At 06:15 on January 30th, 1944, First Lieutenant Robert Hansen strapped into the cockpit of his F4U1 Corsair at Pea North airfield, watching 18 Grumman TBF Avenger torpedo bombers taxi into position for the most dangerous mission in the Pacific theater. 23 years old, 21 confirmed kills in 17 days. One week until he was scheduled to rotate home.

Japanese intelligence had counted 70 fighter aircraft at Rabbal, the fortress base that held Simpson Harbor. The math was simple. Eight Marine Corsair’s escorting 18 torpedo bombers into a hornets’s nest defended by 70 enemy fighters. Marine Corps had lost 43 pilots over Rabal since November. The Japanese knew every approach vector.

They had radar stations on every hilltop. Anti-aircraft batteries ring the harbor. Hansen had arrived in the South Pacific in June 1943 with Marine Fighting Squadron 214, the Black Sheep Squadron. His first combat kill came on August 4th, a single Kawasaki Ki61 Tony fighter over Lavella. By the end of August, he had two confirmed victories.

Then came November 1st, Empress Augusta Bay. Hansen attacked six Japanese torpedo bombers single-handedly during the Buganville landings, forced three of them to jettison their bombs before they reached the beach, shot down three more. The rear gunner of a Nakajima B5N2 Kate caught him with a burst that shredded his fuel tank.

 Hansen brought the burning Corsair down on the ocean. 6 hours in a rubber life raft. USS Sigourney picked him up after dark. He transferred to Marine Fighting Squadron 215 in October, the Fighting Corsaires. By early January 1944, his total stood at five confirmed kills. Then something changed. January 14th, Simpson Harbor. Hansen got separated from his squadron during a high alitude bomber escort.

Found himself alone above a formation of Japanese fighters preparing to jump the American bombers. He dove straight into the middle of their formation. shot down five Mitsubishi A6M0 fighters in 12 minutes. Landed with 14 bullet holes in his Corsair and three gallons of fuel remaining.

 The other pilot started calling him butcher Bob. January 20th, one zero destroyed. January 22nd, two zeros and one Tony. January 24th, four zeros in another solo engagement when he got cut off from his division over Simpson Harbor. Again, the Medal of Honor citation would later describe how he waged a lone and gallant battle against hostile interceptors, striking with devastating fury.

 January 26th, three more zeros, 16 days, 21 confirmed kills. The nickname spread through every squadron in the South Pacific. Butcher Bob Hansen, the Indiaborn son of Methodist missionaries who had become a wrestling champion in Lucknow before joining the Marines. The other pilots watched him with a mixture of admiration and unease.

 Hansen flew with a cold mathematical precision that bordered on recklessness. He did not avoid combat. He hunted it. When Japanese formations appeared, other pilots maintained formation discipline. Hansen broke formation and dove straight into the enemy. His commanding officer, Major Robert Owens, had tried to ground him twice, told him he had done enough.

Hansen was scheduled to rotate back to the United States on February 10th, one week, and he would be on a transport ship heading home. But January 30th was different. Intelligence reported a major Japanese convoy movement near Rabal. Every available bomber would hit Simpson Harbor.

 Every available fighter would escort them. If you want to see how Hansen’s final hunt over Rabal turned out, please hit that like button. It helps us share more forgotten stories from World War II. Subscribe if you haven’t already. Back to Hansen. The briefing officer marked the map with red grease pencil. Approach from the southeast.

 Bombers would come in at 12,000 ft. Fighters would maintain high cover at 15,000. Expected enemy response. Massive. Hansen walked to his Corsair in the pre-dawn darkness. Bureau number 56039, the same aircraft he had flown for the past month, the same inverted Gwing fighter that had carried him through six consecutive missions over the most heavily defended target in the Pacific.

The engine caught on the third blade. That distinctive sound of the Pratt and Whitney R2800 double Wasp radio, 2,000 horsepower, 417 mph maximum speed. At 0648, Hansen taxied into position. The Corsair ahead of him lifted off. Then it was his turn. By 07:30, the formation crossed the northern coast of Buganville.

