Jorma Sarvanto and six kills in four minutes

Message was received at 11:50 - '7 bombers flying south following the northern railway!'. The pilots from 4./Sqn 24 (Lentolaivue - Fighter Squadron) climbed in their fighters, warmed up the engines and turned their radios on. Lieutenant Jorma Sarvanto listened to the radio traffic, soon he and his wingman (constituting one patrol) were ordered to take off. After take off the wingman found that he had an engine problem (snow had clogged the engine air intake during take off) and he had to return. Lt. Sarvanto continued alone at the optimum rate of climb, direction North to meet the enemy.

The second patrol took off after noticing that Lieutenant Sarvanto had to go alone, but Sarvanto had a good head start. Now the clouds had disappeared from the sky at Utti, and Sarvanto discovered the handsome formation of DB bomber bellies lit by dim sun shining through the haze. He counted seven silver coloured DB-3 bombers. To the left - a wedge of three, to the right - four abreast, all no farther than one plane length from each other. There was no fighter escort.

Sarvanto continued climbing, turning right to south. For a moment he was within the range and sector of the bomber nose gunners, but remained unnoticed due to sun glare. When he was at the same altitude of 3000 m with the bombers, he was about 500m behind them. Sarvanto pursued the enemy at full power. He decided to attack the leftmost wing bomber, although the third from left was closest to him, to avoid getting into cross-fire from the rear gunners. At a distance of 300 m his plane vibrated unpleasantly - he had flown in a bomber gunner MG salvo.

The fighter pilot kept on approaching the bombers. At a distance of 20 (twenty) meters he aimed at the fuselage of his victim, the left wing bomber, and pressed the trigger briefly. The tracers hit the target. Next, he shifted his aim at the rear gunner of the tail bomber, and shot him. Lt. Sarvanto then carefully aimed at the right engine of the first bomber and fired a brief burst. The bomber's engine caught fire. He repeated the same maneuver at the tail bomber with similar result. Two burning DB-3 bombers were leaving the formation.

Jorma Sarvanto cheered aloud and attacked the right wing of the formation while the bomber rear gunners blazed at his Fokker. He fired at each engine of the nearest bomber, making them smoke and forcing the bomber to leave the formation. Then he engaged the other bombers at a very close range. Each victim caught fire after two to three brief bursts of MG fire. Sarvanto glanced back - the smoking bomber was now in flames and diving to the ground.

Now Sarvanto decided to destroy every aircraft of the DB-3 formation. Some burning bombers made a slow half-roll before diving down, another pulled up before diving down. All the time they were flying south, the sun shone red through the haze low in southern horizon unless dimmed by smoke from a burning enemy plane.

Bomber no.6 was much more resistant to his bullets. The Fokker wing guns were out of ammo by now, but finally the DB-3 caught fire, and Finnish pilot could engage the last bomber. He had already eliminated the rear gunner, so he could fly close to the target. He aimed at one engine and pressed the trigger. Not a single shot. Sarvanto pulled the loading lever and retried shooting, but again in vain. He had spent his ammunition. There was nothing to do but leave the bomber alone and return to the base.

Columns of black smoke hung in the air and burning bomber wrecks could be seen on the ground. Sarvanto checked his instruments, there was no damage to vital parts, but his radio was dead and the Fokker's wings resembled Swiss cheese. When preparing for landing he found that the hydraulic pump for the landing flaps did not work, but he landed successfully despite that.

Lt. Sarvanto felt very satisfied as he parked his Fokker, but he did not quite get out of the cockpit before his cheering ground crew grabbed him and threw him in the air. The flight lasted 25 minutes and the actual battle around four minutes, during which he shot down 6 DB-3 bombers belonging to the 6th DBAP of the Soviet Air Force.

Hiroyoshi Nishizawa

With 87 confirmed victories, and 187 claimed, Nishizawa is a God among mortals... Many leading fighter pilots of World War II, such as Germany's Erich Hartmann, Russia's Ivan Kozhedub and America's Richard Bong, looked as if they had been born for the honor. Japan's ace-of-aces, Hiroyoshi Nishizawa, was a striking exception. One of his comrades in arms, Saburo Sakai, wrote that "one felt the man should be in a hospital bed. He was tall and lanky for a Japanese, nearly five feet eight inches in height. He had a gaunt look about him; he weighed only 140 pounds, and his ribs protruded sharply through his skin." Although Nishizawa was accomplished in both judo and sumo, Sakai noted that his comrade "suffered almost constantly from malaria and tropical skin disease. He was pale most of the time."
Sakai, who was one of Nishizawa's few friends, described him as usually being coldly reserved and taciturn, "almost like a pensive outcast instead of a man who was in reality the object of veneration." To the select few who earned his trust, however, Nishizawa was intensely loyal.

Nishizawa underwent a remarkable metamorphosis in the cockpit of his Mitsubishi A6M Zero fighter. "To all who flew with him," wrote Sakai, "he became 'the Devil'....Never have I seen a man with a fighter plane do what Nishizawa would do with his Zero. His aerobatics were all at once breathtaking, brilliant, totally unpredictable, impossible, and heart-stirring to witness." He also had the hunter's eye, capable of spotting enemy aircraft before his comrades knew there was anything else in the sky.

Even when a new generation of American aircraft was wresting the Pacific sky from the Japanese, many were convinced that as long as he was at the controls of his Zero, Nishizawa was invincible. And that proved to be the case.

Hiroyoshi Nishizawa was born on January 27, 1920, in a mountain village in the Nagano prefecture, the fifth son of Shuzoji and Miyoshi Nishizawa. Shuzoji was the manager of a sake brewery. After graduating from higher elementary school, Hiroyoshi worked for a time in a textile factory. Then, in June 1936, a poster caught his eye: an appeal for volunteers to join the Yokaren (flight reserve enlistee training program). He applied and qualified as a student pilot in Class Otsu No. 7 of the Japanese Navy Air Force (JNAF). He completed his flight training course in March 1939, graduating 16th out of a class of 71.

