The P-47s had been waiting five thousand feet above the bomber stream, and the two Focke-Wulf 190s below them had not seen a thing. Walt Gresham, a young flight leader from Virginia with no kills to his name, watched the German fighters line up on the B-17s and knew he had been handed the moment every pilot dreams of. He pushed his Thunderbolt over and led his flight down, tracers stitching through the sky as the 190s broke hard and dove for their lives. Gresham had never shot down an aircraft in his life.

The pilot he was chasing had shot down 102 of them. For the better part of the chase, Gresham held on. The Focke-Wulfs were fast and nimble, but the diving power of the Thunderbolt was relentless, and eventually the flight leader found himself with a shot. It was not a good one, far out and at a steep deflection angle, but he knew it might be his only chance.

He squeezed the trigger, and his eight . 50 caliber machine guns roared to life over what would become one of the most famous kills of the entire air war. The man in the lead Focke-Wulf was Egon Meyer, the commander of Jagdgeschwader 2, the legendary Richthofen Wing named after the Red Baron. And the footage of that final dive, captured on his killer’s gun camera, would not be seen clearly for decades.

On September 1, 1939, Adolf Hitler launched the invasion of Poland and began what would become the greatest conflict in history. In that opening strike, the Luftwaffe established itself as the most advanced air force in the world, but the young man at the center of this story was nowhere near the front. As the war officially began, the twenty-two-year-old Egon Meyer was on his way to fighter pilot school. Within months, Meyer had completed his training and was assigned to JG 2, the Richthofen Wing, where he would fly the Messerschmitt Bf 109—a sleek, fast, and heavily armed machine that was without question one of the best fighters in the air.

The unit also boasted several seasoned combat pilots, and together these factors created the perfect environment to raise a future ace. In the spring of 1940, as the Battle of France was being won, German commanders were already preparing for their next offensive: the Battle of Britain. JG 2 was destined to play a major role in those plans, and just before the new battle began, the young pilot scored his very first kill. On June 13, 1940, Meyer shot down a French MS-406, one of the last remaining fighters trying to defend a collapsing nation.

It was the first mark on a tally that would grow to legendary proportions. When the Battle of Britain officially began the following month, Meyer gained invaluable combat experience, but he spent most of 1940 flying as a wingman to another famous pilot, Helmut Wick. Meyer’s job was primarily cover, ensuring his leader’s tail was clear so Wick could score the kills. This left Meyer with few opportunities for victories of his own, but it meant he learned how to dogfight from one of the very best in the world.

Over the next year, he managed just two kills against RAF Hawker Hurricanes. Two crucial events then changed the course of his career. The first came on June 10, 1941, when Meyer was promoted to squadron commander in JG 2. He was now a leader, the man who would go in for the kill.

The second was the large-scale introduction of a new opponent. As the Battle of Britain ended in 1940, the Luftwaffe had begun to realize they had finally met an adversary worthy of them: the Supermarine Spitfire. Faster than the fighters they had faced before, easier to handle, with better visibility and firepower, the Spitfire was an aviator’s dream. It could outturn nearly anything in the sky and was simply on another level from the Polish P-11s, the French MS-406s, and the Hawker Hurricanes.

If there was any fighter the Germans truly feared in 1940 and 1941, it was the Spitfire. By the summer of 1941, the British had gone on the offensive over France, and the Luftwaffe was ordered to eliminate any RAF fighters over their newly gained territory. This would be the role of Meyer and JG 2 for the foreseeable future, and it would change his career forever. His first victory as squadron leader came just seven days after his promotion, on June 17, against a Spitfire.

One week later, clearly using the lessons he had learned flying on Wick’s wing, he downed a second on June 24—his fifth confirmed kill, making him an ace. He took no time to celebrate, downing yet another Spitfire the very next day. The claims of any German ace are often met with skepticism, but the records suggest Meyer’s were remarkably accurate. Nick Hector, a researcher who specializes in cross-referencing Luftwaffe kill claims against Allied losses, found that on June 17, the date of Meyer’s first Spitfire kill, one RAF Spitfire went missing in the same area, flown by a young pilot named J.

F. Armitage. No wreckage was ever found. On June 25, three different RAF squadrons lost Spitfires in a large day of dogfighting over France.

The pieces fit, and the records checked out. July of 1941 was staggering. Meyer downed the RAF’s best fighter at an astonishing rate. On the second, he shot down two Spitfires in a single day; on July 3, another pair had fallen by the fourth day of the month.

He added another on July 5, and by the end of the month he had claimed seven more, bringing his total of Spitfire kills to twelve for the month and fifteen overall. The victory markings on his tail grew, and the cross-referencing continued to hold up. On July 3, JG 2 claimed three Spitfires total, two belonging to Meyer, and the RAF lost three Spitfires in a clash over France: Sergeant D. B.

Crabtree, who bailed out and escaped; Sergeant R. H. Cochrane, who bailed and became a prisoner of war; and Sergeant M. K.