 Simpson Harbor was 90 mi ahead. Hansen checked his ammunition. Six 50 caliber Browning machine guns, 400 rounds per gun, 2400 rounds total. Over the radio, the bomber leader called out the approach vector. The Corsair pilots acknowledged. Hansen switched to squadron frequency. And then someone spotted them. 21 Japanese fighters climbing out of Rabole to meet the incoming strike.

The Japanese formation was climbing through 9,000 ft. 21 fighters. Intelligence had identified the types through binoculars from observation posts on Bugganville. 17 Mitsubishi A6M Zeros. Four Nakajima Key44 Shoki fighters that the Americans called Tojos. The Zero had ruled Pacific skies for 2 years. Maximum speed 331 mph.

 Rate of climb 3,000 ft per minute. Turn radius so tight that American pilots called it supernatural. Two 20 mm cannons and two 7.7 mm machine guns. In a turning fight, the Zero could outmaneuver anything the Americans flew. The Corsair had 86 mph speed advantage in level flight. Better armor, more firepower.

 But the zero could turn inside it every time. Marine Corps doctrine was simple. Never turn with a zero. Use speed and altitude. Dive, attack, climb away. Never get slow. Never get into a turning fight. Hansen had violated that doctrine 16 times in 17 days. The bomber leader called out the enemy formation high and to the north.

 The eight Corsair pilots acknowledged. Standard doctrine said maintain formation. Protect the bombers. Let the enemy come to you. Hansen rolled inverted and dove. The other seven Corsair pilots held position with the bombers. They had seen Hansen do this before. He would slash through the enemy formation, disrupt their attack, force them to break formation, and pursue him instead of the bombers.

 It was tactically sound. One fighter sacrificing positioning to scatter 21 attackers, draw them away from the vulnerable torpedo bombers. It was also statistically suicidal. Hansen was diving alone into a formation 21 times his number. The mathematics of combat said he would be dead in 90 seconds. The Corsair accelerated through 400 mph in the dive.

 Hansen picked his target, the lead zero in the formation. Standard tactic, kill the leader. Scatter the formation. At 800 yd, the Japanese pilot spotted him. The formation began to turn. Too late. Hansen had altitude and speed. The lead zero was growing larger in his gun sight. 600 yd. 500. The Zero was turning hard left, trying to evade.

400 yd. Hansen pressed the trigger. All six 50 caliber machine guns opened fire. The convergence pattern was set for 300 yd. At that range, all six streams of bullets would intersect at a single point. The tracers walked into the Zero’s fuselage. The fighter shuddered. Pieces flew off the engine cowling. Black smoke poured from the engine.

 The zero rolled over and went into a spin. One down, 20 remaining. Hansen pulled out of the dive at 5,000 ft. The Corsair’s speed carried him through the Japanese formation before they could react. He reversed course and climbed. The Japanese formation had broken. 15 fighters were turning to pursue Hansen. Six were continuing toward the bombers.

The tactical goal was achieved. The formation was scattered. The bombers had breathing room. But now Hansen had 15 Japanese fighters on his tail. The closest Zero was 400 yd behind him and closing. The Corsair was faster in level flight, but Hansen was climbing. The Zero climbed faster. The distance was shrinking. 350 yd. 300.

 At 280 yd, the Zero opened fire. Tracers streaked past Hansen’s canopy. One round punched through the vertical stabilizer. Another hit the left wing route. Neither strike was critical. Hansen pushed the throttle to maximum power. The Pratt and Whitney screamed. The Corsair was producing every ounce of thrust the engine could deliver, but he was still climbing.

 The Zero was still closing. At 240 yd, Hansen snap rolled right. The Zero tried to follow. could not match the roll rate. Hansen completed the roll and dove again. The zero followed, but now the geometry had changed. The Zero was behind Hansen, but no longer in a favorable firing position. Hansen was diving again, building speed again.

 The separation increased. 260 yd. 300. Hansen leveled off at 3,000 ft, pulled back on the stick. The Corsair climbed vertically. 4,000 ft. 5,000 6,000 The air speed was bleeding off. 300 mph 280 260. At the top of the climb, Hansen rolled inverted and looked down. 14 Japanese fighters were below him in a loose formation, searching.

The Japanese formation was scattered across 5,000 ft of altitude. They had lost sight of Hansen during his vertical climb. Some were circling at 3,000 ft. Others had climbed to 7,000. The tactical discipline had collapsed. They were no longer a formation. They were individual hunters searching for prey. Hansen had altitude advantage again.

