AirDave's P-47 Lucky Build

[mbauer]

When Dave recently announced he was re-doing the P-47 Thunderbolts, I asked him to do a paint of a particular P-47. The aircraft I asked him to do was flown by Robert S. Johnson of the 56th Fighter Group.

A book written by Robert and Martin Caidin is titled THUNDERBOLT, and tells the story of Robert's tour with the 56th. What I first didn't understand is why there wasn't any photos of his P-47 in the book.

There is a reason for this possibly, WARNING THE NOSEART OF THIS P-47 IS NOT Politically Correct!

Attached are a couple of photos of printed pages, notice the parts have been printed on 11 x 17 cardstock. Scaled up to 133% of normal size, the part pages look great!


Dave did a terrific job on this one! Colors look good, nice crisp clear lines, instructions look great (if any questions I plan to reference his build thread). Will install the cockpit, since he did spend time on creating one, however will skip the landing gear for now, plan to hang it from the ceiling in flight mode...

One thing I did notice, nothing serious, was the final page is a little off-center. Notice the green border was cutoff of the left side in the following photo. Didn't cause any issues, so minor wasn't going to mention it. Then began to think it might cause an issue if printed on A4 size?


Will be building as time permits! Tried to print these yesterday and my HP Designjet 120 decided it wasn't going to work. Spent most of yesterday downloading troubleshooting issues from the WWW.

Found out that the back cover/clean-out was loose and not making contact, this caused a yellow flashing warning light with a blank screen. After 4-hours of searching, took 30-seconds to fix.

Before I start cutting and building will post a paraphrased excerpt from THUNDERBOLT about what happened to Robert on the mission after he shot-down his first enemy.

Please note:
When Robert left England to head back to the States, he was the leading ACE from the ETO. Shooting down 28 enemy fighters in combat. No ground shooting or bombers, all 28 were fighters in the air. After the war some changes were made to the count dropping it to 27.

Mike

[mbauer]

With Airdave doing these incredible models, thought to include the following story that has been paraphrased from a great book. THUNDERBOLT by Robert S. Johnson and Martin Caidin

Robert S. Johnson flew with the famed US 56th Fighter Group.He talks about getting the P47 Thunderbolt, state-side, before the unit shipped out for England.

After shooting down his first fighter, he was scolded for leaving formation.

This is what happened next.

Keep looking, keep looking. Looking ahead only once in awhile. Flying the tail end slot, needing to keep watch at the rear of the flight, checking for enemy fighters.Out of the corner of the eye, a speck. Snapping the head to the right to check it out, oh, just an oil speck.

Fifteen miles inland north of Rouen, still over the Seine, I notice a formation flight of sixteen fighters directly behind and slightly above us. They’re coming in fast.Thunderbolts?Look to the left and right, all flights are where they’re supposed to be.Who are these people? Staring for several seconds, They’re Focke-Wulfs!

Slow, Johnson, take it slow and be clear. Slowly and distinctly, “Sixteen bandits, six o’clock, coming in fast, this is Keyworth Blue 4, Over.” No replies…No one moves…Am I the only one who sees them?!Getting bigger with thin streaks of black exhaust smoke as they close in under full throttle.

“Sixteen bandits, six o’clock coming in fast, this is Keyworth Blue 4, OVER!”Nearly frantic another call. Want to rip the Thunderbolt around and tear directly into the teeth of the German formation. Lifting the P-47 up on one wing to start the turn, No! Swore I wouldn’t break formation; only act on orders not my own. Jab the mike and shout the warning.

What’s going on, nobody’s moving? The leader drones on, his P-47 unconcerned, oblivious to the enemy. Once more finger on the button, “Sixteen bandits, six o’clock, coming in fa------“

A terrific explosion! Another, yet another, And yet another! Crashing, WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! An avalanche smashing into the fighter, heavy boulders plunging with devastating force into the airplane. Blinding flash! The canopy glass explodes. The Thunderbolt shudders, bucks wildly as the explosions flip her out of control.Still the boulders rain into the P-47, each roaring, each terrifying. Urge to get out, frantically must leave the plane.

