How Good Was Charles Lindbergh In WW2?

Most people know Charles Lindbergh as the man who made history with his non-stop solo flight from New York to Paris in 1927, becoming one of the most famous pilots of all time. But fewer know that he also played a controversial—and surprising—role during World War II.

How It All Started

In the midst of WWII, General George Kenny, commander of the U.S. Fifth Air Force, arranged for Lindbergh to fly to Fifth Air Force Headquarters in Brisbane, Australia. His mission? Evaluate the F4U Corsair and gather insights from frontline pilots and mechanics to identify improvements.

While Lindbergh wasn’t officially part of the military—he was technically a civilian—his curiosity and passion for aviation soon pushed him beyond his assigned role. He discovered several issues with the aircraft, which only fueled his desire to do more. He didn’t just want to observe. He wanted to fly.

Flying Into Combat—Illegally

Despite having no formal authorization and violating the Geneva Convention by flying as a civilian, Lindbergh began flying the P-38 Lightning in combat. In fact, he didn’t just tag along—he led a section on a mission. This raises an uncomfortable question: Was Charles Lindbergh a war criminal?

Technically, maybe. Morally? Not really. The purpose of the Geneva Convention’s ban on civilian combatants is to prevent nations from disguising fighters as civilians, which can lead to retaliation against innocent people. Lindbergh, however, was flying clearly marked U.S. military aircraft and wasn’t hiding his presence.

Still, his actions posed risks. As experienced a pilot as he was, Lindbergh wasn’t trained for combat in the P-38. His death or capture could have seriously damaged morale and been used for enemy propaganda.

A Lesson in Humility

General Kenny, aware of the legal and practical dangers, told Lindbergh to stay out of combat. However, he added that if Lindbergh came under attack, he was allowed to defend himself.

Lindbergh went further than that. He flew long-range missions and even shot down a Japanese floatplane. The kill wasn’t exactly self-defense—the slow-moving Ki-51 posed no real threat to a P-38 unless the pilot was looking for a fight.

The situation put Kenny in a difficult position. Rather than confront the issue, he claimed ignorance of the incident. But just a week later, Lindbergh had a close call—he was flying low and slow when Japanese fighters locked onto him. Thanks only to the quick thinking of his squadron mates did Lindbergh escape unharmed. It was a wake-up call.

Kenny had seen enough. He told Lindbergh there would be no “next time” and advised him to return to the U.S. Lindbergh agreed, believing he had done all he could to help improve aircraft range in the Pacific. He promised not to speak of his combat missions until after the war.

Lindbergh’s Legacy in the Pacific

Lindbergh didn’t invent any new fuel-saving techniques, but his influence was powerful. His credibility encouraged frontline pilots to trust the long-range power settings already outlined in their manuals—settings that had been largely ignored. His contribution helped stretch the range of U.S. fighters across the vast Pacific, a key factor in the island-hopping campaign.

While his time in WWII was short and technically outside the law, Charles Lindbergh’s role was undeniably impactful—and as daring as the man himself.