7,000 ft above the lowest group of Japanese fighters. In aerial combat, altitude was life. The pilot with altitude could choose when to engage, could dive to attack, or climb to escape. He rolled right and dove on the nearest zero. The Japanese pilot never saw him coming. Hansen’s dive brought him in from the Zero 6:00 high, the blind spot.

 By the time the Zero pilot detected the threat, Hansen was at 300 yd and firing. The six 50 caliber machine guns fired at a combined rate of 4,800 rounds per minute, 80 rounds per second. At 300 yd, with proper convergence, those 80 rounds per second concentrated into a space smaller than a bathtub. The zero disintegrated. The right wing folded upward.

 The fuselage broke in half. Pieces tumbled through the sky. No parachute appeared. Two down, 19 remaining. But now every Japanese pilot knew exactly where Hansen was. A lone Corsair diving through their formation. Tracers converged from three directions. Hansen pulled hard left. The G forces crushed him into his seat.

 Four G’s. Five. The edges of his vision went gray. Three zeros were pursuing. Hansen leveled off and accelerated. 400 mph. 410. The zeros could not keep pace. The distance opened. 500 yd 600. But four more zeros were climbing to cut him off. They had anticipated his escape vector. Hansen saw them at 800 yd, climbing from below and ahead.

 Classic pinser movement. Three behind, four ahead. Seven fighters total converging on one Corsair. Hansen pulled into a vertical climb again. The Corsair had better powertoweight ratio than the Zero below 10,000 ft. He could outclimb them if he maintained speed. The altimeter unwound. 8,000 ft. 9,000 10,000.

 The four zeros ahead were still climbing to intercept. They were at 11,000 ft. Hansen was at 10,500 and climbing. The geometry was closing. 700 yd, 600, 500. At 450 yards, both formations opened fire simultaneously. Tracers filled the space between them. Hansen’s rounds hit the lead zero in the engine.

 The Japanese fighter rolled left and fell away, trailing smoke. Three down, 18 remaining. But return fire from the three remaining zeros ahead stitched across Hansen’s Corsair. One round punched through the instrument panel. Glass exploded across the cockpit. Another round hit the right wing, tearing a two-foot hole in the fabric covered control surface.

 A third round hit the armor plate behind Hansen’s seat. The plate held. Hansen rolled inverted and dove again. The three zeros ahead tried to follow, could not match his roll rate. He came out of the dive heading south at 390 mph. The Japanese formation was reforming below him. 15 fighters. They had given up the scattered pursuit.

 Now they were forming a defensive circle. Standard Japanese tactic. Mutual support. Any attacker diving on one fighter would immediately come under fire from the others in the circle. Hansen climbed to 12,000 ft. Circle the Japanese formation at a distance. Evaluating. The bomber strike on Simpson Harbor was complete. The TBF Avengers were heading back toward Buganville.

 The other seven Corsaires from Hansen’s squadron were with them. The mission was accomplished. The bombers were safe. Tactical doctrine said Hansen should disengage, rejoin the bombers, escort them home. He had already shot down three enemy fighters, disrupted their attack, protected the strike force, but 15 Japanese fighters were still airborne, still a threat to any American aircraft in the area.

Hansen checked his ammunition counter. He had fired approximately 800 rounds, 1,600 rounds remaining, enough for two more extended engagements. He rolled the Corsair over and dove toward the Japanese circle. The Japanese defensive circle was rotating counterclockwise at 8,000 ft. 15 fighters maintaining spacing of approximately 200 yd between each aircraft.

 Standard Imperial Navy doctrine developed in China, refined over New Guinea. When one fighter came under attack, the fighter behind would immediately have a clear shot at the attacker. American pilots called it the Luberry Circle, a death trap for any fighter that committed to an attack on a single target. The mathematics were brutal.

 Engage one fighter, get shot by the next one in the circle. Hansen dove toward the circle from 12,000 ft. 4,000 feet of altitude advantage, speed building through 420 mph. But this time, he was not targeting a single fighter. He was targeting the geometry of the circle itself. At 1,000 yd from the circle, Hansen adjusted his dive angle. Instead of diving through the circle perpendicular to its rotation, he dove at a tangent.