After service with the Oita, Omura and Sakura kokutais (air groups) in October 1941, Nishizawa was assigned to the Chitose Kokutai (Ku.). After the December 7, 1941, raid on Pearl Harbor and the outbreak of war with the United States, a chutai (squadron) from the Chitose group, including Petty Officer 1st Class (PO1C) Nishizawa, was detached to Vunakanau airfield on the newly taken island of New Britain, arriving in the last week of January 1942. They were equipped with 13 obsolescent Mitsubishi A5M fighters bequeathed to them by the Tainan and 3rd kokutais (which had re-equipped with the new A6M2 Zeros). The detachment got its first three Zeros on January 25.

Nishizawa was flying an A5M over Rabaul on February 3 when he and eight comrades encountered two Consolidated Catalina I flying boats of the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) that were operating from the Allied sea and air base at Port Moresby, New Guinea. One of the Catalinas evaded the Japanese, but Nishizawa attacked the other and disabled one of its engines. The Australian pilot, Flight Lt. G.E. Hemsworth, managed to nurse his crippled plane back to Port Moresby on the remaining engine, while his gunner, Sergeant Douglas Dick, claimed an enemy fighter that was later counted as a probable. Nishizawa, on the other hand, was credited with the Catalina as his first victory.

Rabaul was attacked by small groups of Allied bombers throughout February. The Japanese took Sarumi and Gasmata in western New Britain on February 9 and promptly established staging bases there. On the following day, several detachments, including Nishizawa's unit from the Chitose Ku., were amalgamated into a new air group, the 4th. As new Zeros became available, Nishizawa was assigned an A6M2 bearing the tail code F-108.

Twelve Zeros of the 4th Ku. were escorting eight bombers in a raid on Horn Island on March 14 when they encountered seven Curtiss P-40E Warhawks of the 7th Squadron, 49th Pursuit Group, U.S. Army Air Forces (USAAF), led by Captain Robert L. Morissey. In the fight that ensued, three pilots of the 4th Ku., including Nishizawa, claimed six P-40s, along with two probables, while their opponents claimed five Zeros. In actuality, the Japanese lost two fighters and their pilots (Lt. j.g. Nobuhiro Iwasaki and PO1C Genkichi Oishi), while the Americans lost one P-40 whose pilot, 2nd Lt. Clarence Sandford, bailed out over Bremer Island.

The Japanese did not encourage the tallying of individual scores, being more inclined toward honoring a team effort by units. As with the French and Italians, Japanese victories were officially counted for the air group, not for individuals. Generally, attempts to verify personal claims by Japanese airmen can only be conducted from postwar examinations of their letters and diaries, or those of their comrades.

Nishizawa's next claim was a Supermarine Spitfire over Port Moresby on March 24. He was also one of five Japanese pilots who participated in shooting down three alleged Spitfires claimed over the same location on March 28. It may safely be said, however, that the Japanese had misidentified their opponents, since there were no Spitfires in Australia at that time.

Meanwhile, on March 8, Japanese forces had landed in northeastern New Guinea and captured Lae and Salamaua. Then, on April 1, the JNAF underwent a reorganization, during which the 4th Ku. became exclusively a bombing unit, and its fighter chutai--including Nishizawa--was incorporated into the Tainan Ku., under the command of Captain Masahisa Saito. The unit operated from the jungle airstrip at Lae, where the living conditions were miserable. "The worst airfield I had ever seen, not excluding Rabaul or even the advanced fields in China," said Tainan Ku. member PO1C Saburo Sakai. But his wingman, PO3C Toshiaki Honda, gleefully described Lae as "the best hunting grounds on the earth." Honda was referring to Port Moresby, an Allied hornet's nest lying just 180 miles away. There, RAAF P-40s were being bolstered by the Bell P-39 Airacobras of the 8th Pursuit Group, USAAF.

A flight of Tainan Ku. Zeros, led by Lt. j.g. Junichi Sasai, patrolled the Coral Sea and was making its return pass over Port Moresby on April 11 when the Japanese sighted a quartet of Airacobras. Sakai, covered by his two wingmen, PO3C Honda and Seaman 1st Class Keisaku Yonekawa, dove on the two rearmost P-39s and promptly shot down both.

"I brought the Zero out of its skid and swung up in a tight turn," Sakai wrote, "prepared to come out directly behind the two head fighters. The battle was already over! Both P-39s were plunging crazily toward the earth, trailing bright flames and thick smoke....I recognized one of the Zeros still pulling out of its diving pass, Hiroyoshi Nishizawa, a rookie pilot at the controls. The second Zero, which had made a kill with a single firing pass, piloted by Toshio Ota, hauled around in a steep pullout to rejoin the formation."

From that time on, Nishizawa and the 22-year-old PO1C Ota stood out among the veteran airmen of the Tainan Ku., later ranking alongside Sakai as the leading aces of the group. "Often we flew together," wrote Sakai, "and were known to the other pilots as the 'cleanup trio.'" Ota shared Nishizawa's mastery of the Zero's controls, but his personality could not have been more different; he was outgoing, jocular and amiable. Sakai thought Ota would have been "more at home, I am sure, in a nightclub than in the forsaken loneliness of Lae."

For the next several weeks, the Tainan Ku. had its share of successes, but opportunities seemed to elude Nishizawa. On April 23, he, Sakai and Ota shot up Kairuku airfield north of Port Moresby, and on April 29, Nishizawa was one of six Zero pilots who celebrated Emperor Hirohito's birthday by strafing Port Moresby Field itself. On neither occasion, however, did the Japanese encounter aerial opposition. Then, on May 1, eight Zeros were heading for Port Moresby when they encountered 13 P-39s and P-40s flying along slowly at 18,000 feet. Nishizawa, as usual, spotted them first and swung around in a wide turn to attack the enemy planes from the left and rear. His seven comrades were not far behind, and they took the Americans completely by surprise, shooting down eight before the survivors dove away.