McHugh, who was killed, the crash of his Spitfire photographed. On July 12, Meyer claimed two more, again matching losses, this time including Sergeant Stanisław Wiejak of the famous Polish 308 Squadron, killed in action. Whatever the reason, Egon Meyer was becoming one of the most deadly pilots in the Luftwaffe, with no problem taking on the RAF’s advanced Spitfire. In August 1941 he scored two more, in September three, and in October four.

Through the first eight months of 1942, still commanding his squadron, he shot down another twenty-one Spitfires. By August 1942 his tally stood at fifty-one victories, forty-four of them against Supermarine Spitfires. He was one of the most feared adversaries any Allied pilot could face. But in the late summer of 1942, something happened that changed everything.

The Royal Air Force was exhausted, having carried the burden of the air battle almost entirely alone for nearly three years. Just as they were nearing their breaking point, reinforcements arrived in the form of the United States Army Air Forces. With Germany’s failure to win the Battle of Britain in 1940, Britain had become a giant air base for striking at Europe, and after months of coordination the Americans were finally ready to join the fight with a bombing campaign. But in mid-1942 and the first half of 1943, the Allies were still working out the kinks of heavy bombing.

When most people picture the U. S. Air Force in Europe, they think of the P-51 Mustang dominating the skies, but in 1942 and 1943 this was not the case at all. Losses were high, and much had to be learned.

The Germans were making changes too. In the summer of 1942, JG 2 received a brand new aircraft: the Focke-Wulf 190. It was a deadly dogfighter, on par with the Spitfire and Bf 109 in maneuverability and speed, but it packed a heavier punch and could take far more damage, making it perfect for heavy bomber interception. It was a new kind of battle, American heavy bombers against the Luftwaffe and their 190s.

In those early daylight raids, the Americans had no real fighter support. Many fighters lacked the range to make a difference, and American commanders expected their bombers to defend themselves; the B-17s and B-24s carried ten or more defensive guns covering nearly every angle. For a brief while, the approach seemed to work. Reassigned to high-level bomber interception, JG 2 initially struggled, using the tactics that had worked against Spitfires—ambushes from behind, diving from the clouds to hit the tail of the formation.

But they quickly learned the B-17 was no Spitfire. It could absorb an absurd amount of damage, and if fighters hung around behind long enough to finish the job, the gunners would pour lead into them. It appeared the Flying Fortress might be impenetrable after all. They had forgotten to account for one small thing: Egon Meyer.

His kill claims show his Spitfire streak ending in August 1942, followed by three months with no real victories—the period of initial attacks on American bomber formations, when the Luftwaffe was clearly having no luck. Then, on November 23, 1942, something surprising happened. In a raid over France, Meyer destroyed three heavy bombers, and JG 2 dealt a heavy blow to the American bomber force. The answer was a change in tactics.

Noticing the struggle to bring down the heavy bombers, Meyer and a fellow ace, Georg-Peter Eder, devised a new idea: the head-on attack. The Eighth Air Force combat report for that day recorded the shift plainly: heavy bombers hit the Saint-Nazaire submarine base for the fifth time in two weeks, and crews reported a change in enemy tactics from rear to head-on, as the Germans had learned the B-17 and B-24 were weak in forward firepower. Using this approach, Meyer destroyed six more B-17s by June 1943, mixing in a Spitfire for old time’s sake. A few weeks later, a fascinating event took place—or perhaps did not.

On June 26, 1943, future U. S. Air Force ace Robert Johnson was flying his P-47 when he was attacked repeatedly by a Focke-Wulf 190. The P-47 would not go down, and after exhausting his ammunition, the German saluted Johnson and flew home.

According to some sources, the German was Egon Meyer. The episode was even dramatized in an episode of History Channel’s Dogfights. But doubts remain; some claim there is no evidence Meyer was in the area and that he made no claims of P-47s that day. The legend persists, and the truth remains unknown.

The following month, Meyer resumed the defense of the Reich, downing five more B-17s. On July 14, he led his wingman on an intercept and spotted the bombers, but his radio was out. To get the attention of the rest of his flight patrolling elsewhere, the commander of JG 2 resorted to aerobatics. A B-17 navigator who witnessed the attack left a word-for-word recollection: “Whoever it was gave a riveting display of aerobatics out in front of the entire 102nd Combat Wing before slashing in to fatally attack the leading ship of the 422nd Bombardment Squadron in the low slot.

” The attack came at 8:18 a. m. near Étampes, southwest of Paris. After fires broke out between the number two engine and the fuselage, and between the three and four engines, the ship nosed down in a spin.

Seven men managed to bail out. The navigator added, “I had never seen such a tremendous volume of tracer go after that one plane … downright discouraging to hit nothing but air. ” Even against a massive formation with just two fighters preparing to strike, a skilled pilot like Meyer could avoid being hit and take down the lead Fortress with ease.

His tally surpassed seventy, making him one of the greatest bomber killers in the world. But another dynamic was about to change. After the high losses they were suffering, Eighth Air Force brass realized they too had to adjust. The bombers could not defend themselves adequately, even with a new chin turret added to the B-17 to counter the head-on attacks.

