200 bullets shredded his plane, but the German ace ran out of ammo, he saluted, and let the hero fly home

The sky over Northern France on June 26, 1943, was a chaotic canvas of oil, fire, and lead. At 6:47 p.m., Lieutenant Robert S. Johnson felt his world explode. A volley of 20mm cannon shells from a German fighter shredded his fuselage, shattering his canopy and spraying hydraulic fluid directly into his eyes.

Johnson was 23 years old and flying “Half-Pint,” a Republic P-47 Thunderbolt. He was trapped in the “coffin corner”—the tail-end position of the 56th Fighter Group—and 16 German Focke-Wulf 190s had just found him.

THE TRAP IN THE CLOUDS

The first ambush was devastating. 21 cannon shells punched through the “Jug’s” thick skin. The hydraulic system ruptured, coating the windscreen in hot, opaque oil. A machine gun bullet grazed the very tip of Johnson’s nose, while shrapnel buried itself in his right leg.

Kicking the rudder in a blind panic, Johnson managed to put out an engine fire, but he was trapped. The canopy frame had been twisted by the impacts; it was jammed shut. He was a prisoner in a falling, burning coffin, 30 miles from the English coast, with the elite pilots of JG26 circling for the kill.

THE FLYING TANK

Republic Aviation had built the P-47 around one philosophy: Bring the pilot home. It was a 7-ton behemoth, often mocked as a “flying bathtub.” But as Johnson leveled out at 15,000 feet just to breathe, that bulk became his only hope.

A blue-and-yellow FW-190 closed in on his six o’clock. The pilot was no rookie—it was Major Egon Mayer, a legendary German ace with 102 victories. Mayer pulled to within 50 yards, so close Johnson could see the individual rivets on the German’s nose.

Mayer pressed the trigger.

THE HUNDRED-BULLET BRAWL

Mayer had already spent his heavy 20mm cannons on American bombers. Now, he unleashed his MG17 machine guns. For several agonizing minutes, a textbook execution unfolded in mid-air.

• The First Pass: Mayer raked the P-47 from tail to nose. The armor plate behind Johnson’s head rang like a bell. Bullets shredded the right wing, but the “Jug” stayed level.

• The Second Pass: Mayer pulled alongside, just 50 feet away. He looked at the shattered American fighter, counting the holes, and shook his head in disbelief. He dropped back and opened fire again, pumping hundreds of rounds into the fuselage.

Johnson crouched as low as he could behind the seat’s steel plating. He slowed his plane to 190 mph—just above stalling speed—hoping Mayer would overshoot. The German didn’t bite. He stayed on the tail, methodically dismantling the P-47 piece by piece.

THE MOMENT OF HONOR

By the third pass, the Half-Pint was a sieve. The rudder was gone, the elevators were shredded, and oil was streaming from a dozen ruptures. Mayer had fired over 200 machine gun rounds into this single aircraft.

He pulled alongside Johnson one last time. They were 30 feet apart. Through the oil-smeared glass, Johnson saw Mayer’s face clearly. The German ace looked at the battered, smoking wreckage that still somehow possessed the will to fly.

Mayer didn’t reach for the trigger. Instead, he raised his hand in a slow, deliberate salute—a pilot’s tribute to an enemy who refused to surrender. Mayer rocked his wings twice—the universal signal of respect—banked hard, and disappeared toward the French coast. He was out of ammo, but more importantly, he was out of words for what he had just witnessed.

THE MIRACLE AT MANSTON

Johnson limped across the English Channel at 7,000 feet, his engine knocking metal-on-metal. When he reached RAF Manston, his hydraulics were dead. He had no landing gear and no flaps.

He performed a high-speed belly landing at 120 mph. The P-47 skidded down the runway in a shower of sparks and screaming metal, stopping just 50 feet from the end. Fire crews had to use crowbars to pry the jammed canopy open and pull Johnson from the fumes.

THE POST-FLIGHT INSPECTION

When the chief mechanic examined the “Half-Pint,” he stopped counting at 208 machine gun holes and 21 cannon shell impacts. He declared the plane a “Category E” total loss. The aircraft had survived:

1. A ruptured hydraulic system.

2. A shattered oxygen system.

3. Direct hits to multiple engine cylinders.

4. A shredded tail section that should have snapped off in flight.

The 1-inch steel armor plate behind Johnson’s seat was cratered with 15 direct hits. Had that plate been a millimeter thinner, history would never have known Robert S. Johnson’s name.

EPILOGUE: THE LEGEND OF THE WOLFPACK

Robert Johnson didn’t let the trauma ground him. He was back in the air within a week. He went on to become one of the greatest aces in the European Theater, finishing the war with:

• 27 confirmed victories.

• The Distinguished Service Cross.

• A record that broke the legendary Eddie Rickenbacher’s WWI total.

The P-47 Thunderbolt proved to the Luftwaffe that American engineering was built for more than just speed—it was built for survival. As for Egon Mayer, he died in combat in 1944, but the story of his salute remains one of the most powerful examples of chivalry in the history of warfare.

Note: Some content was generated using AI tools (ChatGPT) and edited by the author for creativity and suitability for historical illustration purposes.