Sakai, who claimed two victories in the fight, described what happened when they returned to Lae: "Nishizawa leaped from his cockpit as the Zero came to a stop. We were startled; usually he climbed down slowly. Today, however, he stretched luxuriously, raised both arms above his head, and shrieked, 'Yeeeeooow!' We stared in stupefaction; this was completely out of character. Then, Nishizawa grinned and walked away. His smiling mechanic told us why. He stood before the fighter and held up three fingers. Nishizawa was back in form!"

Nishizawa remained in form, downing two P-40s over Port Moresby the next day and another P-40 on May 3. On May 7, Sakai, Nishizawa, Ota and PO1C Toraichi Takatsuka jumped 10 P-40s over Port Moresby, each pilot accounting for a Curtiss on his first pass. Four more P-40s turned on them, but the Japanese outmaneuvered them with tight, arcing loops. They came around behind their attackers and shot down another three. Nishizawa shared in the destruction of two P-39s on May 12, and got two more Airacobras on May 13.

Torrential rains grounded the Tainan Ku. on May 15, and on the following dawn a flight of North American B-25 Mitchell bombers of the 3rd Bomb Group swooped over Lae and cratered the runway with bomb hits. The day was spent repairing the damage. That night, Nishizawa, Ota and Sakai were lounging in the radio room, listening to the music hour on an Australian station when Nishizawa recognized Camille Saint-Saëns' eerie "Danse Macabre." "That gives me an idea," he said excitedly. "You know the mission tomorrow, strafing at Moresby? Why don't we throw a little dance of death of our own?"

Ota dismissed Nishizawa's proposal as the ravings of a madman, but he persisted. "After we start home, let's slip back to Moresby, the three of us, and do a few demonstration loops right over the field," Nishizawa suggested. "It should drive them crazy on the ground!"

"It might be fun," replied Ota. "But what about the commander? He'd never let us go through with it."

"So?" replied Nishizawa with a broad grin. "Who says he must know about it?"

On May 17, Lt. Cmdr. Tadashi Nakajima led the Tainan Ku. in a maximum effort to neutralize Port Moresby, with Sakai and Nishizawa as his wingmen. The strafing run accomplished nothing, however, and three formations of Allied fighters took on the Zeros in a swirling dogfight. Five P-39s were claimed by the Japanese, including a double for Sakai and some possible shared victories for Nishizawa. However, two Zeros were shot up over the field and later crashed in the Owen Stanley Mountains, killing Lt. j.g. Kaoru Yamaguchi and PO2C Tsutomu Ito.

The Japanese formation realigned for the return flight. Sakai signaled Nakajima that he was going after an enemy plane he had seen and peeled off. Minutes later, he was over Port Moresby again, to keep his rendezvous with Nishizawa and Ota. After establishing their routine by means of hand gestures and checking one more time for Allied fighters, the trio performed three tight loops in close formation. After that, a jubilant Nishizawa indicated that he wanted to repeat the performance. Diving to 6,000 feet, the Zeros did three more loops, still without coming under any fire from the ground. The Japanese then headed back to Lae, arriving 20 minutes after the rest of the unit had landed.

At about 9 p.m., an orderly told Sakai, Ota and Nishizawa that Lieutenant Sasai wanted them in his office immediately. When they arrived, he held up a letter. "Do you know where I got this thing?" he shouted. "No? I'll tell you, you fools; it was dropped on this base a few minutes ago, by an enemy intruder!"

The letter, written in English, said: "To the Lae Commander: We were much impressed with those three pilots who visited us today, and we all liked the loops they flew over our field. It was quite an exhibition. We would appreciate it if the same pilots returned here once again, each wearing a green muffler around his neck. We're sorry we could not give them better attention on their last trip, but we will see to it that the next time they will receive an all-out welcome from us."

Nishizawa, Sakai and Ota stood at stiff attention and made a herculean effort to conceal their mirth while Sasai dressed them down over their "idiotic behavior" and prohibited them from staging any more aerobatic shows over enemy airfields. Still, the Tainan Ku.'s three leading aces secretly agreed that Nishizawa's aerial choreography of the "Danse Macabre" had been worth it.

Nishizawa added another P-39 to his score on May 20. A strike on Lae by six B-25Cs of the 13th Squadron, 3rd Bomb Group, on May 24 brought a vicious reaction by 11 Zeros. Nishizawa reached the Mitchells first, and in moments his cannon shells sent the lead plane, flown by Captain Herman F. Lowery, crashing in flames just beyond the Japanese airstrip. In the running fight that ensued between Lae and Salamaua, Ota got the second B-25 in the formation, Sakai got two and Sasai another, leaving only one riddled survivor to return to Port Moresby.

The Japanese were flying low over the jungle on May 27 when they encountered four Boeing B-17Es of the 19th Bomb Group flying in column, escorted by 20 Bell P-400s (export models of the P-39 with a 20mm cannon in place of the P-39's 37mm weapon) of the 35th Pursuit Group, which had arrived at Port Moresby to relieve the battered 8th Group in late May. The Zeros attacked from below and a low-level dogfight ensued, during which Sakai shot down one Airacobra and drove another down to crash in a mountain pass. Coincidentally, Nishizawa and Ota also claimed Airacobras under identical circumstances, each one driving his victim down to crash and then pulling up at the last possible second.

Nishizawa added another P-39 to his personal tally on June 1, followed by two more on June 16. On June 25, he personally downed a P-39 and shared in the destruction of a second with two other pilots. Another P-39 fell to his guns on July 4.

