Mr. AKAKA. Mr. President, this year, we commemorated the 50th anniversary of the Normandy Invasion, which set into motion the liberation of an anguished Europe. D-Day was a monumental undertaking and a stunning achievement. However, Mr. President, during the very same year, the war in Europe was the backdrop of another event--far less historically noted but historic nonetheless--and I would like to bring it to the attention of the members of this body.

On February 22, 1944, Army Air Corps Second Lieutenant Wah Kau Kong flew his fourteenth and last mission. From his position as wingman to the squadron commander, Kong sighted a Messerschmitt 109. He attacked, streaking in from above, a deadly torrent spewing from the machine guns of his P-51 Mustang. His aim true, Kong's tracers ripped into the German's wing tanks, the exploding fuel rending the craft's airframe.

Kong pulled swiftly out of his dive to avoid a collision and throttled past the burning plane. As the Mustang shot in front of the Messerschmitt, incredibly, a lethal fusillade issued from the flying inferno. Bullets coursed through the P-51's wings, igniting the fuel within, and Kong's fighter erupted in a mass of searing flame. It plummeted into the forest below, slicing through a tree before plowing into the ground.

Wah Kau Kong, the first Chinese-American fighter pilot in United States history had valiantly given his life in battle to the cause of liberty.

Born twenty-five years earlier in the quiet Honolulu neighborhood of Palama, Wah Kau Kong grew up an exceedingly bright young man with an abiding, sardonic wit. He went on to the University of Hawaii and graduated with a bachelor's degree in chemistry, with honors. Possessed of great athletic aptitude as well, Kong was a skilled competitor in swimming, basketball and track and field.

He also undertook another endeavor. Wah Kau scraped together enough money to take up flying lessons. It was the whetting of what would be a lifelong thirst for the freedom of flight.

As a chemist working toward his master's degree when the U.S. entered World War II in 1941, Kong found himself in great demand, particularly by the Federal Government. However, not having been called to active duty, when so many others had, gnawed at Wah Kau. He decided to join the fighting and enlisted in the Army Air Corps in early 1942, recording the highest national score in his entrance examination. Combined with his commissioned officer status through ROTC participation in school and his flying experience, it meant immediate acceptance into the aviation cadet training program.

By the end of the year, Kong had completed the primary elements of flight school. Then began the greater rigors, and often-harsh treatment, of advanced training. The threat of failure was a constant companion, and a number of his comrades "washed out." In May of 1943, though, Wah Kau Kong got his wings.

Now, in the final stages of combat preparation, he moved from the old training planes to a powerful P-39 Airacobra. Skillful, intelligent and gutsy (with the keen reflexes to match his daring), Kong emulated the British tactic of "rhubarb," where trains and other ground targets would be attacked from levels as low as 20 feet. Not surprisingly, he was an adept practitioner. Unfortunately, he was grounded for it when two other pilots were badly injured when they crashed while attempting to do same.

Writing to his family, Kong said, "Flying around here is getting sissified... just because of an accident or two. If they keep this up, there will be no difference between us and bomber pilots. However in the future I'll cut it out and not try to out-do others too much."

He had landed on a lonely island, about 10 miles long and five miles wide, that had been taken from the British in 1940. The island had been heavily fortified by the Germans against an Allied invasion attempt.

Finally, in October of 1943, Kong was sent to England and assigned to the 353rd Fighter Squadron of the 354th Fighter Group.

The conditions were totally miserable--cold and muddy, with barely-edible food and primitive facilities.

His P-51B Mustang was utterly wonderful--new and powerful, with the ability to escort bombers at high altitude all the way to Germany and back.

While others christened their craft with the names of girlfriends or mothers, exhortations of bravado and the like, it was all far too prosaic for Wah Kau. With typical, unabashedly irreverent flare, he had emblazoned on the cowling of his Mustang: "Chinaman's Chance" and "No Tickee No Washee".

Weeks passed before Kong was able to see any action, and he was champing at the bit. During an interview with an Army public relations officer, Wah Kau thought to spice up his reputation in a more unique way, having yet to score any victories in the air. "Well," he said, "you could announce that Kong is without question the handsomest Chinese fighter pilot in the ETO." When it was pointed out that he was the only Chinese pilot in the ETO, he replied, "Well, we could drop the ETO and eliminate the Chinese. There's a story, the handsomest pilot."

Finally, on February 11, 1944, he garnered his first air conquest, and what a moment it was! The feat even caught the attention of Time magazine, which reported:

Kong Gets A German

The frustrated Nazi was at 27,000 feet, madly popping his FokKe-Wulf's guns at U.S. bombers well out of his range. A U.S. P-51B Mustang turned into him and the Nazi peeled off into a diving turn. Ten thousand feet farther down the Mustang pilot nailed his man with a long close-in burst.

First the FW's wheels fell out, then the plane exploded and its pieces tumbled earthward. Second Lieut. Wah Kau Kong, pilot of “Chinaman's Chance'' and one of the U.S. Fighter Command's hottest aerobats, had made his first kill. "The handsomest Chinese fighter pilot in the European Theater of Operations" is what the slight, Hawaiian-born Lieut. Kong calls himself (he is the only one).

Time magazine! National recognition! "The handsomest Chinese fighter pilot in the ETO!".

Wah Kau would have been overwhelmed with pride, and surely overcome with laughter, about it all. Would have been. The article was published on February 28, six days after he had flown his last mission in the skies above Blomberg, Germany.

As one would expect, Wah Kau himself summed it all up best. In a letter to his parents, he wrote:

To me, to sit on the sideline and cheer when I'm needed in the battle, brings a distaste in my conscience and thoughts. I'd like to know and feel that I had a part in the fulfillment of my kind of world and creed--glamour, excitement, adventure, and thrills have something to do with it, but mainly, 'twas my beliefs.

Mr. President, a far more comprehensive biography, "Wah Kau Kong, America's First Chinese-American Fighter Pilot," from which facts and excerpts in my statement were gleaned, has been written by Mr. Dean C. Sensui and Mr. Mun Charn Wong. It was a genuine labor of love and respect for Mr. Wong, who had been a dear friend of Wah Kau Kong since their high school days together. In 1944, determined to find out exactly what had happened, he embarked upon a personal journey of friendship that eventually took him up into the mountains near a little village north of Blomberg, Germany--to the exact spot where Wah Kau Kong's Mustang had crashed. Mr. Wong was instrumental in establishing a special scholarship in Kong's name for academic excellence among Air Force ROTC students at the University of Hawaii. I would like to thank Mun Charn Wong for enlightening me about the historic and inspiring life of Wah Kau Kong.