When I first got into combat, we did not have many fighters escorting us. In Africa, our group had either the American P-38 or, on some occasions, British Spitfires or  Hurricanes. After we were in Italy for awhile, the American P-47 Thunderbolt made its appearance. They would meet us somewhere near the target area, escort us a short distance; then leave for a lack of fuel. Often, they would engage the enemy Messerschmitts or Focke Wulfs and prevent them from hitting us. 

There was nothing more dramatic than to see them in a deadly struggle, one that often ended with one or the other being killed. In February 1944,  we were escorted for a short distance, away from the target, by six or seven P-47s. They soon left, and we were alone again for a short distance; then two American P-39s showed up. They turned out to be planes from the Tuskegee Air Force. The P-39 was a sleek, beautiful airplane with good lines, but it was not nearly as effective as our other fighters. Eventually, the Tuskegee Air Force got the famed and versatile P-51, probably the best fighter of the war. From that time on, they proved to be a very formidable fighting force. 

In England, the escort fighters operated differently. They worked in relays, depending on their range. The British Spitfires and Hurricanes would meet us at the French coast; then escort us for a short distance. They would then be replaced by the American P-38s which had a little more range.  They would have to turn back shortly, because they did not have enough fuel to proceed any further. We referred to all of them as "our little friends." 

After our escorts returned to base, we were alone and vulnerable to attack. The enemy seemed to know when that time came and that is when they most frequently hit us. Later, the P-47s, with wing tanks, would meet us at the target and protect us. Then, we began to gain control of the skies. 

During my last few missions, the P-51 Mustang made its appearance and, from that time on, we were comparatively safe from enemy fighters. Of course, the anti-aircraft (flak) remained as deadly as ever. The enemy fighters were no match for the Mustangs. They usually turned tail and tried to escape. They were there to knock down our bombers, not to compete with our fighter escort.

V-1 rockets were nonexistent in Italy but were plentiful in England. They were dubbed  "Buzz Bombs" and flew over London often, mostly at night. They flew at a fairly low altitude, probably two or three hundred feet off the ground. They sounded like old washing machine motors and, when they ran out of fuel, they would nose down, slam into the ground, and explode. Certainly, they were not very accurate, but they were very dangerous, because they usually destroyed about one half of a city block. The British protected themselves by sleeping and hiding underground, often in subways--anyplace they could find a protected area. 

When I left England, shortly after D-Day, the Buzz Bomb was being replaced by the volatile and dangerous V-2 rocket. You never knew when or where they might hit, because they flew at such a high altitude, traveled much faster, and could not be heard until they exploded. They were even more frightening than the Buzz bomb because their approach gave no warning.