Despite such dazzling successes, the Japanese did not have things entirely their way. Twenty-three Zeros intercepted a flight of B-26s over Lae on June 9. They had claimed four of them over Cape Ward Hunt when they were jumped by 11 P-400s of the 39th Squadron, 35th Fighter Group. Warrant Officer Satoshi Yoshino, a 15-victory ace, was shot down and killed by Captain Curran L. Jones, who later brought his score up to five while flying a Lockheed P-38F Lightning. Even the redoubtable Nishizawa met his match on July 11; his Zero was shot up in an unsuccessful attempt to bring down a B-17, but he did down a P-39 on the same day. Similarly, a Lockheed A-28 Hudson proved too fast and tough for him to bring down on July 22. On July 25, however, he downed another P-39 over Port Moresby and joined eight other Zeros in shooting down a B-17 over Buna.

When five more B-17s came to bomb Lae on August 2, the Japanese tried out a new tactic--attacking head-on. The result was spectacular--Nishizawa's cannon shells tore into the first and it exploded in flames. Ota, Sasai and Sakai, also accounted for B-17s. Three P-39s tried to intervene, only to be outmaneuvered and shot down by Nishizawa, Ota and Sakai. After a running fight, the fifth Fortress was also shot down, but not before its gunners had damaged Sakai's Zero and shot down Seaman 1st Class Yoshio Motoyoshi--Nishizawa's wingman. Upon landing, Nishizawa ignored the cheers of his ground crewmen. "Refuel my plane and load my guns," he ordered, and he set out on a lone search for his lost wingman. "Two hours later he returned," Sakai wrote, "misery written on his face."

The Tainan Ku. moved to Lakunai airfield on Rabaul the next day. On August 7, word arrived that U.S. Marines had landed on the island of Guadalcanal, more than 500 miles away at the lower end of the Solomon Islands chain, at 5:20 that morning. Without delay, Lt. Cmdr. Nakajima led 17 Zeros to escort 27 Mitsubishi G4M bombers of the 4th Ku. in an attack on the U.S. Navy task force supporting the invasion. The Japanese were met by 18 Grumman F4F-4 Wildcat fighters and 16 Douglas SBD-3 Dauntless dive bombers from the aircraft carriers Saratoga, Enterprise and Wasp.

Nishizawa was credited with six F4Fs in this first air battle between land-based Zeros and American carrier fighters. One of his victims was probably Lieutenant Herbert S. ("Pete") Brown of VF-5, who was attacked by a Zero that made a full-deflection shot from about 1,500 feet overhead, shattering his canopy and wounding him in the hip and leg. Pete Brown reported that his opponent came alongside him, and after the two adversaries had looked each other over, the Japanese pilot grinned and waved. The skill and wildness of Brown's antagonist both suggest Nishizawa's style, but for neither the first nor last time, his assumption of the F4F's demise was premature. Brown managed to make it back to his carrier, Saratoga. Other likely VF-5 victims of Nishizawa included Ensign Joseph R. Daly, who was shot down in flames and badly burned but parachuted to safety just off Guadalcanal, and Lt. j.g. William M. Holt, who was killed.

After a difficult fight, Sakai destroyed an F4F of VF-5 flown by Lieutenant James J. Southerland II, who was wounded but bailed out and survived. Sakai then downed an SBD-3 of Wasp's scouting squadron VS-71, killing Aviation Radioman 3rd Class Harry E. Elliott and wounding the pilot, Lieutenant Dudley H. Adams, who was subsequently rescued by the destroyer Dewey. Next, Sakai pounced on what looked like eight Wildcats--only to discover too late that they were really SBDs of VB-6 and VS-5. One of the dive bombers' .30-caliber rear guns struck Sakai in the head, temporarily blinding him.

The fight broke up and the Zeros re-formed for the return leg of their long mission. Nishizawa noticed that Sakai was missing and went into another of his mad rages. Peeling off on his own, he searched the area, both for signs of Sakai and for more Americans to fight, presumably even if he had to ram them. Eventually, he cooled off and returned to Lakunai. Later, to everyone's amazement, the seriously wounded Sakai arrived, after an epic 560-mile flight. Nishizawa personally drove him, as quickly but as gently as possible, to the surgeon. Evacuated to Japan on August 12, Sakai lost an eye, but returned to combat in 1944 and brought his final score up to 64--the fourth-ranking Japanese ace.

Japanese claims in the August 7 air battle totaled 36 F4Fs (including seven unconfirmed) and seven SBDs. Actual American losses came to nine Wildcats and a Dauntless. Four F4F pilots (Holt, Lt. j.g. Charles A. Tabberer and Ensign Robert L. Price of VF-5, and Aviation Pilot 1st Class William J. Stephenson of VF-6) and SBD radioman Elliott were killed. American claims were more modest--seven bombers, plus five probables, and two Zeros. The Japanese actually suffered the loss of four G4Ms and another six returning to base so damaged as to be written off, along with the loss of two Tainan Ku. members, PO1C Mototsuna Yoshida (12 victories) and PO2C Kunimatsu Nishiura, both killed by Lt. j.g. Gordon E. Firebaugh of Enterprise's VF-6, just before Firebaugh himself was shot down and forced to bail out.

Sakai and Yoshida were just the first of many Japanese aces whose careers would be cut short in the course of a six-month struggle with the U.S. Army, Navy and Marine squadrons that were operating from Guadalcanal's Henderson Field. Junichi Sasai, whose official score then stood at 27, was killed by Captain Marion E. Carl of Marine fighter squadron VMF-223 on August 26. On September 13, PO3C Kazushi Uto (19 victories), Warrant Officer Toraichi Takatsuka (16) and PO2C Susumu Matsuki ( were killed in a wild dogfight with F4F-4s of VF-5 and VMF-223.