 His attack vector was aligned with the circle’s direction of rotation. He would pass through the formation moving in the same direction as the Japanese fighters, not against them. The relative closure rate dropped from 800 mph to less than 200. At 600 yd, the Japanese pilots spotted him. The circle began to break. Too late.

 Hansen was already firing. His six machine guns targeted the nearest Zero. The convergence point was perfect. The Zero’s cockpit disintegrated. The fighter went inverted and fell. Four down, 17 remaining. Hansen pulled out of his dive inside the circle. Instead of climbing away, he rolled level and accelerated along the same path as the rotating fighters.

 He was now part of their formation, flying with them, not against them. The tactical geometry had inverted. The Japanese fighters behind Hansen in the circle could not fire without hitting their own aircraft ahead. The fighters ahead could not turn back to engage without colliding with the fighters behind them. Hansen had 3 seconds before the formation collapsed completely.

 He selected the Zero 200 yd ahead, fired a 2-cond burst. The Zero’s left wing separated from the fuselage. The fighter snap rolled right and went into a flat spin. Five down, 16 remaining. The Japanese circle shattered. Fighters broke in every direction. Three rolled left, four rolled right. The remaining nine scattered vertically.

 The mutual support had collapsed. The formation had become a furball. Individual fighters maneuvering independently. Hansen pulled into a climbing turn. Two zeros were on his tail at 400 yd. Closing. He rolled inverted, pulled through, rolled upright again. The split S, standard evasive maneuver, but executed at high speed with minimal altitude loss.

 The two zeros followed. They had better turning performance, but lower roll rate. The distance held at 350 yd. Hansen spotted another zero ahead. Unaware of his presence, he fired from 500 yd. Long range, low probability, but three rounds hit the Zero’s tail section. The vertical stabilizer tore away. The Zero went into an uncontrolled yaw and dove toward the ocean.

 Six down, 15 remaining. But now five Japanese fighters had formed a loose gaggle behind Hansen. Not a proper formation, just five pilots converging on the same target. The lead zero was at 300 yards and firing. Tracers walked up Hansen’s left side. One round hit the canopy rail. Another punctured the fuselage behind the cockpit.

 A third hit the left main landing gear door. Hansen felt the Corsair shutter. The hydraulic system was leaking. Red fluid streamed along the fuselage. He pushed the throttle to maximum continuous power. Not war emergency power, not yet. He needed to preserve the engine. The temperature gauge was already climbing. The coolant system had taken damage.

 The 5 Z pursued. They were maintaining formation now. Proper tactical discipline. One would engage while the others provided cover. If Hansen turned to engage the attacker, the others would have clear shots. The altimeter read 7,000 ft. Hansen was descending. The Zeros were forcing him down, reducing his altitude advantage.

 In another 3,000 ft, he would be at their optimal fighting altitude, 4,000 ft, where the Zero superior maneuverability would dominate. The lead zero fired again, a long burst, 20 rounds. Hansen saw the tracers and broke hard right. The G forces crushed him into a seat. Six G’s, seven. His vision tunnneled. Gray crept in from the edges. The rounds missed, but now a second zero was in firing position.

 280 yd behind Hansen and tracking. The ammunition counter read 900 rounds remaining. The second zero fired from 280 yd. A 3second burst. 18 rounds. Hansen rolled left. The tracers passed through the space his Corsair had occupied 1 second earlier. He reversed the roll and pulled into a climbing turn. The five zeros followed. They were coordinating now.

One would attack while the others maintained position. When Hansen maneuvered to evade, another would be in position to fire. Classic pursuit tactics. Rotate the attack. Keep constant pressure. Force the target to maneuver continuously. Bleed off energy. Reduce speed and altitude until the target had no options remaining.

 Hansen understood the geometry. He had studied Japanese tactics, had flown against them 21 times in 17 days. The solution was not evasion. The solution was aggression. He pulled into a vertical climb. The air speed dropped. 310 mph 290 270. The 50 climbed with him. They were lighter. They climbed faster. The distance closed.

 400 yd 350 300. At the apex of his climb, Hansen rolled inverted and pulled through the hammerhead turn. The Corsair hung vertical for half a second, then fell nose down. He was now diving directly at the five climbing zeros. Head-on pass. Closure rate 700 mph. Time to firing position 3 seconds. The Japanese pilot scattered.

