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The Burma Banshees at Byrd Field Richmond Virginia

Robin Adair — Thu, 20 Aug 2026 13:06:21 +0000

When you think of the legendary WWII 80th Fighter Group—the famous “Burma Banshees”—you usually picture P-40 Warhawks slicing through the muggy, dangerous skies over India and Burma.

But every legendary unit has a origin story, and for the Banshees, it started with a sudden, bitter twist of fate in Virginia.

In the spring of 1943, after training for nearly a year on the heavy-duty P-47 Thunderbolt with their sights set on England, the pilots were handed shocking orders: turn in their Thunderbolts, report to Byrd Field in Richmond, and convert to the P-40. The transition course was a whirlwind—barely 15 hours in an aircraft many felt was already obsolete.

Frustrated, undertrained on the new airframe, and processing the news that they were being sent to an unnamed, “highly dangerous” theater, the young aviators vented their energy the best way they knew how: they flew.

Residents across Richmond suddenly found themselves looking up as low-flying P-40s buzzed fast and loud over rivers, rooftops, and tree lines.

Check out this rare archival footage capturing those raw, early days at Byrd Field. Before the jungle camouflage, before the iconic skull art, and before the grueling missions over the China-Burma-India theater, this is the Burma Banshees mastering their Warhawks over the skies of Richmond:

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90th Fighter Squadron, The Burma Banshees Bridge Busting

Robin Adair — Thu, 13 Aug 2026 17:51:19 +0000

October 1944: Lieutenant Ellis Fisher and the Bridges of Northern Burma

While the 89th Fighter Squadron was grinding through October at Myitkyina, the 90th Fighter Squadron was conducting its own relentless war from Tingkawk Sakan.

For the 90th, October 1944 would become the most productive bombing month in the squadron’s history.

At the center of much of that activity was Lieutenant Ellis Fisher.

The Thetkegyin Bridge

October 1st began badly for the Japanese railroad and transportation network around Indaw Lake.

The target was the Thetkegyin Bridge, just north of the lake. Beginning at 11:45 in the morning and continuing until 5:15 that afternoon, eight waves of Thunderbolts attacked the bridge.

Five and a half hours.

Eight waves.

Fifty-eight quarter-ton bombs.

Wave after wave of P-47s went in.

And the bridge held.

Bombs landed close to the structure. Others struck the approaches and the nearby town of Thetkegyin. But the span itself stubbornly remained standing.

Then Lieutenant Fisher made his pass.

He put a bomb directly on the north span.

The bridge finally gave way, and its transportation problems were, as the squadron historian recorded with characteristic understatement, “over for a while.”

It was an extraordinary finish to an already remarkable day.

October 1st had produced the squadron’s busiest bombing schedule to that point, with 37 bombing sorties flown. After eight waves had attacked the bridge, Fisher’s single pass finally accomplished what the earlier attacks had failed to do.

Fisher’s Close Call

Just three days later, Fisher had a very different kind of encounter with a P-47.

On October 4th, he was taking off when the aircraft suffered a blown tire.

The squadron historian described what happened in almost matter-of-fact terms:

“Planes roar down the runway all day. You don’t even realize you are listening to them, but let there be a break in that rising roar and you stop what you are doing and make a dash for the runway.”

That day, the break came while the men were eating.

Fisher was taking off in his P-47 when the tire blew. The Thunderbolt was wrecked.

Fisher, fortunately, escaped unscathed.

It was the kind of incident that could easily have ended very differently. Yet within days, Fisher was back in the air.

Back Over the Indaw Railroad

On October 6th, Fisher was again on the mission schedule.

The target this time was a railroad bridge south of Indaw, part of the same transportation corridor around Indaw Lake that had already seen the destruction of the Thetkegyin Bridge five days earlier.

The Japanese depended heavily on the railroad network to move supplies toward the fighting along the Irrawaddy front. Bridges were therefore critical targets. Destroying one could interrupt the movement of men and matériel and force Japanese repair crews into the open to restore the line.

Fisher flew the mission.

The railroad bridge was hit.

And he brought his Thunderbolt home.

But the squadron was already looking for a better way to destroy these structures.

A New Way to Attack Bridges

On October 8th, the 90th introduced a new technique: buzz-bombing.

Traditional bridge attacks involved diving from roughly 2,000 feet at speeds approaching 400 miles per hour before releasing the bombs.

