June 13, 1943 “I lifted the wing, slid the P-47 through a gentle curve in her dive and lunged for the Focke-Wulf 190. Closer, closer, the square wings, big black crosses in the sight, growing larger, clearer. Trigger squeeze, stick steady, the lead is exactly right, he’ll fly into the bullets, hold it down. Crash! Something’s hit me! The Thunderbolt trembled so violently my finger flew from the trigger and the explosion stopped. It was my own guns. All that noise and vibration, the flame and smoke, had come from the eight heavy .50-caliber guns blasting away. I was so scared I nearly jumped out of my seat. Then violent flame, a sudden mushrooming flower of bright fire, jagged pieces of metal twisting crazily, black smoke. There goes the Focke-Wulf, torn…