Nishizawa survived and adapted to the improving American aircraft and tactics. On October 5, he and eight other pilots downed a B-25 attacking Rabaul, and on the 8th he and eight comrades accounted for a torpedo bomber over Buka. During an encounter over Guadalcanal between 16 Tainan Ku. Zeros and eight F4F-4s of VMF-121 on October 11, Nishizawa scored the only success for either side when he forced 2nd Lt. Arthur N. Nehf to ditch his Wildcat in Lunga Channel. Nishizawa was credited with one of five F4Fs claimed by the Tainan Ku. during a fight with VMF-121 over Guadalcanal on October 13. The only actual Marine loss occurred when PO1C Kozaburo Yasui, PO3C Nobutaka Yanami and Seaman 1st Class Tadashi Yoneda shot up a Wildcat whose pilot, Captain Joseph J. Foss of VMF-121, succeeded in making a forced landing on Henderson Field. Nishizawa claimed another F4F on the 17th, along with a torpedo bomber shared with another pilot. He claimed an F4F in a melee with Major Leonard K. Davis' VMF-121 on October 20, but in fact neither side suffered any losses.

Toshio Ota mortally wounded Marine gunner Henry B. Hamilton of VMF-212 on October 21, for his 34th victory, but was himself shot down and killed moments later by 1st Lt. Frank C. Drury. On October 25, the career of another Tainan Ku. ace ended when Seaman 1st Class Keisaku Yoshimura (9 victories) fell victim to Joe Foss of VMF-121.

The JNAF underwent another reorganization on November 1, in which all units bearing names were redesignated by number. The Tainan Ku. thus became the 251st Kokutai. In the middle of the month, the group was recalled to Toyohashi air base in Japan to replace its losses. Commander Yasuna Kozono became the new commanding officer, Lt. Cmdr. Nakajima became its air officer, and new personnel were trained by a cadre of 10 surviving veterans, including Nishizawa. By the time he was withdrawn to Toyohashi, Nishizawa's total of personal and shared victories stood at about 55, but the tide of battle was turning in favor of the Americans. The last Japanese troops were evacuated from Guadalcanal on February 7, 1943. From that time on, the Allies would be permanently on the offensive in the Pacific.

While in Japan, Nishizawa visited Sakai, who was still recuperating in the Yokosuka hospital. Updating his friend on events, Nishizawa complained of his new duty as an instructor: "Saburo, can you picture me running around in a rickety old biplane, teaching some fool youngster how to bank and turn, and how to keep his pants dry?" Nishizawa also described the loss of most of their comrades to the growing might of the American forces. "It's not as you remember, Saburo," he said. "There was nothing I could do. There were just too many enemy planes, just too many." Even so, Nishizawa could not wait to return to combat. "I want a fighter under my hands again," he said. "I simply have to get back into action. Staying home in Japan is killing me."

The 251st Ku. returned to Rabaul on May 7, 1943, and resumed operations over New Guinea and the Solomons. Among the Zeros known to have been flown by Nishizawa during that time was an A6M3 Type 22 with the tail code UI-105. On May 14, 32 Zeros of the 251st Ku. escorted 18 G4M bombers of the 751st Ku. on a large raid to Oro Bay, New Guinea. They were met by P-40s and new Lockheed P-38 Lightnings of the 49th Fighter Group. A confused dogfight took place, during which the Japanese claimed 13 Americans (five of them admitted to be probables), while the 49th Group claimed 11 G4M "Bettys" (Allied code term for the bombers) and 10 of their "Zeke" escorts. The actual result was that six G4Ms failed to return to their base at Kavieng, New Ireland, and four returned damaged, while the 251st Ku. lost no pilots at all.

The only American loss was 2nd Lt. Arthur Bauhoff, whose P-38 was downed by two A6M3s, one of which was flown by Nishizawa. Bauhoff was seen parachuting into the water, but the boat that was sent to rescue him found only a pack of frenzied sharks to hint at his fate. The 7th Squadron's P-40Ks attacked the bombers, but 1st Lt. Sheldon Brinson was thwarted by a wildly maneuvering Zeke whose pilot was clearly an old veteran, and he escaped only by diving away. That may have been the P-40 claimed that day by Nishizawa, whose fighting style was certainly consistent with Brinson's description. Another P-40K of the 7th was so shot up that its landing gear collapsed, and the plane was written off, although its pilot, 1st Lt. John Griffith, was unhurt.

The 251st and 204th kokutais took off on June 7 to sweep the Guadalcanal area, only to be intercepted over the Russell Islands by a mixed bag of Allied opposition--Marine F4F-4s and Chance Vought F4U-1 Corsairs of VMF-112; P-40Fs of the 44th Squadron, 18th Fighter Group; P-38Fs of the 339th Squadron, 347th Fighter Group; and P-40E Kittyhawks of No. 15 Squadron, Royal New Zealand Air Force (RNZAF). As on May 14, both sides overclaimed--the 251st Ku. alone claiming 23 victories (five of which were probables), while the Allies claimed a total of 24 Zeros. Actual Allied losses were four F4Us and a P-40, along with several damaged (two of the four damaged RNZAF Kittyhawks had to crash-land on Russell Island), but miraculously, all their pilots survived. On the other hand, of the eight Zeros that were destroyed, seven of their pilots were killed, including four from the 251st Ku. Nishizawa's claims included his first Corsair, which may have been that of VMF-112's commander, Major Robert B. Fraser, who, after downing two Zeros for his fifth and sixth victories, was shot down himself but bailed out safely.

The main drama of the day, however, centered on PO1C Masuaki Endo, who shot up a P-38 before being driven off its tail by P-40 pilot 1st Lt. Jack A. Bade of the 44th Squadron, and was later credited with the Lightning by Japanese eyewitnesses. Endo then got into a head-on gun duel with 1st Lt. Henry E. Matson of the 44th, but his Zero was set on fire by the American's six .50-caliber machine guns. In a final self-sacrificial act, Endo crashed his Zero into Matson's P-40. Matson bailed out and survived the attention of three approaching Zeros by giving them a toothy grin and waving at them, to which the Japanese responded by waving back and flying away. He was subsequently recovered by a rescue boat. Matson's P-40 was credited as the 14th victory for Endo, whose death deprived the JNAF of yet another invaluable, experienced fighter pilot.

