -40 F.
Nick’s maximum speed 220 knots.
Defensive armament one Type 98 machine gun.
Crew size two confirmed.
Pilot and gunner.
They confirmed Royer’s witness statement matched Klingman’s report.
The kill was official.
One Kawasaki Ki45 Nick destroyed.
No survivors.
No reconnaissance data transmitted.
Mission success.
Clingman’s third confirmed kill.
His first using a propeller as weapon.
The squadron commander recommended him for the Navy Cross.
Second highest military decoration.
The citation would describe the frozen guns, the propeller attacks, the extreme altitude, the risk, the prevention of reconnaissance data reaching the enemy, the probable prevention of kamicazi strikes.
But Clingman needed rest first.
2 hours 20 minutes in the air.
Stress beyond normal combat.
The flight surgeon examined him.
Blood pressure elevated.
Heart rate elevated.
Mild dehydration.
Minor frostbite on fingers from extreme altitude cold.
Nothing serious.
He would fly again in 2 days.
May 12th.
Clingman flew another combat mission.
Routine patrol.
No contact.
But his Corsair developed hydraulic failure.
Landing gear would not extend.
He bailed out at 5,000 ft over ocean.
A destroyer recovered him after 30 minutes in the water.
He returned to Kadana wet and cold but uninjured.
He flew the next day.
The war continued.
VMF 312 flew daily missions through June.
Ground support, combat air patrol, intercepting kamicazis.
Clingman accumulated more missions, more flight hours.
By June 22nd, when Okinawa was declared secure, he had flown 78 combat missions.
No more propeller attacks, but his May 10th mission became legend.
The Navy Cross arrived in July.
The citation read that First Lieutenant Klingman had displayed extraordinary heroism and disregard for personal safety, that he had pursued an enemy aircraft beyond his own aircraft’s limits, that he had improvised a weapon when his guns failed, that he had destroyed an enemy reconnaissance aircraft, preventing intelligence from reaching Japanese commanders, that his actions potentially saved American lives.
Other pilots studied his mission.
The propeller ramming technique was analyzed.
Could it work again? Was it repeatable? The answer was maybe at extreme altitude where guns froze against slow reconnaissance aircraft.
When the tactical situation demanded it, but it required precise control, perfect timing, acceptance of high risk.
Few pilots would attempt it.
Klingman had done it because he saw no alternative.
The war ended August 15th.
Japan surrendered.
VMF 312 remained in Okinawa through September as occupation forces.
Klingman flew his last combat mission August 10th, 5 days before surrender.
A routine patrol, no enemy contact.
The shooting war was over, but the May 10th mission defined his service.
At 38,000 ft with frozen guns, he had turned his aircraft into a weapon.
Will you share where you watch from? Back to the final chapter.
Klingman returned to the United States in October 1945.
He was 28 years old.
He had survived 78 combat missions, three confirmed kills, one Navy cross, two air medals, one distinguished flying cross.
He had bailed out twice.
He had landed without power once.
He had used his propeller as a weapon once.
Most pilots never experienced one of those events.
Clingman experienced all of them in 6 months.
He married his girlfriend in San Diego.
She was Jackie Cochran, not the famous aviator, a different woman with the same name.
She had waited for him through the entire war.
He kept his parachute from the May 12th bailout.
She turned it into her wedding dress.
White silk parachute material, a reminder that he had survived.
Clingman stayed in the Marines.
The core needed experienced pilots for the post-war force.
He transitioned to different aircraft.
He taught younger pilots.
He shared lessons from Okinawa, the importance of altitude, the danger of frozen guns, the value of improvisation when standard weapons failed.
Future generations learned from his experience.
Korea erupted in June 1950.
Communist forces invaded South Korea.
The United Nations responded with military intervention.
American forces deployed within weeks.
The Marines sent units immediately.
Klingman deployed as a forward air controller with First Marine Division.
He coordinated closeair support for ground troops.
Different role, same war.
The air war over Korea was different from the Pacific.
Jet aircraft replaced propeller fighters.
Mig 15s challenged American air superiority, but the mission remained unchanged.
Close air support for Marines on the ground.
Klingman directed strikes against enemy positions.
He marked targets with smoke.
He talked pilots onto coordinates.
He saved Marine lives daily through accurate air support.
He served in Korea for 13 months.
Forward air controller was dangerous work.
Close to front lines, exposed to enemy fire, directing strikes within meters of friendly positions.
One mistake meant American casualties.
Clingman made no mistakes.
The Marines he supported survived.
He received another air medal for his Korea service.
He returned to the United States in 1952.
He continued serving through the 1950s and early 1960s.
He trained more pilots.
He passed on more lessons.
He rose to Lieutenant Colonel.
32 years of service, 1934 to 1966, from enlisted drummer to field grade officer, from the depression to the Cold War.
His career spanned American military history.
Retirement came in 1966.
He was 49 years old.
He moved to Hawaii with his wife.
They settled in Kihei, Maui.
He earned his private pilot license.
Despite everything that happened during the war, he still loved flying.
He flew small civilian aircraft around the Hawaiian Islands.
He never lost the passion.
He rarely spoke about May 10th, 1945.
His family knew the basic story, propeller attack at high altitude, Navy cross, but he did not elaborate.
He did not seek attention.
Most combat veterans were the same.
They had done what the mission required, nothing more.
They moved forward with their lives.
The story became known through military historians, through squadron records, through Rooers’s witness statements, through Navy Cross citations.
The details emerged slowly over decades.
Other pilots learned about it.
Aviation enthusiasts studied it.
Military analysts examined it.
The propeller ramming technique became part of naval aviation history.
Robert Clingman died July 6th, 2004 in Kihei, Hawaii.
He was 87 years old.
Complications from a stroke.
His wife survived him.
His children survived him.
His grandchildren survived him.
He left behind a legacy that extended beyond one mission.
32 years of service.
Hundreds of lives saved through his air support work.
Countless pilots trained.
A lifetime of dedication.
He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery.
Section 60, full military honors.
Flag draped coffin, marine honor guard, rifle salute, taps.
The ceremony recognized his entire service, not just May 10th, 1945.
Everything.
His grave marker lists his decorations.
Navy cross, distinguished flying cross, air metal with gold star.
the facts.
The Marine Corps way.
But the May 10th mission stands alone in aviation history.
No other pilot deliberately used a propeller as a weapon at extreme altitude and survived.
Others rammed enemy aircraft, but those were full aircraft collisions.
Suicide attacks were desperate measures.
Clingman used his propeller as precision instrument.
Three calculated strikes.
He survived.
He flew home.
He landed safely.
He lived another 59 years.
The mission proved several things.
American pilots would push beyond any limit to complete objectives.
Aircraft could operate beyond design specifications when required.
Improvisation worked when standard tactics failed.
One determined pilot could prevent reconnaissance that would cost American lives.
The Nick never transmitted its photographs.
The kamicazi coordinators never received that intelligence.
American ships survived another day.
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