The Red Devils Celebrate 100 Years of Service

A legendary fighter squadron's history of victory.

Nobody knows precisely how and why a red devil insignia was chosen. But over the past century, the emblem of U.S. Marine Fighter Attack Squadron 232 (VMFA-232), commonly known as the Red Devils, has come to symbolize speed, ferocity, and a devil-may-care attitude in air combat exemplified by the squadron’s motto: “The Devil made me do it.”

 “The Devils have been leading from the front for 100 years,” says former squadron commander General William Nyland. “Along the way, the Devils became the Corps’ oldest, most decorated fighter squadron—and, I would quickly add, the proudest.” 

Across that century, the Red Devils have dominated the skies in over a dozen different types of aircraft—Boeing and Curtiss biplanes, Dauntless dive bombers, Avengers, Corsairs, Panthers, Furys, Crusaders, Phantoms, and today’s legacy Hornets. “Being the oldest Marine Corps fighter squadron, the history of VMFA‑232 is almost an encapsulation of the history and evolution of Marine Corps aviation,” says Mike Hankins, the National Air and Space Museum’s curator of U.S. Air Force, Navy, and Marine Corps post-World War II aviation. “They’ve flown everything from wood-and-canvas biplanes to torpedo bombers to advanced supersonic fighter jets. Looking at their story lets us see so much about how flexibility and adaptability have been core to how the Marines use aviation, and how their use of aviation has evolved from its early experimental days to where it is now.”

And, now, that century of history is being commemorated. It’s August 2025, and I’ve arrived at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar in San Diego, California—the Red Devils’ lair. A massive sign depicting a devil wielding a pitchfork stares down at me as I approach the hangar. Inside, rows of sleek gray McDonnell Douglas F/A-18 Hornets gleam under harsh lights, the sounds of maintenance echoing off the high metal ceiling. A massive F-404-GE-402 jet engine, which can generate 17,700 pounds of thrust, rests on a large steel stand while young Marines work to repair it. In three weeks, these troops will pack up and embark on a six-month deployment to the Indo-Pacific.

I climb a metal staircase to meet the pilots and leadership on the second floor. A long hallway stretches before me, lined with photos from 1925 to today. Above them, bold letters proclaim the unofficial slogan of the U.S. Marine Corps: “First to Fight, Last to Leave.” The photos narrate a military saga that began on September 1, 1925, when Fighting Plane Squadron VF-3M was first commissioned at Naval Air Station San Diego.

Black-and-white images show the squadron’s early aircraft: starting with the Vought VE-7SF biplane, followed by the Boeing FB-1 fighters that patrolled the skies over China in 1927. Their mission was to provide reconnaissance and air support for General Smedley Butler’s Third Brigade, protecting U.S. interests during the turbulence of the Chinese warlord era. This early deployment established the squadron’s expeditionary character, proving that Marine air units could rapidly deploy via naval shipping to support ground forces in austere environments.

Fast-forward to World War II. Captions detail how the squadron lost nearly all its 19 Douglas SBD-1 Dauntless bombers in Pearl Harbor during the Japanese attack on December 7, 1941. 

Reconstituting the Red Devils afterward required a Herculean logistical effort. The squadron was hastily re-equipped with the SBD-3 Dauntless, which incorporated upgrades that earlier versions lacked, notably self-sealing fuel tanks and protective armor plating for the pilot and rear gunner. On August 20, 1942, the Red Devils launched from the deck of the escort carrier USS Long Island, flying 200 miles to become the first Marine dive-bomber squadron to operate from a newly captured Japanese airstrip on Guadalcanal. 

Major Richard C. Mangrum, the leader of the squadron, spearheaded his men through nearly two months of combat. Their survival depended not just on the pilots, but on the determination of the ground crews. With fuel trucks destroyed or nonexistent, the Marines refueled their aircraft by bucket-brigade. Aviation gasoline was hand-pumped from 55-gallon drums into buckets and poured into the tanks through chamois filters to catch impurities.   

This manual labor was performed under tropical sun, in torrential rains, and often while under sniper fire or shelling. The Red Devils’ ability to launch sorties under these conditions was a decisive factor in the campaign, ultimately turning the tide of the Pacific War. As General A.A. Vandegrift noted, the Marines “tested [their doctrines] against the enemy, and we found that they worked,” halting the Japanese advance permanently. 