By mid-June, Nishizawa had added six more Allied planes to his total. After that, Japanese naval air groups completely abandoned the practice of recording personal victories, and Nishizawa's exact record became difficult to ascertain. During that time, however, his achievements were honored by a gift from the commander of the 11th Air Fleet, Vice Adm. Jinichi Kusaka--a military sword inscribed Buko Batsugun ("For Conspicuous Military Valor").

Nishizawa was transferred to the 253rd Ku. in September. He operated from Tobera, New Britain, until he was recalled to Japan a month later. At that time, Lt. Cmdr. Harutoshi Okamoto, commander of the 253rd Ku., reported that Nishizawa's total score stood at 85.

Nishizawa was promoted to warrant officer in November and again served as a trainer in the Oita Ku., but his performance in that role was judged barely tolerable by his superiors. He was assigned to the 201st Ku. in February 1944, transferring from Atsugi to defend the northern Kurile Islands against bombing raids by the U.S. Eleventh Air Force. Few opportunities to engage the enemy arose, however, and Nishizawa did not add anything to his score.

The threat of an American invasion of the Philippines grew, and 29 aircraft of Hikotai (detachment) 304 of the 201st Ku. were dispatched to Bamban airfield on the island of Luzon on October 22, 1944. On October 24, Nishizawa was with a contingent from that detachment, which was sent to Mabalacat airfield on Cebu Island.

On the following day, Nishizawa led three A6M5s, flown by Misao Sugawa, Shingo Honda and Ryoji Baba, to provide escort for five others, carrying 550-pound bombs. The volunteers piloting the bomb-armed Zeros, led by Lieutenant Yukio Seki, were to deliberately crash their planes into the American warships they encountered, preferably aircraft carriers, in the first official mission of the suicidal kamikaze, or "divine wind." Brushing aside interference from 20 Grumman F6F Hellcats, Nishizawa and his escorts claimed two of the Americans, bringing his personal score up to 87. The suicide attack was also successful--four of the five kamikazes struck their targets and sank the escort carrier St. Lô.

Nishizawa reported the sortie's success to Commander Nakajima after returning to base and then volunteered to take part in the next day's kamikaze mission. "It was strange," Nakajima later told Saburo Sakai, "but Nishizawa insisted that he had a premonition. He felt he would live no longer than a few days. I wouldn't let him go. A pilot of such brilliance was of more value to his country behind the controls of a fighter plane than diving into a carrier, as he begged to be permitted to do." Instead, Nishizawa's plane was armed with a 550-pound bomb and flown by Naval Air Pilot 1st Class Tomisaku Katsumata, a less experienced pilot who nevertheless dove into the escort carrier Suwannee off Surigao. Although the ship was not sunk, she burned for several hours--85 of her crewmen were killed, 58 were missing and 102 wounded.

Meanwhile, Nishizawa and several other pilots left Mabalacat that morning aboard a bomber to pick up some replacement Zeros at Clark Field on Luzon. Over Calapan on Mindoro Island, the bomber transport was attacked by two Hellcats of VF-14 from the carrier Wasp and was shot down in flames. Nishizawa, who had believed that he could never be shot down in aerial combat, died a helpless passenger--probably the victim of Lt. j.g. Harold P. Newell, who was credited with a "Helen" (Allied code name for the Nakajima Ki.49 Donryu army bomber) northeast of Mindoro that morning.

Upon learning of Nishizawa's death, the commander of the Combined Fleet, Admiral Soemu Toyoda, honored him with a mention in an all-units bulletin and posthumously promoted him to the rank of lieutenant junior grade. Because of the confusion toward the end of the war, the publication of the bulletin was delayed and funeral services for Japan's greatest fighter pilot were not held until December 2, 1947. Nishizawa was also given the posthumous name Bukai-in Kohan Giko Kyoshi, a Zen Buddhist phrase that translates: "In the ocean of the military, reflective of all distinguished pilots, an honored Buddhist person."

all the us fighter jocks wanted to be like godfrey and gentile...

Dominic S. Gentile was born on December 6, 1920. He enjoyed aviation as a youngster; he even acquired an Aerosport biplane as a teenager, and cut quite a figure in the small Ohio town of Piqua, flying it around, buzzing water towers, his girlfriend's house and the like. He enrolled in the Royal Canadian Air Force right out of high school. He soon transferred to the RAF and began flying in England. In 1942, he joined the No. 133 Eagle Squadron, composed only of American fighter pilots who had volunteered to fight with the British. Flying Spitfires and Hawker Hurricanes, the Eagle Squadrons gave Don Gentile the chance to prove himself in combat against the Germans. He score his first aerial victory on August 1, 1942, destroying an Fw-190 and a Ju-88 over France.

For this he was awarded the British Distinguished Flying Cross.

That September, he transferred into the United States Eighth Air Force: 336th Fighter Squadron, Fourth Fighter Group, which claimed over one thousand German aircraft destroyed. Several Eagles, such as Gentile, Don Blakeslee, Jim Goodson, and Duane Beeson, became top aces of the European theater, especially after the Group's conversion to P-51 Mustangs.

On a mission in early 1944, Gentile downed a couple of Germans, only to be bounced by two others. Gentile went into a tight turn with the Hun. Not many pilots could turn in a Thunderbolt on the deck with an FW-190, but Gentile had the skill and was too frightened to worry about spinning out. The Hun had his No. 2 glued on his wing and he soon showed Gentile he was a tough adversary. Gentile went shuddering and shaking over the treetops with the two Germans. He was cold with fright, the same as he had been in his green RAF days when he escaped a German assailant with violent black-out turns and pull-outs, thus winning the bet that his body could stand more black-outs than the Germans. On some reverse turns Gentile squirted what little ammunition he had left after downing the other two Jerries. Now he found himself without ammunition and with two determined, accomplished killers on his tail. In the head-on attacks the German discerned that the Thunderbolt's wings were not firing; this made him press the attack that much more resolutely. The Hun peppered Gentile with some 30° deflection shots. Gentile pulled away and flicked down.