The new method brought the Thunderbolts down much lower.

The aircraft approached in a relatively flat glide of approximately 30 degrees, traveling around 275 miles per hour. Bombs were released at only about 200 feet.

The bombs were fitted with four-to-five-second delay fuses and equipped with spikes designed to prevent them from skipping after release.

The objective was also changing.

Instead of concentrating on the bridge span itself, the pilots aimed for the supports.

That distinction mattered.

A damaged bridge span could potentially be repaired. Destroy the supports, however, and the Japanese repair crews faced a much larger problem.

For the pilots of the 90th Fighter Squadron, it meant getting closer to the ground, placing the Thunderbolt—and themselves—in greater danger, and delivering the bomb with precision.

But the potential payoff was enormous.

The bridges of northern Burma were more than pieces of steel and concrete. They were links in the Japanese supply network.

Break enough of those links, and the entire system began to slow.

For Lieutenant Ellis Fisher and the men of the 90th, October 1944 was becoming a campaign fought one bridge at a time.

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From Burma Banshee to Nashville Legend: The Remarkable Second Life of E.R. “Dutch” McMillin

Burma Banshees — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 14:03:57 +0000

One of the greatest rewards of researching the Burma Banshees has been discovering what these remarkable men accomplished after World War II.

Many returned home to become business leaders, engineers, teachers, and community leaders. Every now and then, however, I uncover a story that leaves me genuinely amazed.

That was certainly the case with E.R. “Dutch” McMillin.

Born Elbert Raymond McMillin in North Carolina in 1916, Dutch served as a fighter pilot with the Burma Banshees during World War II, flying combat missions in the China-Burma-India Theater. Like so many of his fellow pilots, he faced dangerous missions over some of the most unforgiving terrain of the war.

What happened after the war is what truly surprised me.

I knew Dutch loved music, but I had no idea he would become one of Nashville’s premier session saxophonists during the 1950s.

Long before Boots Randolph became a household name, Dutch McMillin was the saxophonist producers called when they needed the best. While building a successful career as an insurance executive, he was also recording with many of the biggest names in American music.

His saxophone can be heard alongside artists including Buddy Holly, Roy Orbison, Brenda Lee, Webb Pierce, Chet Atkins, Hank Snow, Marty Robbins, Bobby Bare, Perry Como, Al Hirt, Pete Fountain, and many others. He was also a member of the legendary Owen Bradley Quintet and later became the regular saxophonist with Grady Martin and the Slew Foot Five.

Perhaps most impressive was his ability to adapt. A former fighter pilot who had flown over Burma, Dutch effortlessly transitioned into country, jazz, pop, and the emerging sound of rock and roll, leaving his mark on recordings that are still enjoyed today.

Stories like Dutch’s remind us that the Burma Banshees didn’t simply return home—they went on to live extraordinary lives, often in places and professions no one would have imagined.

While you’re reading about Dutch, take a few minutes to enjoy his beautiful saxophone performance of “Don’t Take Your Love From Me” with Grady Martin and the Slew Foot Five. It’s a wonderful reminder that the same man who once flew combat missions over Burma could later captivate audiences with elegance, warmth, and unmistakable musical talent.

It’s discoveries like this that make exploring the lives of the Burma Banshees so rewarding. Their legacy extends far beyond the cockpit, and Dutch McMillin’s remarkable journey is a perfect example.

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Before Burma: The 89th Trains at Mitchell Field

Burma Banshees — Sun, 02 Aug 2026 21:42:23 +0000

Long before the 89th Fighter Squadron ever saw the Assam Valley, the men who would become the Burma Banshees were learning their trade on home soil — at Mitchell Field, New York.

The footage below captures a piece of that training: pilots working on wing shooting, using shotguns on clay targets to sharpen the same skills of lead and deflection they’d need firing .50 calibers at moving aircraft. It’s a small detail, but it says a lot about how the Army Air Forces built fighter pilots — teaching the eye and the hand to track a moving target long before a man ever climbed into a P-40’s cockpit.

This is also where the bonds were formed. Pilots like E.R. McMillin, W.F. Duke, and P.R. Adair trained side by side here, months before they’d fly together over Burma. The friendships — and the trust — that carried them through combat missions like Operations Order 32 started on this field.