Concussion smashes my ears, a new sound, barely noticed over the crashing explosions. Sounds like hail, rapid, light unceasing.Thirty cal bullets pouring into the fighter.The Thunderbolt goes berserk, with each exploding 20-mm cannon shell that hits.

Each explosion is a personal blow.This is it, I’m through!Squeezed back in the seat against the armor plating. A blow spins my head to the left as a bullet creases my nose. Steel is being torn asunder by the unending flow of cannon shells.

An explosive urge to bail!

MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY! I hear a voice, after 6-calls I notice it is my voice.

Almost automatic to wriggle free of the harness, open the seat belt.

Another explosion, smashes me against and pins me to the side of the cockpit. The Thunderbolt breaks away from my control.The Fighter is nose down, plunging out of control.The cannons shells exploding, staccato beating of bullets blurs to a continous din. Getting bounced around inside as the nose goes vertical and snaps to the right.

FIRE! A tongue licks my forehead. Its out! Instantly its here again, a huge sheet. It dances and swirls, gets sucked out the smashed canopy. The draft is Death, carrying the fire from the bottom of the cockpit, over me, leaping up through the canopy!

Burn to death!

GET OUT!

Gasping for breath, jerk the canopy bar back with manical strength. It opens, slides back a total of six inches and jams.

Trapped!The fire rages, roars. Both hands pulling with every bit of strength. The canopy is stuck!Won’t budge!

Realization. Fire. Oxygen flow off. Out of control. Fighter behind. Helpless.

New sounds. Grinding from the front, the engine. Thumping, banging. Cannon shells in the engine.

Can’t see, rub the eyes, no good, doesn’t help. Oil spraying out of the engine, can’t see, forward windscreen coated.Looking to the side can barely look out.

Dark shapes, rushing past. ---The bombers!How did the Thunderbolt miss them?

GET OUT!

Both feet against the instrument panel, brace and pull the canopy bar, harder, yet harder! Useless.

Still falling. Got to pull out of the dive. Level flight!

Still the flame. Touching, searing fire. Snared in a trap!Release the controls, try again the on the canopy bar. Won’t move, PULL HARDER!

The Thunderbolt engine thumping, smoke inside, oil spewing, a spray hiding the earth below. Up here fire, smoke.

Got to get out! Terror and choking. Several times release the controls and try the bar using feet on the panel. Can’t get out!

A miracle. Somehow the fire quits.Its out! Now smoke boils into the cockpit and out the canopy. But there is no flame to sear, scorch flesh.Settle Down!Think!

The cessation of the struggle, physical as well as mental, alows time to ponder. Still need to get out if I’m to live.

Feet on the instrument panel, hands on the bar. Pull. Stuck!Cannon shells have bent, twisted and curled the metal, no way to move the canopy now.

The fighter skids, flips for the earth. Automatically hands, feet on the controls, level flight again.

Another way out.Canopy is shattered, stand up and escape through the broken glass.Shoulders are through, I can’t get out!

Parachute snags against the smashed canopy. Not enough room. I’m not leaving without it! Back on the controls, righting the spiraling machine, Think!

Relax, must not need to get out!The mind clears.

Solve the problems, Johnson, find the answers. You can’t bail out.

Danger! The engine is running very rough. Going to tear loose from the mounts, to fall away, trapping me in an unbalanced and uncontrollable airplane.Time to fly!The Thunderbolt is badly crippled, almost on the verge of loosing control.Oil still flowing from holes in the cowling, forward vision is blocked.

Must ride this potential bomb to the ground.

Reducing the throttle helps! The thumping, grinding sounds decrease. Chances are getting better.

Thinking about the lectures on how to avoid capture, how to escape to Spain.What am I doing, flying toward England, turn South, get as close as possible to Spain.

This means a crash landing, evasion, escape. Remember to use the incendiary grenade, get out and flip it into the cockpit so the plane burns.

Pictures flash through my mind of family.I can’t go down!

All this time have been convinced the fighter can’t fly, it can only glide. Been in a shallow glide at 170 mile per hour.Go for the channel.Ditch the ship as close to England as possible, Air-Sea Rescue will pick me up.

Stick and rudder.The fighter wheels around in a graceful turn, trailing smoke.The Thunderbolt is still true, still responsive, still obeying my commands. Head for England, a goal, home!