One of the Germans had been lost in the maneuvering and Gentile found himself going around in circles over the trees, rawhided by the German. Gentile was defenseless without ammunition; his one chance of surviving the vendetta was to evade the German fire until his ammunition was also exhausted. The German kept pressing for the one brief opportunity of lining the Thunderbolt up in his sights. Gentile's hand got clammy on the throttle.

"Help! Help! I'm being clobbered!" Gentile screamed in near panic.

Somewhere above in the clouds the rest of his squadron was flying about. Until this day Gentile remembers the imperturbable drawl of Willard Millikan answering: "Now, if you will tell me your call sign and approximate position we'll send help."

Gentile shot back, "I'm down here by a railroad track with a 190!"

But Millikan couldn't find Gentile. The duel (cannon vs. flying skill) went on down below. Characteristically, Gentile began talking to himself: " . . . Keep calm, Gentile . . . don't panic."

Gentile still managed to keep one jump ahead of the German, but his desperation mounted. The Hun was lathered and remorseless, having seen the American clobber the two 190 pilots, his acquaintances and perhaps his friends. He knew by now that the American with the "Donnie Boy" insignia was a superlative pilot; this was a chance to blast an American ace out of the sky without risk. He kept firing, but the American always climbed or banked just inside his line of fire. Gentile felt like giving up; he was going to be shot down anyway; it would be better to get some altitude and bail out. But he had some last words:

"Horseback, Horseback! If I don't get back, tell 'em I got two 190s!"

The two fighters were flat-out on the deck, down by the railroad track, the German on the American's tail firing. The German began to close the gap. Gentile suddenly honked his ship up and stood it on his prop until it quivered and was ready to stall out. For the first time Gentile had gotten above the Hun and could have swooped down on him for a kill had his ammunition not been exhausted. Gentile had preserved himself. He had made the Hun fire all his ammunition without hitting him. The German suddenly peeled off and sulked home, his two FW comrades unavenged. Gentile bounced down the runway at Debden. He didn't bother to gun the motor before switching it off. He was spent and worn, his very fingers heavy with weariness. The intelligence officer jumped on the wing of his plane to interrogate him. Gentile didn't answer, just sitting in the cockpit rolling his eyes and panting.

One of the pilots composed a song to be sung to the tune of Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys Are Marching. It became a Debden theme song. The chorus:

Help, Help, I'm being clobbered,
Down here by the railroad track,
Two 190s chase me 'round
And we're damn near to the ground
Tell them I got two if I don't make it back!

Duane Beeson and Don Gentile were involved in a highly publicized "ace race," to see who could shoot down more German planes. They both forwent leaves thay were due in early 1944 to continue their battle.

Gentile had a big day on March 8, 1944, when he shot down 3 Bf-109s (plus a shared credit) over Berlin. On April 5, 1944, Gentile claimed his 27th enemy planes destroyed, thus breaking Eddie Rickenbacker's WWI record of 26. (At the time the Eighth Air Force recognized ground kills as part of a pilots score, in part because strafing missions were felt to be least as dangerous, if not more so, than aerial combat. Seven of Gentile's destroyed aircraft were on ground kills.) Three days later, on April 8, Gentile downed three more planes, raising his total to 30. Gentile was credited with 21+ air victories. He scored two kills with the RAF in the Spitfire, 4.33 kills in the P-47 Thunderbolt, and 15.5 kills in the P-51B Mustang. He made half of his claims in March 1944, flying over the skies of Germany.

On April 13, a throng of local and US reporters gathered at Debden to greet Gentile, then the leading 8th AF ace. He buzzed the airfield, too closely as it happened, and "pranged his kite." Blakeslee was livid, and true to his word, sent Gentile home (whose tour was up anyway).

It was in the Fourth Fighter Group that Gentile met Captain John T. Godfrey, another American pilot who had been transferred from the RAF. With Godfrey as Gentile's wingman, the two formed a lethal combat team whose impressive teamwork destroyed more enemy planes than any other partnership of American fighter pilots. In June of 1944, the two men returned to the States, temporarily participated in a war bond tour, and were eventually separated after Gentile's assignment to Wright Field in Dayton, Ohio.

After the war Don Gentile stayed with the Air Force: as a test pilot at Wright Field, as a Training Officer in the Fighter Gunnery Program, and as a student officer at the Air Tactical School. In 1951, Don Gentile made his last flight, crashing a T-33 trainer which killed both Gentile and his passenger. His decorations include the Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star, the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Air Medal, the Presidential Unit Citation, the World War Two Victory Medal, the American Campaign Medal, the British Distinguished Flying Cross, the British Star, the Eagle Squadron Crest, and other foreign medals

