He insisted that I was wrong because he was an ordnance officer and by definition knew more about it than I. Obviously, he didn't realize that a fighter pilot couldn't be wrong on any subject involving flying, especially when arguing with a mere mortal without wings on his chest. I curtly told him that I had dropped a lot of napalm, and there was no way I would drop it there, but I would drop it along the beach if no one was within 1,000 feet. He became angry, insisting that I had been sent there to drop the napalm and that he would take full responsibility. I'd had enough of the discussion, so I said, "Forget it. I'm going back to Eglin." As I walked away he threatened to go to the base commander. "Be my guest," I replied, and returned to the flight line.
I was climbing into the plane when a harried-looking sergeant rushed up and said the base commander wanted to see me right away. As I was being driven to the colonel's office, I hoped he wouldn't order me to make the drop, because then I would have to refuse a direct order, something I had never done and hoped never to do.
When I walked in and saluted he growled, "What in the hell is this all about?" I carefully explained to him that the proposed target for the napalm was too close to the grandstands and barracks for safety, and I refused to make the drop. "I thought you Eglin guys could hit any target," he said.
"Sir, I can hit the target," I replied, "but I can't stop the napalm from spreading to the bleachers and barracks."
He walked to an aerial photograph of Tyndall mounted on the wall and sarcastically asked me to point out this impossible target. When I showed him the small field in the middle of his base he exclaimed, "Jesus Christ!" His manner quickly changed, and he turned to me and said, "When you return to Eglin please give my compliments to your commanding officer and thank him for his cooperation." I saluted, and as I left the office, I heard him telling his secretary to get that pea-brained ordnance officer there on the double.
Approaching Eglin, I asked the tower to have the ordnance men meet me because I still had 300 gallons of napalm aboard. They would have the difficult task of unloading the tanks and disposing of it. I hoped that they knew how to perform this task, since it was unlikely they had ever faced the problem. Napalm is a combination of a gelling compound and gasoline that is mixed just prior to loading. I still don't know how they got the glop out of the tanks. It seemed about as difficult as getting toothpaste back in the tube, but they did it, and I didn't ask how.
A few days later Major Muldoon told me that I would be the test officer for the .60-caliber gun test. The test officer not only flies most of the missions but is also responsible for meeting the goals of the test and forwarding the data and pilot's reports to the project officer. In this case the project officer was Lieutenant Colonel Moon, at Wright Field. A few years later, when I attended the Air Force Test Pilot School at Wright, he was the commanding officer.
The next day I ferried a P-51 to Wright Field and met with Colonel Moon to be briefed on the project. The .60-caliber guns had been ground tested at Wright Field's armament lab, and two of them had been mounted in the nose of a P-38 for preliminary air-firing tests. This weapon was designed with a larger projectile and increased muzzel velocity to make it a heavier hitter and to give it greater range than the standard .50-caliber gun.
When we drove to the flight line to inspect the P-38, I was amazed to see how far the muzzles projected in front of the nose. The normal four .50-caliber machine guns and one 20mm cannon armament of the P-38 did not extend beyond the nose, but these two .60-caliber guns protruded about three feet beyond it. They looked like Kentucky long rifles. I hoped they were as accurate as those frontier weapons were reputed to be.
After being checked out on the operation of the gun switches and recorder cameras, I went back to base operations to file a clearance for the flight back to Eglin and bumped into Barney Turner, who had been at Wright Field for several days on another project. He was walking out to the P-38 with me when we met another pilot just returning from a flight, carrying his parachute back into operations. Barney greeted him and then said, "Lope, I'd like you to meet Chuck Yeager. We flew together at Muroc on the accelerated service test of the P-eighty." We shook hands and exchanged a few pleasantries, then went on our respective ways. Yeager had not yet begun his legendary career as a test pilot, but he was a maintenance officer in the Flight Test Division and as such flew all the fighters. Our paths were to cross many times, and since 1979 he has generously given an annual talk on his experiences, and on various aspects of aviation, at the National Air and Space Museum. Incidentally, his talks are by far the most popular in the museum's lecture series.
Back at Eglin our armorers thoroughly inspected the gun installation and fired a few hundred rounds through both guns on the ground range, which was normal procedure before beginning the flying phase of a test. When they were satisfied, I began flying several missions a day with the object of firing a thousand rounds through each gun, at constantly increasing g-loads, to test the feed mechanism. The gunnery range was over the Gulf, about one mile from shore, with all firing straight out to sea. To accomplish this, especially at the higher g-loads, I had to dive toward the beach from about 8,000 feet down to 5,000 feet, the firing altitude, and roll into a tight turn so that I would have the proper g-load established in a steady state by the time I was heading out to sea. I would then fire a short burst and start climbing back into position for another pass. The test went well, and we had no problems with the guns jamming up through 6 g's, which was the maximum called for by the test program. I had serious doubts, however, about the accuracy of the guns in that mounting configuration. When they were fired, the ends of the barrels wavered wildly through two or three inches. It would have been next to impossible to hit a target at any reasonable range. After I wrote that in my report, Major Muldoon flew one of the missions to confirm my findings. Upon landing he said that the airplane would have to go back to the armament laboratory at Wright Field for new gun mounts before we could start firing for accuracy.
Previously, I had flown several night missions to determine how much the gun's flash interfered with the pilot's vision. That was the first time I had ever done any firing at night, so I had no idea what to expect. I didn't think there would be a problem, because the barrels were so long, but was I ever wrong. Fortunately, Barney had told me to keep one eye closed while firing, so I would retain my night vision in that eye no matter how bright the flash.
I made the flight on a dark, moonless night to achieve the maximum effect. Once over the Gulf range at 5,000 feet, I armed the guns, closed one eye, and pulled the trigger. The sky lit up like the Fourth of July. A flamethrower would have generated less light. Barney's advice proved essential, because I couldn't even make out the instrument panel with the open eye. I expended the rest of the ammunition on several more firing passes, then circled for about fifteen minutes — until my night vision returned — before landing.
Shortly thereafter, Colonel Moon came to Eglin and, following a discussion of the firing results, decided to take the P-38 back to Wright Field to modify the .60-caliber gun system. The armament lab, however, after studying the data, decided to cancel the test. The extensive modifications and further testing that would have been required were deemed unlikely to produce a new operational weapon before the war ended.
I had been so busy since arriving at Eglin that I hadn't given much thought to the war. Although the war in Europe had ended, it was still raging in the Pacific. The B-29s from Tinian and Saipan, under Gen. Curtis E. LeMay's innovative leadership, had burned out many Japanese cities with incendiary bombs while Army and Navy fighters were attacking the coastal cities. Even though there was little doubt that Japan would be defeated, its fanatical defense, to the last man, of Iwo Jima and Okinawa earlier in the year indicated that the planned invasion of the Japanese mainland would be a long and bloody struggle. I fully expected that after completing a year at Eglin I would again be assigned to a combat fighter squadron to continue my war with the Japanese, but I hoped I would be flying something a little more advanced than the P-40. With the skills and experience attained in a year at Eglin, I was sure to be a more formidable antagonist.