What was truly needed was a fighter that could compete with the Messerschmitts and Focke-Wulfs and boast enough range to reach well into France. Right on time, the P-47 Thunderbolt entered the scene. It would not get the praise the Mustang would later receive, but it became the workhorse of the Eighth Air Force, assigned to escort the bombers. Targets were still close enough in mid-1943 for the P-47s to do the job, and the RAF also began offering escorts with advanced models of the Spitfire.

Meyer’s claims slowed in August, September, October, and November, just five B-17s destroyed. The loss reports mostly matched, with victims including the B-17s Bomb Buggy and In God We Trust. His pace had obviously slowed because his attention was now diverted to the fighter escorts; he claimed five Spitfires and three P-47s in the same period, with no fighters at all claimed in April, May, or July. The American pilots were gaining experience.

When the war broke out, German pilots had held the upper hand with far more combat time, but now the war of attrition was taking its toll. Skilled German aviators were falling every day, and the number of men like Egon Meyer was thinning out. He would not go down before one more famous day. On December 1, 1943, Meyer took off on an intercept mission that would become his greatest.

Leading JG 2, he spotted a flight of P-47s exposed and unaware. If the Germans dove on the bombers, the fighters would quickly pounce on them, so they had to strike the Thunderbolts first. At approximately 12:50 in the afternoon, Meyer led the way, dove on the American fighters, and opened fire before they ever knew they were there. In less than four minutes he went from target to target, claiming four P-47s destroyed.

Still, he had enough ammunition left for one more head-on pass, taking down a B-17 as well—five kills in a single day, a rare “ace in a day” feat. One of his victims was a P-47 flown by Vance P. Ludwig, an American pilot who had just received the Distinguished Service Cross. The mission raised Meyer’s total to eighty-nine for the war.

In the next two months, Meyer shot down five more heavy bombers and seven Allied fighters, bringing his total to 102 victories and making him the first German pilot to score 100 victories on the Western Front. He had received many awards, including one from Hitler himself. But his time was drawing near. On March 2, 1944, the heavy bombers of the Eighth Air Force took off to attack targets around Frankfurt.

On their way home, the 355th Fighter Group was assigned to locate stragglers and escort them back. One of the young Americans was Walt Gresham, a flight leader by rank but not by experience, with little action under his belt and no kills. His P-47 was named Trigger Jeepers, painted with a grasshopper or locust with guns blazing. As the bombers headed west, everything had gone normally, but two Focke-Wulfs were on the hunt: Egon Meyer and his wingman.

Gresham’s flight was patrolling five thousand feet above the bomber formation when they spotted the two specks below, clearly preparing to strike. Gresham and the other Thunderbolts nosed down to attack. Meyer was as sharp as ever, always aware of potential threats, but neither he nor his wingman noticed the Thunderbolts above. They had scanned for escorts, but they had missed Gresham.

The P-47s opened up and poured tracers toward the German fighters. Meyer and his wingman immediately turned over and dove, caught and knowing it. They tried to escape, and on most days it might have worked, but the diving power of the P-47 caught them after a lengthy chase. Gresham finally had his shot.

From a long range and a high deflection angle, he fired. For decades, the story might have ended there, preserved only in combat reports and the memories of the men who were there. But a VHS tape sent to a researcher changed that. The tape contained gun camera footage from several 355th Fighter Group pilots, transferred from original reels by the son of a group ace, James Marshall, author of a history of the unit.

The editor had unfortunately mixed up the footage and cut out the labels with the pilots’ names and dates. Only James could really distinguish what was what. When asked about specific clips, he confirmed that one was his father’s footage, and the other was none other than Walt Gresham’s pursuit of Egon Meyer on March 2, 1944. The footage shows just how far away the Focke-Wulf was when Gresham opened fire.

Initially, he appears to be failing to lead his target, but after a few moments he corrects, putting his sights ahead of the German fighter. Then impact. The . 50 caliber rounds tear into Meyer’s aircraft, and almost immediately a piece of the wing tears away.

The 190 falls over into a death spiral and explodes upon impact with the ground. Meyer was unable to bail out. Two explanations are likely. The burst striking the left side of the plane could have found the cockpit, killing him instantly.

Or—more likely, based on the footage—the rounds cut off a substantial part of the left wing, visible in an enhanced look at the film. The rounds appear to only hit the wing, perhaps missing the cockpit and fuselage; the violent roll begins only at the moment the wing rips off, meaning Meyer was likely in control until then. But the violent action inside the cockpit could have knocked him out, or the intense dive incapacitated him, leaving the legendary ace unable to jettison the canopy and bail out. On March 2, 1944, Egon Meyer had accumulated claims of 102 aerial kills: twelve P-47s, twenty-six heavy bombers, and fifty-one Spitfires.

At the age of twenty-six, he was shot down and killed by the P-47 Trigger Jeepers, flown by Walt Gresham, who would later become an ace himself—but this was his very first kill of the war. Moments later, Meyer’s two wingmen also shared in the shooting down of his wingman. It was the beginning of the end for Germany.

In the coming months, many other great aces would be lost, but perhaps none had played a larger role or showcased more skill than Egon Meyer.