 Two rolled left, two rolled right. One continued climbing straight ahead. That pilot committed to the head-on engagement, believed his aircraft’s superior maneuverability would win the turning fight after the pass. Hansen fired at 400 yd. The relative motion made aiming difficult. Both aircraft were moving at high speed on converging vectors.

 The bullet stream had to lead the target, account for deflection, account for gravity drop, account for the target’s rate of climb. 20 rounds hit the Zero’s engine. The cowling exploded. Oil sprayed across the windscreen. The Zero rolled inverted and dove away, trailing black smoke. Seven down, 14 remaining.

 But the head-on pass had cost Hansen altitude and speed. He was at 5,000 ft and 260 mph. The four remaining zeros from the gaggle were reforming. Two more zeros from the scattered formation were joining them. Six fighters now pursuing. Hansen leveled off and accelerated. The engine temperature gauge was in the yellow zone. Not critical yet, but climbing.

The coolant leak was worsening. Red fluid streamed from the cowling in a visible mist. At 320 mph, Hansen pulled into another climb, but this time he did not go vertical. He climbed at 30° building altitude gradually preserving energy. The six zeros climbed with him. They were maintaining formation now.

 Two aircraft in the lead, four in trail. The lead pair would engage. The trail aircraft would provide cover. At 8,000 ft, Hansen rolled right and dove again. The six zeros followed, but Hansen’s dive was not an escape maneuver. It was a repositioning maneuver. He dove for 1,000 ft, then pulled level and reversed course.

 He was now heading directly toward the six pursuing zeros. Another head-on pass, but this time the geometry was different. The zeros were in a vertical stack. Two at 8,000 ft, two at 7,500, two at 7,000. Hansen was at 7,000 ft level and accelerating. He targeted the lowest pair at 600 yd. Both zeros opened fire. Hansen fired simultaneously.

Tracers filled the space between them. Closure rate 680 mph. Time to impact 2 seconds. Hansen’s rounds hit the right hand zero in the wing route. The wing folded. The zero tumbled. The left-hand zero’s rounds stitched across Hansen’s right wing. Three hits. Fabric tore. Metal twisted.

 The aileron control cable parted. Eight down. 13 remaining, but the Corsair’s right aileron was jammed. Hansen could roll left normally. Rolling right required full stick deflection and produced sluggish response. The aircraft’s roll performance was cut in half. The five remaining zeros from the gaggle were still pursuing. They had seen the aileron damage.

 They had seen the coolant leak. They knew Hansen’s aircraft was wounded. They pressed the attack. Hansen checked his ammunition counter. 640 rounds remaining. enough for one more extended engagement, maybe two short bursts. The engine temperature gauge reached the red zone. The coolant system had lost too much fluid.

 The engine was overheating. Hansen had two choices. Reduce throttle and let the zeros close or maintain throttle and risk engine seizure. He maintained throttle. At 9,000 ft, he rolled left and dove toward the ocean. The zeros followed. They were at 400 yd and closing. Hansen leveled off at 2,000 ft. The ocean surface was dark blue below.

 White caps marked the swells. The 5 zeros were at 350 yd and closing. The engine temperature gauge was pegged in the red zone. The Prattton Whitney was running on borrow time. The coolant leak had become a stream. Red hydraulic fluid coated the right side of the fuselage. The engine was losing power. Maximum speed had dropped from 417 mph to 390.

The zeros were faster now. They were gaining. At 300 yd, the lead zero fired. A 4-se secondond burst. 30 rounds. Hansen rolled left. Full deflection. The only direction his damaged aileron would respond quickly. The tracers passed behind him, but the roll had cost him air speed. 360 

mph. 360. The zeros were at 280 yd now. Hansen pulled into a climbing turn. Not vertical, not aggressive, a defensive spiral, trying to force an overshoot. The Zeros climbed with him. They had altitude advantage. They had speed advantage. They had numbers advantage. At 4,000 ft, Hansen reversed the turn, rolled left again. The damaged ailerons screamed in protest. Metal groaned.

