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John Dibbs - Storm of Eagles: The Greatest Aerial Photographs of World War II: The Greatest Aviation Photographs of World War II

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John Dibbs Storm of Eagles: The Greatest Aerial Photographs of World War II: The Greatest Aviation Photographs of World War II
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Storm of Eagles: The Greatest Aerial Photographs of World War II: The Greatest Aviation Photographs of World War II: summary, description and annotation

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Soaring high above the fields and cities of Europe and Asia as well as the vast expanse of the Pacific, Allied and Axis pilots engaged in a deadly battle for control of the skies in World War II. Whoever won the skies would win the war.Published in association with The National Museum of World War II Aviation, Storm of Eagles is a fully illustrated coffee-table book that brings together classic as well as never-before-seen wartime images. Compiled by one of the worlds premier aviation photographers and historians, this remarkable volume is a must-have for anyone interested in World War II aviation.

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COUNTLESS SOULS FLEW EXTRAORDINARY MACHINES HIGH INTO AN ENDLESS BLUE BORN OF - photo 1

COUNTLESS SOULS FLEW EXTRAORDINARY MACHINES HIGH INTO AN ENDLESS BLUE BORN OF - photo 2

COUNTLESS SOULS FLEW EXTRAORDINARY MACHINES HIGH INTO AN ENDLESS BLUE BORN OF - photo 3

COUNTLESS SOULS FLEW EXTRAORDINARY MACHINES HIGH INTO AN ENDLESS BLUE BORN OF - photo 4

COUNTLESS SOULS FLEW EXTRAORDINARY MACHINES

HIGH INTO AN ENDLESS BLUE BORN OF WAR

THEY DID BATTLE FOR FREEDOM AND JUST CAUSE.

ONLY SOME WERE TO RETURN.

TIME DOES NOT DIM THE LIGHT OF HEROES,

THEIR STORY AND SACRIFICE LIVE ON. WE HONOR THEM.

C ONTENTS

F OREWORD

I came to the United States because I wanted to become an aviator. While growing up in Greece, that is all I wanted to be. When my home country was overrun by Hitlers Nazi army, I was determined to carry on the fight as an aviator against the Germans. With the few dollars I was making from bussing tables in Plainfield, New Jersey, I learned to fly, using what money was left to take classes in English. These were desperate times and my compulsion to act was overwhelming.

With my pilots license in my pocket I volunteered to fight with the British - photo 5

With my pilots license in my pocket, I volunteered to fight with the British Royal Air Force, as America had yet to enter the war. Following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, American forces were deployed to the European Theater and the conflict became global. As the Americans developed their fledgling Air Force in England, I was transferred to the USAAF, where, flying Spitfires, Thunderbolts and Mustangs, I bore witness to some of the most amazing sights and sounds that anyone could have experienced.

The Second World War was the largest and most expensive conflict in history, in terms of human life and matriel. Battles on land, sea and air took place across the expanse of the globe, and affected everyone on the entire planet. The air campaign was notable because it was the first time air power was exercised both tactically and strategically in warfare, some battles being settled by aircraft alone for the first time in history. The scale reached during the conflict of 193945 is still almost unimaginable.

It has often been said that war is both the worst and best of times for those involved. War, without a doubt, changes the lives of those involved forever, and the consequences of such an event far outlive those who fought, survived or died in the name of their country. The scars and effects of war are permanent.

One of my most memorable moments was when I lost the engine in my P-51. After receiving flak damage over Le Havre, I decided to head south and bail out over the countryside. I had reached 3,000ft in altitude and estimated that I was some 2025km or more south of Le Havre. I trimmed the Mustang to fly hands-off and, surprisingly, it did very well. I then released the safety harness, got rid of my helmet and gloves, and opened the canopy using the emergency handle. However, as I struggled to stand up, attempting to step out on the wing, I felt something holding me back. I looked down and saw that the dinghy cord, which was attached to my Mae West, was probably jammed somewhere behind the pilots seat.

Sitting back in the cockpit, I tried, again, to free the trapped cord by pulling it as hard as I could, but the metal plug at the end of the cord, wherever it was jammed behind the seat, would not give. I began to sweat with fear from the entanglement I had found myself in, being in an aircraft with a dead engine, about to crash in enemy territory. My instinct was telling me not to give up, as I tried pulling the cord once more. I moved it to the left and right. I twisted it and played with the cord by juggling it from one side to the other and, suddenly, the unexpected happened. A miracle, I thought. The jammed plug at the end of the cord was free! I stepped out on the wing while holding onto the canopy rail, and was just about ready to let go and slide down the wing to freedom, when I looked around and realized that I was now too close to the ground to bail out.

Suddenly, fright and tremor confronted me when I saw that the dead-engined Mustang was gliding down, straight towards the roof of a barn adjacent to the only farmhouse in the area. As the aircraft got closer to the ground, I reached inside the cockpit and pulled the stick back gently with my right hand, causing the Mustang to climb up a bit, barely clearing the barn. This action, of course, killed some of the Mustangs gliding speed as the aircraft headed for the crash.

Many thoughts flashed through my mind at that moment, as I prayed to the Almighty for mercy. I held tightly, using all my strength, to the left longeron near the cockpit while on my knees when the right wing tip scraped the ground and the Mustang skidded on its belly along the soft farmland. I was thrown forward and to the left, barely missing the stopped propeller. I never saw the ground racing to meet me as I tumbled in the air with my eyes closed. Although this was only the beginning of the adventure, it was typical of the extraordinary nature of lives entangled in the Second World War.

With the passing of over 70 years since the battles that shaped our present world, and with tensions flaring in the same regions that saw the Second World War take hold, the lessons of what I and my generation experienced seem more poignant than ever.

This is why I recommend this compelling book, Storm of Eagles, to those interested in aviation, history and human experience. The beautifully restored photos of the Second World War air campaign are so sharp and vivid that they allow those who were not there to gain a sense of what it was like. The book also supports the National Museum of World War II Aviation in Colorado Springs, Colorado.

John Dibbs and Kent Ramsey have spent almost the same length of time collecting and restoring these images as the war itself lasted. It creates a fitting and lasting legacy to my fellow pilots, as well as the maintainers and engineers who gave their all during this exceptional period of history. Civilization depended on us.

The drama, the flying, the camaraderie and the global nature of the conflict are presented in a way that brings those incredible days back to life. Through this book my yesterday becomes today again.

Colonel Steve N Pisanos USAF Ret Ten-victory ace RAF Eagle Squadron and - photo 6

Colonel Steve N. Pisanos, USAF (Ret)

Ten-victory ace RAF Eagle Squadron and USAAF pilot

I NTRODUCTION Storm of Eagles so named because nearly all the World War II - photo 7

I NTRODUCTION

Storm of Eagles, so named because nearly all the World War II air forces used an eagle in their crests, was born from a comment by a former USAAF fighter ace, Harrison Bud Tordoff. It was the day he was reunited with his P-51D, one that he flew in combat from England during the war. He had been invited to visit a former training airfield, but didn't know that his fully restored aircraft was concealed in a revetment. When he finally came face-to-face with his actual P-51D named Upupa Epops, the moment of recognition was something to behold. Bud was visibly stunned and moved. There it was, resplendent in the morning light, packed parachute on the tailplane, canopy open, ready to go. Such was its authenticity, that the airliner contrails above could easily have been streaming from B-17s. We left him with his thoughts. Eventually I asked him how he felt. He quipped: You cant imagine the last time I saw that airplane it was in black and white.

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