Anytime people mention the best fighter plane ever, the P-38 Lightning comes out. Designed in the late 1930s by genius Kelly Johnson and his team at Lockheed, the Lightning defied all conventions of traditional design. Its twin-boom configuration, tricycle landing gear, and focused nose-mounted firepower made it unlike the single-fuselage fighters that ruled the skies. But what was so impressive wasn’t so much how it looked, but the way it flew, fought, and contributed to the attitude of air warfare in one of the century’s most characteristic battles.
The Lightning was Lockheed’s first serious foray into the field of fighters, and they left with a bang. The U.S. Army Air Corps required speed, altitude, and rate of climb never before, and Lockheed delivered to them more than they asked. The P-38 would climb over 3,000 feet per minute and soar above 400 miles per hour—almost a hundred faster than many of its contemporaries. Its firepower, four .50s in the nose and one 20mm, all too powerful to be mounted on wings, provided an accuracy superiority no wing-mount guns could. Packed with two engines, it boasted power, security, and range, allowing missions outside other fighters’ limits.
This was not yet an aircraft for the shy or immature, however. It required genuine expertise to handle the Lightning, and its training cycle was notoriously demanding. Most young pilots were filtered out before they even got into a combat environment. Those who remained were cursed with habits, such as the raw chill of European theaters of war, where the cockpit, lacking a forward engine to warm it, systematically chilled pilots so badly they required assistance getting out of it following a landing. But the gracefulness of the Lightning offset these hardships, particularly when the war moved to more balmy, far-off skies where its capabilities shone.
Nowhere did the P-38 forge its legend more than in the Pacific. Its long range allowed it to escort bombers on penetration missions deep into enemy-occupied space where other Allied escorts were unable to follow. Its unique shape inspired terror in the heart of the foe, who came to nickname it “fork-tailed devil,” which suited both its appearance and its nefarious reputation as a fear-spreader. The mythology seeped even to the POWs, who spoke of it in reluctant reverence, and Allied aces boasted of that legend.
Among the Lightning’s numerous war adventures, one mission is famous: Operation Vengeance. American cryptanalysts broke Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto’s travel itinerary in April of 1943. As the mastermind of the Pearl Harbor raid, Yamamoto was near the top of the hit parade, and the opportunity was not to be missed. A thoroughly dashing plan was concocted—P-38s would depart nearly a thousand miles west of Guadalcanal to intercept his bomber east of Bougainville. The flight called for spot piloting and timing to the second. Finally, the formation was created, and the Lightnings appeared. Yamamoto’s aircraft crashed into the jungle, a mission that was not only about he range and firepower of the aircraft but also the ability of intelligence and airpower to alter the course of war in a fireworks-type fashion.
The subsequent production numbers were just as impressive. Over 10,000 Lightnings were built and completed over 130,000 sorties. In the Pacific, they were unbeatable predators, winning more wins than any other Allied fighter there. In Europe, their worth was somewhere else as a general rule.
While Spitfires and Mustangs hogged the headlines as dogfighters, the P-38 worked tirelessly as a reconnaissance job. It ate about ninety percent of all the aerial photographs of the European campaign, an unspectacular but important task. Many of America’s highest-scoring aces, including the forty official victory mark of Richard Bong, made their marks in the cockpit of a Lightning.
In the meantime, as the conflict went on, Lockheed kept trying the XP-49. This offered the promise of increased power, a pressurized cabin, and a possible breakthrough to 500 mph. But time was ticking away. The jet age awaited in the wings, and the XP-49 was abandoned before it could have any impact. However, its learning on high altitude performance and advanced systems set the groundwork for what followed.
The history of the P-38 also coincided with a change in how the military itself classified air combat. Early during the war, American aircraft were still technically referred to as “pursuit planes,” a remnant of the restrictive thinking of chasing and destroying enemy aircraft. But during the war, the terminology finally caught up. These planes came to be referred to as “fighters,” a name also applying to their expanded mission set—from attack and escort to recon and multi-role. The Lightning, in its multi-skilled natures, was personified by that transformation.
Decades later, even in the current times, the P-38’s legacy was never forgotten. When the F-35 Lightning II was unveiled to the world, its name was deliberately chosen. It was in recognition of the original Lightning, a nod to pioneering design and versatility that made it a legend. The new Lightning continues the legacy in stealth, cutting-edge sensors, and multi-mission capacity, taking over 21st-century air space warfare where its forebear took over World War II.
Finally, the P-38 Lightning’s history is one of dreams come true. It was a plane that defied the norms of its age, putting daring pilots into combat where speed, firepower, and distance were key. It was a weapon, a milestone, and a landmark of air warfare history. Even though the world is ruled by faster jets and more stealthy planes these days, the legacy of the P-38 continues, woven inextricably into all of the warplanes ever constructed to command, to survive, and to conquer.