The instrument panel is a shambles, nothing works. A shallow descent at about 170 miles per hour, No airspeed indicator, but I know this airplane, know her feel.
I am in trouble. Flying almost blinded. Eyes burn, stinging sensation full of pain.

No goggles. Yesterday, broke a lens and turned them in for repair. Paying a price for stupidity!

One of the first 20-mm shells ripped through the left side of the cockpit, exploded near my left hand and destroyed the hydraulic system.The blast sheared the flap handle and severed the hydraulic lines.The fluid has poured into the cockpit.Once the canopy shattered the wind whipped the fluid into a fine spray, stinging my eyes.

The eyes are swollen, its hard to see! If the skin gets more swollen, I won’t be able to see. Try to use a handkerchief, the first time relief, now it is covered with hydraulic fluid. It mixes with the blood from the nose and burns with the next wipe.

Look around, still over enemy territory, got to get to the channel.

Another look around. My head freezes, I stare. The heart is in the throat. A lone fighter.Slightly behind and closing in. Squint trying to make out the details.

A beautiful airplane, never seen one so pretty. A rich, dappled blue, from dark to light blue sky. Brilliant, gleaming, yellow cowling.Beautiful and Death! A Focke-Wulf 190, one of Goering’s Boys. I stare, noting the wax coating gleaming on the wings and fuselage.

What can I do? Don’t dare fight in the crippled 47.

Simply stare at the190. Once the nose swings on a line that points ahead of the Thunderbolt—that’ be it. A lead and guns will fire.

Just sit and watch. Closer and closer, waiting for the yellow flashes.

Bet he’s taking photos. Rare photos of a crippled Thunderbolt, completely at his mercy!

The yellow nosed fighter glides in closer until its just 50 yards away. He’s going to aim his guns right at my cockpit and blast away!

Shove the stick forward and to the right, slide underneath the Focke-Wulf.Got to get to the channel.
The 190 passes over to the left, swings into an easy curve and slides onto my tail.

He’s going to work me over, once in the perfect position. Can’t stop him, I can’t fight with the crippled Thunderbolt.

I look the Thunderbolt over. For the first time I realize, the Thunderbolt is a flying wreck, a sieve.Let’em shoot, he can’t hurt it any more!

Hunker down into the protection of the armor plate behind the seat.

The German waits, takes his time.

Pellets stinging the wings, the fuselage, thumping into the armor plate. He’s not missing! .30 caliber bullets pouring into the Thunderbolt, a rain of lead.All I can do is sit.

The rain continues... The Thunderbolt flies sluggishly through the air, a perfect target. Adsorbing everything. How does it stay together? The storm of lead continues….

I’m pissed! Feet kick right and left on the rudder. The sudden movement slows the fighter, the Focke-Wulf flies past.

My Turn! I can’t see the 190, only way to see him is to stick my head through the shattered canopy, there he is banking away.Eight guns blaze!The lead flashes towards his direction.

He doesn’t falter. The Yellow nosed fighter circles to the right, out of range.

He slides into tight formation with me!Blue wing sitting over mine. Our eyes lock, then his gaze travels over the Thunderbolt. No need to guess what he’s thinking.Each time his gaze travels the Thunderbolt, he shakes his head.He can see all the damage!The tears, the rips, the holes and scorched metal from the fire.

He looks at me and raises his left hand. The Focke-Wulf slides away, but, no it continues turning, onto my tail again!

Once again the .30 caliber bullets flow into the Thunderbolt, perfectly aimed! Not one misses! Kick the rudder again!He waits for this maneuver, doesn’t over shoot again.
Once again the yellow nose is creeping closer. Again in perfect close formation!By now I’m down to 4,000 feet above ground level.Passing directly over Dieppe!Below lies the most intense, massive concentration of antiaircraft guns along the whole coast.

They don’t fire!The Focke-Wulf is flying over friends!He is saving my life from the flak! Another small miracle. Another is the fact that he doesn’t have any 20-mm cannon shells left, he found me after he was out!

Finally water below, I’m over the channel! About 2-miles from shore, the German does an informal salute with his left hand to the forehead.He slides away, only to lock onto my tail again.