“The core idea behind Marine Corps doctrine is flexibility,” says Hankins. “The Marines are often the first people to go into a combat area, usually to try to take and hold a position and establish a safe place for other forces to operate from. This often puts Marines in dangerous situations, so giving them support from the air is crucial. For that reason, the Marines put a lot more effort into close air support missions, where aircraft and ground forces work very closely together.”

“In that big picture sense, the Marine Corps aviation doctrine has remained pretty similar since World War II: using aircraft to support ground forces as they move into dangerous, contested areas,” continues Hankins. “The specifics of how that works, and of developing new technologies to make that role more effective, has continually evolved to meet changing situations.”

This flexibility was put to the test when, in 1948, the squadron was reactivated as a reserve fighter unit, later flying Vought F4U-4 Corsairs during the Korean War era. The Korean operational theater presented a stark contrast to the South Pacific. Flying low-level interdiction missions in the Korean mountains was fraught with danger, often requiring pilots to navigate narrow canyons under heavy load. While flying a training mission for Korea, First Lieutenant William A. Poe was searching for targets in a canyon where he found himself hemmed in on three sides by mountain peaks thousands of feet high. Denied the turning radius to reverse course, Poe was forced to climb aggressively, barely clearing an 11,000-foot ridge. The incident highlighted the unforgiving nature of the terrain that the Red Devils had to face.

As I walk farther down the hallway at the San Diego air base, photos of jungles replace islands and carriers. Images of Vought F-8E Crusaders at Da Nang and McDonnell Douglas F-4B/J Phantoms at Nam Phong show the Red Devils flying thousands of close air support and interdiction sorties over Vietnam and Laos. They established themselves as a premier close air support platform, returning in 1972 with F-4 Phantoms for Operation Linebacker missions over North Vietnam.

Terry Thorsen, a Red Devils radar intercept officer, wrote a book describing his experiences, Phantom in the Sky: A Marine’s Back Seat View of the Vietnam War. In one particularly harrowing sortie, Thorsen and his pilot deliberately made their aircraft a target to save a U.S. Army unit pinned down just a hundred feet away. They dove directly at the anti-aircraft artillery muzzle flashes, suppressing the guns with their own ordnance to enable the ground troops to maneuver. This willingness to act as a decoy underscores the squadron’s dedication to the “winged warrior” ethos—placing the lives of the infantry above their own. On September 1, 1973, the Red Devils were the last squadron to leave Southeast Asia. 

Beyond Vietnam, the hallway shifts to a sea of desert tan. F/A-18s line a ramp in Bahrain, and captions explain that the Red Devils were among the first Marine squadrons to enter Iraq on Desert Storm’s opening night on January 17, 1991. Their jets struck in all five waves, demolishing air defenses and command nodes, completing 740 combat missions. 

The 2000s bring images of Hornets under harsh sun, parked at desert bases and on carrier decks during the post‑9/11 wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. VMFA-232 deployed repeatedly, flying deep strike and close air support from al-Jaber, Kuwait, dropping tons of ordnance and earning a Presidential Unit Citation in 2003. 

Additional photos show the squadron flying in Operation Inherent Resolve against ISIS, then deploying as the first land‑based Marine Hornet squadrons in Afghanistan in 2010, flying close air support missions under difficult conditions in Kandahar and Helmand. The Devils flew under the call-sign “Stoic” as they ripped through 1,700 sorties and 4,900 combat hours, building a reputation for putting needed bombs dangerously close to fellow Marines on the ground—close enough to feel it. When things got hot during Operation Enduring Freedom, forward air controllers shouted over the radio: “Make it rain, Stoic!”

Pride and responsibility

The familiar red devil logo stares back at me as I reach the hallway’s end. A simple placard reads “Ready Room.” I step inside. Pilots in green flightsuits gather after their preflight brief, discussing training sorties for their upcoming Indo-Pacific deployment. The air is thick with the smell of jalapeño-dusted popcorn—“a devil’s bite,” one pilot jokes, adding that the recipe is “classified.” 

Current and former Red Devils explain the squadron patch’s significance. “It’s a contagious attitude that everyone becomes proud of—that’s why you see people around here walking with prowess,” says Captain Jackson Stewart. 