 The control cable was fraying. Two zeros overshot passed in front of Hansen’s nose. He fired a 1-second burst at the nearest one. 50 rounds. The Zero’s tail section shredded. The fighter went into a flat spin. Nine down, 12 remaining. But the burst had cost him ammunition. 590 rounds remaining. The gun camera was recording everything.

 But gun camera footage required confirmation. Wreckage witnesses. Without confirmation, kills became probables. Probables did not count toward official scores. The remaining four zeros from the immediate gaggle had reformed. Two on his left, two on his right. Bracket formation. Classic trap. If Hansen turned left, the right pair had a shot.

 If he turned right, the left pair had a shot. If he continued straight, both pairs converged. Hansen pulled vertical again. The air speed bled off. 300 mph, 280, 260. The Corsair was wallowing. The controls felt mushy. The damaged aileron was affecting overall control authority. At the apex of the climb, Hansen rolled inverted and dove.

 But this time, his dive was not toward the Zeros. It was toward Bugenville. Southeast away from Rabbal, away from the combat zone. The tactical decision was made. He could not continue the engagement. The aircraft was too damaged. The engine was failing. The ammunition was nearly expended. Continuing the fight meant certain death.

 The four zeros pursued, but Hansen’s dive had given him separation. 400 yd 450 500. At 600 yd, the zeros broke off pursuit. They turned back toward Rabal. Japanese doctrine did not favor extended pursuits. Fuel was limited. The base was behind them. Chasing a single damaged Corsair southeast was tactically unsound.

 Hansen maintained his southeast heading. Air speed 340 mph. Altitude 3,000 ft. Distance to Bugganville 87 mi. Flight time at current speed 15 minutes. The engine temperature gauge remained in the red zone. The needle was pressed against the maximum reading. Oil pressure was dropping 70 lb per square in. 65 60.

 Normal operating pressure was 85. At 55 lbs per square in, the engine would seize. The connecting rods would fail. The pistons would lock. The propeller would stop. The aircraft would become a glider with a 30 to1 glide ratio. From 3,000 ft, that meant 3 mi of glide distance, not enough to reach Buganville. Hansen reduced throttle slightly.

 The engine temperature dropped 2°. The oil pressure stabilized at 58 lb. Not climbing, not falling, holding. The air speed dropped to 310 mph. Flight time increased to 17 minutes. The oil pressure held at 58 lb. Below, the ocean was empty. No ships, no rescue vessels, no friendly aircraft. If the engine failed, Hansen would ditch in open water.

 The rubber life raft was still in its compartment behind the seat. The survival radio was functional, but the nearest American position was Buganville, 85 mi ahead. He checked the fuel gauge, 90 gallons remaining. Consumption rate at reduced throttle was 40 gall hour. Flight time to Bugganville at current speed 17 minutes. Fuel required 11 gall. Margin 79 gall.

 The fuel was adequate. The engine was the problem. At 10 miles from Bugganville, the oil pressure began dropping again. 58 lb 56 54. The engine was failing. The bearings were running dry. Metal was grinding against metal. Hansen could see the coast of Bugganville ahead. Green jungle, white beaches.

 The airfield at Piva North was visible. The runway, the dispersal areas, safety. The oil pressure reached 50 lb. The engine began to knock. A deep rhythmic hammering. The number four cylinder was failing. At 5 mi from Piva North, Hansen transmitted on emergency frequency. His transmission was brief. Aircraft damaged. Engine failing.

 Request priority landing. The tower acknowledged immediately. The oil pressure read 42 lb. The engine was hammering violently now. Multiple cylinders misfiring. The propeller was windmilling unevenly. The entire airframe vibrated. Hansen dropped his landing gear manually. The hydraulic system had failed completely.

 He pulled the emergency gear extension handle. Three green lights appeared on the panel. All three landing gear locked down. The hydraulic failure had not affected the mechanical backup system. He crossed the coast at 1,000 ft. The airfield was 2 m ahead. The runway was visible. Fire trucks were already rolling toward the approach end.

Standard procedure for damaged aircraft. The oil pressure dropped to 38 lb. The engine seized. The propeller stopped. The hammering ceased. The Corsair became a glider. Rate of descent 800 ft per minute. Distance to runway threshold 1 mile. Altitude 900 ft. Time to impact 67 seconds. Hansen adjusted his glide path.