Take a look at the footage above

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A Day Over the Assam Valley: October 17, 1943

Burma Banshees — Sat, 01 Aug 2026 14:10:02 +0000

The bridges could wait one day.

For weeks the 89th Fighter Squadron had been going after the spans across Burma — the rail lines, the river crossings, the choke points that kept the Japanese army fed and moving. But war in the China-Burma-India theater wasn’t only made of the missions that made it into the history books. It was also made of days like October 17th — long, unglamorous, absolutely essential — when the job wasn’t to destroy anything at all. It was to watch.

Operations Order Number 32 called for nine missions. Twenty-nine pilots. Eight hours of P-40s climbing off the strip and settling into the sky over the Assam Valley, from before eight in the morning until the light was starting to go long in the afternoon. No bombs falling. No bridges dropping into rivers. Just squadron mates, in pairs and fours, doing the unglamorous work of making sure the valley stayed theirs.

It started at 0750, before most of the camp had finished breakfast. Captain S. Combs and 2nd Lt. W.H. Warren took two aircraft up under the call sign F-170 — a weather check. Somebody had to go up first and read what the sky was going to do before anybody trusted it with a patrol.

The sky must have checked out, because at 0845, F-171 rolled out four more: 1st Lt. E.R. McMillin Jr., 2nd Lt. P.R. Adair, 1st Lt. W.F. Duke, and 2nd Lt. J.P. Smith. McMillin, Duke, and Adair had trained together back at Mitchell Field, before any of them had seen the Hump or the valley below them now — before Burma was anything more than a name on a map they’d have to learn. Now they were flying patrol together over it, same as they’d flown together back home.

Ten minutes behind them came F-172 — Captain R.L. McQuillen Jr. leading 2nd Lt. W.K. Snyder, 1st Lt. J.C. Moore Jr., and 2nd Lt. C.B. Hardy out on a parallel line. Two patrols in the air at once now, watching two different pieces of sky.

At 0915, F-173 went up — Captain L.D. Howie, Captain A.J. Ortmeyer Jr., and 2nd Lt. R.D. Bell, three ships on patrol while the morning wore on.

Then, at 1115, something different. F-174 wasn’t a patrol — it was a search. Captain W.S. Harrell and 2nd Lt. W.H. Warren, back up again after his early weather run, went out looking for something the record doesn’t name. Maybe a downed transport. Maybe a report of Japanese aircraft that never amounted to anything. The operations order doesn’t say, and eighty years on, there’s no one left to ask. Whatever it was, two P-40s went looking for it, and half an hour later F-175 followed with another weather check — Captain J.H. Hunt and 1st Lt. J.J. Ferguson, up to read the afternoon sky the way Combs and Warren had read the morning’s.

The early afternoon belonged to F-176, at 1320 — four more into the air: 2nd Lt. R.T. Rhodes, 2nd Lt. D.V. Shepard, F/O D.W. Troy, and 1st Lt. D.P. Taylor, back on patrol over the valley. Half an hour after that, F-177 sent Captain W.J. Webb and Captain J.E. Ward out on the day’s second search mission — two more captains, two more P-40s, looking for whatever it was the squadron needed found.

And at 1550, as the afternoon started leaning toward evening, the last mission of the day lifted off. F-178 — four aircraft, one last patrol: 1st Lt. R. Braucher, 2nd Lt. J.P. Smith, 1st Lt. W.F. Duke, and 2nd Lt. P.R. Adair. Duke and Adair again, same as they’d flown that morning, closing out the day the way they’d opened it.

By the time F-178 came home, twenty-nine pilots had flown nine missions and logged eight hours of Assam Valley sky between them — and not one line in the operations record mentions combat. That was the point. Somewhere over that valley, on any given day, the transports were flying the Hump, carrying the fuel and the ammunition and the everything-else that kept China in the war. The 89th’s job on October 17th wasn’t to make headlines. It was to make sure those transports got where they were going, and that if the Japanese came looking for them, somebody would already be up there, watching.

No bridges fell that day. No headlines were written. Just twenty-nine men doing the long, quiet work of keeping the sky honest — the kind of day that, added up a hundred times over, is most of what a war actually looks like.

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A Day in the Life of a Burma Banshee

Burma Banshees — Wed, 29 Jul 2026 19:48:54 +0000

October 26, 1943. Operations Order Number 40.