General Daniel Shipley, a former 232 skipper, says the Devils have a “phenomenally strong reputation of being professional, being the top of their game.” He adds: “There’s something about the Red Devils that is old Corps. It is just known as one of those solid, foundational units that will always be there.” 

Current commanding officer Lieutenant Colonel Steven Suetos frames it as an obligation: “The Red Devils’ identity of the squadron is so strong, and it’s been that way for 100 years—we’ve got to carry it now. It’s a responsibility, so much sacrifice and lost lives—all of that this patch represents. It just continues from one generation to the next.” 

I ask about flying the legacy Hornets, the Corps’ workhorse. Says Stewart: “The legendary Hornet—it has the ability to carry almost anything in the inventory, like twice as much as an F-35 as far as ordnance.” 

Captain Shae Temple adds that the Hornet is “still unmatched for many critical missions. We’re still the best close air support platform.” 

Down in the squadron’s gear room, the pilots strap into their G-suits, cinching harnesses over their flightsuits like modern-day knights donning armor. Helmets slide on, and the loose banter from the ready room shifts into a focused, tactical mindset.

Outside, the gray Hornets are lined up on the ramp, canopies open and ladders down. The aviators peel off toward their assigned aircraft, climbing into the cockpits and becoming one with their machines. Checklists are reviewed, switches turn, displays flicker to life, and engines begin to spool up. Ground crews swarm, performing final checks.

The Hornets swing onto the runway, slamming their jets into full afterburner. They leap into the air in quick succession, disappearing into the blue sky.

I slip back into the building, and head upstairs to the Heritage Room—a quiet sanctuary where the squadron’s story is woven together with more photos and relics. A stained-glass red devil window, backlit by the sun, casts a fiery hue across the room.

Nearby, plaques and photographs memorialize Devils who didn’t return home. Major Taj Sareen was killed in a 2015 Hornet crash near Royal Air Force Lakenheath in England while returning from deployment, and, nine months later, Major Richard Norton was killed in a training accident at Twentynine Palms, California. It’s a solemn reminder that the squadron’s history is etched in both risk and reward. 

Captain Calvin Shoop, an F/A-18 pilot and the squadron’s chronologist, unrolls a massive World War II map of the Solomon Islands. His finger slides across the names of old airstrips and battle sites as he recounts where earlier generations of Devils flew and fought. He points to Henderson Field on Guadalcanal and the surrounding islands, describing how the squadron’s SBDs flew near-daily dives against Japanese ships and airfields, holding the line with relentless grit. He taps other names—Tulagi, Espiritu Santo, Efate—painting a vivid picture of coral runways and makeshift camps where the Devils proved they could take heavy losses, rebuild, and come back stronger. 

A week later, roughly 600 people—current Marines, veterans, families, and friends—gather for the squadron’s official centennial event. Colonel Jarrod A. Devore, commanding officer of Marine Aircraft Group 11, opens the ceremony by calling VMFA-232 the “unmoved mover” of Marine fighter aviation. 

Borrowing from Aristotle to describe a squadron that has remained a constant standard even as aircraft, tactics, and wars have changed, he declares: “When I think of Marine fighter aviation, 232 truly is the unmoved—always there, always answering the call.” 

After the ceremony, attention shifts back to the squadron’s hangar, where people gather around a special “centennial color bird”—a Red Devils Hornet painted in black and red markings to honor the occasion. 

Outside, the loud sound of another aircraft approaches—a deep rumble as two Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning IIs fly over the airfield, revealing the Marine Corps’ newest strike fighter. In the coming years, VMFA-232 will trade its legacy F/A-18s for these stealth fighters. 

For a hundred years, the Red Devils have adapted without losing the essence of who they are. The patch on their sleeve is more than a symbol—it’s a promise the next generation is bound to keep, a legacy of grit, honor, and sacrifice. 

Alan de Herrera is an independent photojournalist and writer who covers stories about humanitarian operations, the military, and aerospace.

This article, originally titled "A Century of Valor," is from the Spring 2026 issue of Air & Space Quarterly, the National Air and Space Museum's signature magazine that explores topics in aviation and space, from the earliest moments of flight to today. Explore the full issue.

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