“Outnumbered by the Japanese… all four died knowing that the war was already over.”

By John Wukovits 

FEW HISTORY BOOKS mention the names Billy Hobbs, Eugene Mandeberg, Howard “Howdy” Harrison and Joseph Sahloff. Yet, these four American naval pilots earned themselves a grim place in the annals of the Second World War: All were shot down in a fierce dogfight that raged over the Japan on Aug. 15, 1945 – mere hours after Emperor Hirohito had announced his country’s unconditional surrender.

My most recent book, Dogfight over Tokyo, tells the story of these four men, the last Americans to die in combat in World War Two.

As rookie pilots, Hobbs, Mandeberg, and Sahloff, along with the veteran Harrison, headed to the Pacific in the spring of 1945, eager to mix it up with the Japanese in aerial combat.

In many ways, the men differed starkly. Hobbs, a 22-year-old Indiana native, believed he was born to fly fighter planes like the Grumman F6F Hellcat, while Mandeberg, who before the war was a reporter from Detroit, saw aviation more as a wartime duty, something to be set aside before returning to the newsroom once the conflict ended. Harrison, from Sutton, West Virginia, mostly wanted to reunite with his wife and see the baby daughter who was born after he left for the Pacific, and the Selkirk, New York native Sahloff wanted to prove that he could fly with the best.

Yet the war brought the men together in the same fighter squadron aboard one of the Navy’s principal carriers—USS Yorktown (CV-10). All would see combat just as the Pacific War was nearing its fiery conclusion.

An attack against Tokyo-area airfields on July 10, 1945 gave Hobbs and Mandeberg their first taste of the action. Overcast skies, combined with the ferocity and accuracy of the Japanese antiaircraft fire, cost green Air Group 88 five pilots – these first deaths rattled the untested fliers considerably.

“This was my first real combat hop and I was certainly scared,” Hobbs later wrote in his diary. “[I] saw plenty of antiaircraft fire. Saw first Jap plane in the air.”

More losses would follow that month when the Air Group challenged Kure Naval Base, an enemy outpost protected by guns placed on nearby hills and more batteries anchored on warships. In fact, veteran fighter pilots cautioned the Air Group 88 aviators to “stay away from Kure.”

During the July 24, 1945 attack, multi-coloured antiaircraft bursts greeted the Air Group while it was still five miles from its target.

“They shot coloured tracers and everything they had,” said torpedo gunner Ralph Morlan. “[It was] the heaviest barrage I have ever seen yet.”

Seven Americans died in the attack on Kure, bringing the unit’s total battle casualties in only three weeks of action to 12.

“Two of my shipmates who I had lived with, talked with, drank with, and flew with for many months had ceased to exist on this day,” said Lieutenant Gerald Hennesy, another Air Group 88 aviator.

Final victory (and home) seemed ever closer on Aug. 6 when the B-29 Enola Gay dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima. A second one flattened Nagasaki three days later. Hobbs shared his enthusiasm with his parents that the war might soon end.

“Thank God,” he wrote. “Maybe there will be a lot of lives saved and maybe I’ll be home soon.”

Despite the atomic bombings, the brass continued to order Air Group 88 into danger. Even though the war’s end seemed imminent as Japan teetered on the brink of collapse, until a formal surrender was announced the U.S. Navy would continue to attack with fighters, dive bombers and torpedo planes. Unyielding pressure was the Allied strategy.

On Aug. 14, with another mission scheduled for the following day, aviator Maurice Proctor confided to his diary: “If ever I prayed in my life, I am praying tonight that they will end this bloody war tonight.”

Shortly after, he entered the somber addition: “Chaplain Moody just came by and said no dice on the news so I guess we will strike.”

With the war entering its final hours, the group faced at least one more mission against the deadly Japanese antiaircraft guns. Hellcats flown by Harrison, Hobbs, Mandeberg and Sahloff’s would target enemy aircraft at Atsugi Airfield outside Tokyo to clear a path for bombers and torpedo planes that would follow with a strike on nearby factories.

Ironically, Harrison’s team, which also included Hobbs, Mandeberg and Sahloff, was not even scheduled to fly a mission on Aug. 15. But the flight leader knew that Hobbs needed one more mission to receive a promotion to lieutenant (junior grade). He asked to switch his team with the pilots scheduled to lift off that day to ensure his comrade’s promotion.

But as Harrison’s Hellcats winged their way toward Atsugi, the word the pilots had long been waiting for finally arrived over the radio: Japan had surrendered; the war was over. The four planes were ordered to suspend operations immediately, dump their bombs into the ocean and return to the ship.

Harrison led the flight in a quick circle around the enemy airfield and started on the journey back to Yorktown.

They had only flown five miles when Sahloff shouted, “Tallyho! Many rats six o’clock high, diving!”

As the action report of the battle described: “From then on it was a melee with everyone fighting in the same air.”

Through the light overcast they spotted 15 to 20 Japanese Army and Navy fighters attacking from 4,000 feet above. Pilots in Nakajima Ki-84s, Kawanishi N1Ks, and Mitsubishi J2Ms sliced down toward the Hellcats, intent on taking revenge for their country’s defeat. The enemy planes were among of the newest and best the Japanese had. The pilots who flew them, set aside to defend their homeland against the expected American land assault, were some of the most skilled and experienced in the empire.

The outnumbered American fliers, their planes weighed down by wing tanks and ordnance, were slower to maneuver than their opponents.

With multiple enemy aircraft speeding towards them, each aviator selected the first target they spotted. Harrison and Hobbs pursued a pair, while Mandeberg and Sahloff peeled off in their own attacks. Their training paid dividends immediately when, in the opening minutes of the dogfight, the group shot down four opponents.

An enemy fighter jumped onto Sahloff’s tail, pumping bullets into the Hellcat. With his plane streaming smoke, Sahloff made for the open sea. He ducked in and out of clouds and then bailed out before his plane rolled twice and then tumbled earthward. He did not survive.

The Japanese turned their attention to Harrison, Hobbs and Mandeberg. One Hellcat exploded, forcing the unidentified pilot to parachute from 7,000 feet, while two others, outnumbered by the Japanese, quickly plummeted in flames and smashed into the ground. Harrison, Hobbs, Mandeberg and Sahloff all died knowing that the war was already over.

In the aftermath of Japan’s formal surrender in Tokyo Bay on Sept. 2, men in uniform delivered to the four families the sad news that all hoped never to receive. Since the remains of their loved ones were never recovered, a sense of closure eluded the surviving families.

Each year on the anniversary of Billy Hobbs’s death, which ironically was also the aviator’s birthday, his mother Hattie submitted to her hometown newspaper, The Kokomo Tribune, a brief poem to honour her son. In her August 1946 submission, entitled “Missing,” Hattie wrote:

His smiling way and pleasant face

Are a pleasure to recall.

He had a kindly word for each,

And was beloved by all.

The years may wipe out many things

But the bond of love won’t sever

The memory of those happy days

When we were all together.

John Wukovits is the author Dogfight over Tokyo. A military expert specializing in the Pacific theater of World War II, his other books include Tin Can Titans, Hell from the Heavens, For Crew and Country, One Square Mile of Hell, and Pacific Alamo. He has also written numerous articles for such publications as WWII History, Naval History, and World War II. He lives in Michigan.