Crouch behind the armor plate again. The hailstones hammering away again. He is whipsawing the storm left to right.The P-47 keeps taking the punishment, how does it still fly? Bullets into the armor plate. The firing stops.

Again he slides into tight formation.He shakes his head, amazed that the thunderbolt is still flying. A blue wing lifts, snaps down, a final rocking of the wings.The Focke-Wulf accelerates and turns back in a climbing turn to the coast!

1000 feet above the waves.

All this time a tight grip on the throttle, the mike button has been down transmitting all of the things I’ve called the Jerry Pilot, as well as the beating, smashing bullets and gunfire sounds. I release the mike.

And then a……….Voice!Climb if you can, you’re getting very faint!It’s the Air-Sea Rescue.

I’ll try! Back on the stick, upward into a zoom climb!Till just above stalling.The battered, crippled thunderbolt really can fly! Convinced all along that a shallow glide was all she could do, and now I discover she can still fly!

Climb again and again through several zoom climbs now we’re at 5000 feet.More level flight after more zoom climbs and 8000 feet above the waves.I’m drunk with happiness!

“Blue 4 we have you loud and clear, steer three-four-five degrees”.

“Hello Control, this is Blue 4, can’t steer your heading. Instruments are shot out. Direct me either left or right, I’ll correct in this manner, Over.”

Mayday control stays with me ever moment.

Time drags, Thirty minutes flow by. Forty minutes, a break in the clouds, there…..directly below, the stark white cliffs of Dover!

Control steers me to Hawkinge Air Base.Can’t see it, to well camouflaged. Circle the field using instructions from Control, still can’t see it.

Call the controller, “Going to fly to Manston, I’ll land back at my outfit. Blue 4, Out.”

Robert S. Johnson went on to become an Ace with 28-confirmed enemy fighters knocked down in aerial combat.All fighters, none were on the ground!

Oh, and damage?

Robert endured a .30 cal to the nose, splinters from exploding 20-mm deeply embedded into both hands, a bullet shot away the wrist watch face. Burns on the forehead, eyes swollen nearly shut, burning sensation and flesh blisters- from the hydraulic fluid, two flesh wounds from .30 cal bullets on his right thigh.

The P-47 flew with, 21-gaping holes from 20-mm, count of bullet holes reaches past 100 when standing in just one place, no use in trying to count them all. Holes through the wings, nose, fuselage, and tail. Five holes in the propeller, Three 20-mm shells exploded against the armor plate, five cannon holes in the right wing, four in the left. Two blasted away the lower half of the rudder.One shell exploded in the cockpit, next to the left hand-ripped away the flap handle.Never flew again!

Mike

[mbauer]

Double Post.....

[paperengineer]

Triple posting! And that one post was pretty long...

Great story though. Very interesting

[mbauer]

Before cutting, decided to read through Dave's build thread again. Link: Lets build a P-47! (Photo Walkthrough)

Plan on doing the cockpit first to get a feel for how things fit. If I make it past the control stick, the rest looks easy (at least Dave's photos make it look easy....).

Glad he added the cockpit details and razorback photos!

Mike

[mbauer]

Just like Dave's, parts fit great!

Used a leather hole punch to cut the openings in the instrument panel. Red shiny one does metric, the other one does inches. Bought the one that does inches from Harbor Freight years ago, both work great for cutting holes!


Before edge coloring:


Getting ready to install the seat. Not sure how to fold Part 27 to fit Part 28:


Cockpit ready to install onto former to mate to fuselage:


Will work on it during the week, late at night tonight and I have to work tomorrow. 3-hours into the build.

Parts fit is good, first time I've tried such small parts in a regular build. Hands don't work well with small parts, but these were do-able!

BTW-used a 1.5mm carbon fiber rod to roll the joystick. Worked great! Notched the top grip as Dave says to and a dab of glue to hold its shape. Dave calls for 65# (178 gsm) weight cardstock, I'm using 90# index (163 gsm) for the build. No issues yet, but mating the fuselage to the formers might be an issue. Will find out soon enough!

Mike

[MacSongLi]

Looking great Mike, I'm looking forward to your build.

Gary

[milenio3]

Yes, I agree on the upgraded P-47's from Dave.

I'm looking forward to your Jug, Mike!