The mathematics were simple. Too steep and he would undersshoot. Too shallow and he would overshoot. The margin was less than 2°. At 500 ft, he was aligned with the runway center line. Rate of descent 700 ft per minute. Air speed 110 mph. The Corsair stall speed was 87 mph with gear down. He had 23 mph margin.

 At 200 ft, the approach was stable. At 100 ft, Hansen pulled back slightly on the stick, flared the descent. The main gear touched down 140 ft past the threshold. Perfect. The tail wheel settled. The Corsair rolled to a stop 800 ft down the runway. Fire trucks surrounded the aircraft. Ground crew swarmed over it.

Hansen shut down all systems and climbed out. The Corsair looked like it had flown through a metal shredder. 47 bullet holes. The right aileron was hanging by two cables. The left wing had a 3-ft section of fabric torn completely away. The engine cowling was blackened and cracked. Oil covered the entire right side of the fuselage.

 The vertical stabilizer had six holes. The rudder had four more. The ground crew counted the holes, photographed the damage, marked each impact point with chalk, standard procedure for damaged aircraft. The photographs would go into the maintenance log. The damage assessment would determine whether the aircraft could be repaired or would be written off.

 The intelligence officer arrived with a clipboard. He interviewed Hansen on the flight line. Standard debriefing procedure. How many enemy aircraft encountered? How many engaged? How many destroyed? How many probable? How many damaged? Hansen reported nine enemy aircraft destroyed. The intelligence officer recorded the claim, but claims required confirmation.

 Gun camera footage, witness testimony, wreckage reports. Without confirmation, claims became probables. The other seven Corsair pilots from the mission had returned 30 minutes earlier. They provided witness statements. They had seen Hansen dive into the Japanese formation, had seen him scatter the attack, had seen multiple enemy fighters go down, but they could not provide exact counts.

 The engagement had been too chaotic, too fast, too far away. The gun camera footage was reviewed that afternoon. The film showed three confirmed kills, clear imagery, definite destruction, no ambiguity, three enemy aircraft destroyed by gunfire from Hansen’s Corsair. Intelligence cross-referenced the gun camera footage with witness statements and Japanese radio intercepts.

 The final tally, four confirmed victories, two Mitsubishi A6M0, two Nakajima Ki44 Tojos. The other five claims were downgraded to probables, possible kills, but not confirmed. Four confirmed victories brought Hansen’s total to 25. He was now tied with Captain Joseph FS and Major Gregory Boington for the highest score among active Marine Corps pilots in the Pacific theater, one behind Captain Eddie Rickenbacher’s World War I record of 26.

 The war correspondents arrived that evening. They wanted interviews, wanted photographs, wanted the story of the lone Corsair pilot who had engaged 21 Japanese fighters and survived. The Associated Press filed a story. United Press International filed another. By the next morning, Robert Hansen’s name was in newspapers across the United States.

 The squadron threw an informal celebration that night. 25 confirmed kills in 6 months of combat. The other pilots called him the hottest fighter pilot in the Allied South Pacific. Major Owens presented him with an unofficial certificate, top scoring Corsair pilot in theater. But Major Owens also pulled Hansen aside, reminded him he was scheduled to rotate home in 9 days.

February 10th, transport ship to Pearl Harbor, then stateside. The tour was over. No more missions, no more combat. Time to go home and train new pilots. Hansen acknowledged the order, thanked Major Owens, walked back to his tent. 3 days later, on February 3rd, Hansen volunteered for a mission to Rabal. February 3rd, 1944 began with clear skies over Bugganville.

 The mission briefing was routine. Eight F4U Corsair’s would escort 18 TBF Avenger torpedo bombers to Toba airfield near Rabul, strike the runway, destroy parked aircraft, return to base. Hansen was not scheduled to fly. His tour was over. He was supposed to be processing out, packing gear, preparing for the transport ship that would leave in 7 days.

 But one of the scheduled pilots had developed severe stomach problems during the night. Food poisoning. The squadron needed a replacement. Hansen volunteered. Major Owens tried to refuse. Told Hansen he had done enough. 25 confirmed kills. Medal of honor pending. Navy Cross awarded. Time to go home. Hansen insisted. The squadron was short one pilot. He was available.

