In all fairness, the RAF had strayed from its assigned area, and in the heat of combat even experienced pilots sometimes failed at aircraft recognition. But in view of his group’s dismal record (and aware that his two aborts could be construed as a failure of nerve rather than equipment) Zemke, upon his promotion to bird (full) colonel, suspected he would be bumped upstairs to make room for a more capable group commander.

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Finally, on June 12, the 56th flew another rodeo, 20,000 feet above Pas de Calais. German Jagdgeschwader (Fighter Wing) 26 had made these skies so much its own that its pilots were known to Allied airmen as “the Abbeville Boys,” named after the town where they were based. By flying 10,000 feet lower than usual, the group caught JG 26 by surprise. Over Ypres, Belgium, Schilling led the 62nd Squadron’s “Blue Flight” down after a Staffel (squadron) of Fw-190s, but as the Jerries scattered, a Schwarm (flight of four) moved around into kill position on Blue Flight’s tail.

Still “upsun,” Captain Walter Cook saw the trap and led “Yellow Flight” down to the rescue. He opened fire on the trailing Focke-Wulf from 300 yards. “Suddenly a big ball of fire appeared on his left wing and then black smoke poured out,” recalled Cook. “He rolled to the left, went over on his back in a gentle roll, and then went into a violent spin, with smoke pouring out from the fuselage and wing. At no time did the pilot take evasive action, and I believe he was killed.”

The next day, again over Ypres, Zemke led the 61st Squadron down behind a Schwarm of Focke-Wulfs, pulling to within 200 yards of the fourth aircraft. Zemke remembered that a split second after he fired at the plane, “the fuselage burst into flames and pieces of the right wing came off.” The third enemy plane twisted away with only minor hits on the starboard wingtip, but the number two plane “sat in the gunsight as one would imagine for the ideal shot. Again, when the trigger was pulled this aircraft exploded with a long sheet of flame and smoke.”

Meanwhile, the 61st’s Lieutenant Bob Johnson, an aggressive Oklahoman chafing in the “Tail-End Charlie” slot of his flight, left formation to make a solo attack–on no less than the enemy leader. “I didn’t think that this was a Focke-Wulf,” Johnson recalled, “or that the man inside was a German, or that if he managed to whirl that black-crossed airplane around, then four cannon and two heavy guns would be hurling steel and explosives at me.”

Johnson flamed the Fw-190 with his first burst. For abandoning formation, however, he was chewed out by his flight leader, Lieutenant Jerry Johnson (no relation), his squadron leader, Major Francis “Gabby” Gabreski, and finally by Zemke himself, whose leadership style had not been softened by his own double kill. “I doubt I endeared Bob to his group commander,” Zemke later reflected. “Privately, it was good to know I had pilots of such aggressive caliber.”

As it turned out, all four men were to race each other in downing German aircraft. For the time being, Bob Johnson swore, “The Krauts are going to have to shoot me out of formation.”

Two weeks later he made good on his promise. His P-47, Half Pint, was again bringing up the rear when Johnson spotted 16 more fighters above and behind– Focke-Wulfs, the Abbeville Boys, diving in for the kill. He called out a warning to the rest of the group, but for a fateful second nobody moved. Johnson held position, a perfect target, as the Germans raked him with fire–and then his P-47 was spinning downward, out of control, with the canopy jammed shut, trapping him in a cockpit full of fire.

The speed of his dive blew out the flames. Johnson managed to coast his crippled mount toward the Channel. Just when he thought he had made good his escape, a lone Fw-190 joined up behind him. Unable to dogfight but unwilling to just sit there and take it, Johnson used his lack of speed to force the Focke-Wulf into an overshoot so that he could turn the tables. Easily evading Johnson’s fire, the German circled back to shoot him up twice more. Still Half Pint refused to go down; finally, the German gave up, rocked his wings in grudging salute and turned back. With 21 cannon hits and more than 100 bullet holes in his Jug, Johnson made it across the Channel to a no-flaps, no-brakes landing at an RAF base near Dover, ground-looping to a stop between two parked Hawker Typhoons. That day the 56th scored two kills–including one by Kentucky quail hunter Jerry Johnson–but lost four of its own.

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