When the Jap pilot put the little fighter through its paces, we looked at one another in wonderment. We had long understood that these boys couldn’t learn to fly—they had myopic eyes. But whatever else the Japs had, this pilot had everything; he didn’t put on any dive-and-zoom noise show, but checked out the little airplane especially as to its maneuverability at altitude, the characteristic at which it excelled. And so with the full approval of Washington, the plane, which had been rejected by both Army and Navy, was sold to the Japanese. Later on in the Pacific war, their fighter pilots proved quite proficient in the air. Furthermore, their fleet fighters, the Zeros, could give even our Grumman Wildcats plenty of trouble. Finally one of their Zeros was captured and brought to San Diego where, after passing severe tests by the guards, I was permitted to see it. It was bigger than our Northrup-Vought and powered with a Japanese two-row radial of about the size of our 1830. The engine was of Japanese design but incorporated what the Japs considered to be the best features of the French Gnome-Rhone radials, the British Bristol Jupiter, the Wright Cyclone, and the Pratt and Whitney Wasp. And it displayed beautiful workmanship throughout. As for the airplane, it looked a good deal like the Northrup-Vought, though it was larger and incorporated some of the best features of other aircraft bought by the Japanese, as well as some neat wrinkles of their own. The power-plant installation was distinctly Chance Vought Aircraft, and the wheel stowage into the wing roots was definitely Northrup. The wing-tip folding was Japanese, and it looked like an idea we should have used. All in all, it was a masterful example of good imitation—they even copied the Navy inspection stamp from the Pratt and Whitney type parts—plus some good Jap innovation which combined to make the product of an “inferior race” all too devastating. As Admiral Reeves had been wont to remark, “One should never discount an enemy.”