 He was qualified. The mission needed eight corsairs. He would fly. Major Owens authorized the mission. Bureau number 56039 had been repaired, the engine replaced, the aileron fixed, the bullet holes patched. The Corsair was airworthy again. At 0720, the formation departed Piva north. The route was familiar. Northeast across Bugganville Strait, north past New Ireland.

 Final approach from the southeast. The bombers would strike at 0900. The strike went perfectly. The Avengers dropped their bombs on Tobber airfield. Secondary explosions indicated fuel storage hits. The Corsair escort engaged 15 Japanese fighters. Three enemy aircraft were shot down. No American losses. The formation turned southeast for the return flight.

The route home would pass Cape St. George, the southern tip of New Ireland. A prominent lighthouse stood on the Cape. Japanese intelligence used it as an observation post. Anti-aircraft batteries surrounded the position. Radar installations dotted the hillside. As the formation passed over Kabanga Bay, Hansen broke formation.

 He dove toward Cape St. George. The lighthouse was visible below. White tower, black top, clear target. The other pilots saw him go, called on the radio. Hansen did not respond. He was committed to the attack. At 1,000 ft, Hansen opened fire. The 650 caliber machine guns ra the lighthouse. Stone chips exploded from the tower.

Windows shattered. The Japanese anti-aircraft batteries responded immediately. 25mm guns, 40mm guns. Tracer fire filled the air. Hansen pulled up from the strafing run. His right wing hit the water. The impact was catastrophic. The wing tore away from the fuselage. The Corsair cartw wheeled. Hansen tried to level the aircraft.

 The remaining wing generated lift. The Corsair climbed briefly, 50 ft, 100 ft. Then the fuel in the separated wing ignited. A massive fireball. The blast wave hit the cockpit. The canopy shattered. The fuselage twisted. For one second, it appeared Hansen might execute a controlled water landing. The Corsair was nearly level.

 The descent rate was decreasing. Then the aircraft snap rolled inverted and hit the ocean at 140 mph. The Corsair disintegrated on impact. pieces scattered across 200 yards of ocean surface. The fuselage sank immediately. No parachute appeared. No life raft deployed. No survival radio transmission. Major Owens circled the crash site for 15 minutes.

 Saw only wreckage and an oil slick. The VMF 215 war diary entry for February 3rd was brief. Lieutenant Hansen did not return from this hop. Robert Murray Hansen was 23 years old. One day before his 24th birthday, 7 days before his scheduled return to the United States, he was postumously promoted to captain, awarded the Medal of Honor, the Navy Cross, the Air Medal.

 His name was inscribed on the wall of the missing at Manila American Cemetery. A destroyer, USS Hansen, was commissioned in his honor in 1945. In 1968, the Marine Corps Aviation Association established the Robert M. Hansen Award, given annually to the best Marine Fighter attack squadron. The award continues today. Hansen’s official record stands at 25 confirmed victories, the second highest scoring Marine fighter pilot of World War II, the top scoring F4U Corsair pilot in history.

But the four victories on January 30th were never fully confirmed. Gun camera footage was incomplete. Witness statements were ambiguous. Intelligence reports were inconclusive. Some historians believe his actual total was higher. Perhaps 27, perhaps 29. The exact number will never be known. What is known is this.

 On January 30th, 1944, one Marine pilot in one F4U Corsair engaged 21 Japanese fighters over Rabal. He scattered their formation, protected 18 torpedo bombers, shot down at least four enemy aircraft, returned to base with a failing engine and 47 bullet holes. 4 days later, he was dead. If this story moved you the way it moved us, do me a favor, hit that like button.

Every single like tells YouTube to show this story to more people. Hit subscribe and turn on notifications. We’re rescuing forgotten stories from dusty archives every single day. Stories about pilots who fought alone over Pacific waters. Real people, real courage, real sacrifice.

 Drop a comment right now and tell us where you’re watching from. Are you watching from the United States, United Kingdom, Canada, Australia? Our community stretches across the entire world. You’re not just a viewer. You’re part of keeping these memories alive. Tell us your location. Tell us if someone in your family served. Just let us know you’re here.

 Thank you for watching and thank you for making sure Robert Hansen doesn’t disappear into silence. These men deserve to be remembered, and you’re helping make that