Fifty-two pilots. Ten missions. Takeoffs beginning at 0910 and running through 1435 in the afternoon.

The day started with Captain S. Combs (89th) leading Mission F-230 off the strip at 0910 — eight aircraft in the Bomb and Strafe role: 1st Lt. D.A. Coll (89th), 1st Lt. E.R. McMillin Jr. (89th), 2nd Lt. S. Dare (89th), Captain W.S. Harrell (89th), 2nd Lt. J.P. Smith (89th), 2nd Lt. P.R. Adair (89th), and 2nd Lt. J.M. Matulovicz (89th). Eight men lifting out of Nagaghuli in the grey morning and turning south toward Burma.

Twenty minutes later, F-231 followed — 1st Lt. J.J. Ferguson (89th) leading a four-ship patrol: 2nd Lt. B.G. Milne (89th), 2nd Lt. M.A. Morgan (89th), and 2nd Lt. J.R. Brooks (89th).

At 0950 two flights lifted simultaneously. F-232 put eight aircraft into the air split between top cover and strafe. Leading top cover: Captain K.M. George (89th), with 1st Lt. R.W. Rowntree (89th), 2nd Lt. G.E. Sparling (89th), and 2nd Lt. J.S. Grinnan (89th). Leading strafe: Major A.L. Evans Jr. (88th), with 1st Lt. J.R. Gring (88th), Captain O.K. Allred (88th), and 2nd Lt. A.T. Curtis (88th) — four men from the 88th going low while four from the 89th watched from above. F-233 put Captain R.H. Powell (90th) up with 2nd Lt. G.P. Weller Jr. (90th), 2nd Lt. R.E. Ward (90th), and 2nd Lt. J.N. Wright Jr. (90th) on a parallel patrol thirty miles to the north.

F-234 followed at 1020 — Captain B.L.W. McQuillen (89th) leading eight more on Bomb and Strafe: 1st Lt. C.G. Whitley (89th), 2nd Lt. J.A. Hartswick (89th), 1st Lt. D.P. Taylor (89th), 2nd Lt. E.C. O’Connor (89th), 2nd Lt. W.C. Orr (89th), 2nd Lt. R.L. McCarthy (89th), and 2nd Lt. N.K. Snyder (89th). By now there were thirty aircraft in the air or recently returned, and the day was not half over.

At noon, F-235 lifted — 1st Lt. C.D. Evans (89th) leading 2nd Lt. E.F. Johnson (89th), 1st Lt. O.M. Smith Jr. (89th), and 2nd Lt. J. Wilson (89th) on the midday patrol.

At 1355 a two-ship escort — Captain M.J. Cobb (89th) and 1st Lt. W.F. Duke (89th) — climbed out of Nagaghuli and headed for whatever they had been assigned to protect.

The last of the bombing missions was F-237 at 1455 — eight aircraft. Leading top cover: 1st Lt. S.J. Miller (89th), with 2nd Lt. R.L. Burns (89th), 1st Lt. A. Boldman (89th), and 2nd Lt. E.A. Gomo (89th) above. Leading bombing and strafe: Major D.M. Terry Jr. (89th), with 2nd Lt. C.H. Sisler (89th), 1st Lt. V.C. Burpe (89th), and 1st Lt. H.C. Broadfoot (89th).

Then, at 1400, two more aircraft lifted off on a VHF radio test — F-238: 2nd Lt. H.F. Johnson (89th) and 2nd Lt. D.C. Roane Jr. (89th), each in a P-40N-1, climbing to check the communications equipment that kept the day’s operations tied together.

The final mission of the day was F-239 at 1435 — four P-40s on patrol: Captain J.M. Roberts (89th), Captain J.V. Milke (89th), 1st Lt. H.C. Staulcup (89th), and 2nd Lt. J.B. Patton (89th), watching the sky above the routes while the bombing flights returned and the mechanics began their work.

By the time Patton cut his engine on the strip at Nagaghuli, the 80th Fighter Group had put fifty-two men over Burma in a single October day — pilots from the 89th, the 88th, and the 90th, flying ten separate missions from first light to mid-afternoon. The operations officer marked the order complete. The intelligence officer began the debriefs. The mechanics started the post-flight inspections. The mess hall served whatever it was serving.

Tomorrow’s schedule was already being written.

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