Flight Sergeant Middleton RAAF

On the 28th/29th Nov 1942 flight sergeant Rawdon Middleton piloting a Stirling was sent to attack the FIAT works in Turin. Lacking power Middleton had great difficulty in gaining the 12000 ft required to clear the alps this lead to using excessive amounts of fuel requiring a go or no go decision, he pressed on.
Requiring to identify the target he dived too 2000 ft even though he knew regaining height would be extremely difficult passing over Turin three times in all before the target was confirmed..
Suddenly the aircraft came under intense light flak a large hole appeared in the port main plane and made lateral control very hard to maintain more flak was poured at the Stirling there was a loud explosion as an ack ack round detonated inside the cockpit. Middleton had the side of his face smashed open by shrapnel loosing his right eye and exposing his skull also shrapnel had entered his lower body and legs..
His co-pilot also received head and leg wounds that poured blood over the flooring of the plane, the wireless operator suffered leg wounds ,Middleton lost consciousness
The aircraft plummeted too 800ft before the co-pilot managed to arrest the dive and climbed back too 1500ft and drop the bomb load the flak continuing to be poured at their plane.
The three gunners onboard replied continuously until the tail turret was put out of action. Middleton had now regained consciousness and told his co-pilot to go back and receive first aid he returned to the cockpit before this was completed. Middleton could see very little and only speak with the loss of blood and great pain. The plane set course for home this meant crossing the alps in a damaged aircraft with insufficient fuel, thoughts of a forced landing in France where put to one side as Middleton decided to make for the English coast enabling his crew to bailout over home ground. He also realised that due to his own state of health it would not be an option for himself, crossing the French coast at 6000ft the battered Stirling came once again under heavy light anti aircraft fire and was struck many times. Middleton battled with the controls to maintain attitude and take what evasive action he could to protect his craft.
The English coast passed beneath the tattered bomber that was now down to five minutes of fuel, Middleton bank and ran parallel to the shore ordering the crew to jump five did but two remained with the plane. The Stirling plunged into the sea a few minutes later the bodies of the flight engineer and the front gunner where recovered the next day Middleton was lost with his aircraft.



Dogfight Over Bordeaux

On march 05, 1944, the 357th Fighter Group, led by Col. Russell Spicer, escorted B-24s of the Eighth Bomber Command on a raid to Bordeaux, France. The specific targets of the raid were submarines and their protection pens. The sub-pens were where the German "Wolf Packs" were based when not operating against Allied shipping.

I remember the weather conditions as being normal for Western Europe. Bombing would be guided by visual target selection, as lower clouds were scattered over the target area.

Upon rendezvous with the B-24 bombers, Col. Spicer (call named "Dryden") requested that the 363rd Squadron ("Cement" Squadron) furnish fighter support for a box of straggling B-24’s. My flight went back to pick up the stragglers.

I was leading the flight and my wingman was Lt. Bob Moore. The second element was led by Lt. William McGinley, with Flight Officer C.E. "Chuck" Yeager on his wing. Yeager was filling in for Lt. L.D. Wood on this particular flight. Wood had been forced to abort shortly after take off and return to our base at Leiston, England, due to mechanical problems.

As we approached the stragglers, I’d searched the skies for enemy aircraft, but none were seen. We took up a flight position about 3:00 o’clock to the bombers, at their altitude (but out of range of their 50 cal. machine guns). This was where Bomber Command wanted the fighter escort to stay. While the bomber boys liked our position "nice and close", it was all wrong for proper fighter coverage. We should have been about 5,000 ft. above and a couple of miles ahead of the bombers. At this time, General Jimmy Doolittle, was not commanding the Eighth, so we flew as ordered. Our primary mission was to protect the bombers not to destroy enemy aircraft. Wrong, but true.

We’d been with the stragglers less than a minute when I spotted an Me 109 attacking the bomber box from their 6:00 o’clock position. I’d just started to drop my left wing to attack the 109 when a call came from Yeager..."Break, Break"... we broke to the left. Yeager’s call saved us!

About 180 degrees through the break I latched on to a Fw 190 who was in a diving turn. I opened fire at a fairly close range, which resulted in some pieces coming off the 190. Both of us were now diving near vertical, when something large went flying past my cockpit.** I did not recognize what the object was at the time, however, I did see that I was fast approaching a solid undercast. It was time to start pulling up, as I had no idea how thick the cloud layer was and I figured the 190 was going straight down. I started to pull out and at this point, I did something really stupid; I let the P-51 go straight till it’s airspeed dropped well below 200 mph, when I broke into a left turn. And there was old Jerry, a Me 109 on my and Moore’s tail. After a tight circle, I couldn’t see him anymore and Moore and I headed back to England.

The longer we flew toward England, the worse the weather became. Moore and I could not communicate with each other because of radio failure. Ceiling and visibility were becoming more restrictive and luckily for us we made it into the RAF base at Ford, England.

As we spent the night at Ford, neither Moore nor I knew the group had lost both Russ Spicer and Chuck Yeager on the Bordeaux mission. I telephoned a claim for a "damaged" Fw 190 and our location. At first light we flew back to our base at Leiston. The next day, March 06, 1944, I got on the ground at Leiston just in time to Lead Cement Squadron on the first successful daylight bombing mission over Berlin, Germany.

Years later, at a 357th Fighter Group Association reunion, I told Chuck that I’d shot some pieces bigger that him off the enemy aircraft that shot him down. Yeager did know that a Fw 190 crashed near where he landed in his chute. I had often wondered why the Eighth Air Force had taken the unusual step to upgrade my "damaged" claim to the status of "probable destroyed." At one of our reunions, I was kind of ribbing Yeager about being shot down by one of the greenest pilots in the German Luftwaffe. Little did I know how close I was to the truth.

Chuck had been after me for a long time to fly with him during one of our reunions. For personal reasons I had declined his invitations. However, on one occasion at a dinner party, he said, "OBee, I have a letter from a contact in France about that fight at Bordeaux. I’ll give you a copy after we make a flight together."

I was delighted to fly with Chuck at our Louisville, Kentucky reunion. He had kindly given me a copy of the letter from Dr. Fuentes written in 1996 and mailed from France. The information showed that I had indeed shot down the Fw 190. While my official victory list maybe incorrect, I’m just happy to have made it into the Fighter Aces Association.

William R. "Obee" O’Brien

**Later learned, this German’s (22 year old Irmfred Klotz) parachute did not open. Letter from Dr. Fuentes in 1996

Obee O’Brien finished the war with 6 official victories. Chuck Yeager after parachuting into France, escaped into Spain and returned to the 357th to finish his combat tour. Chuck was credited with 11 ½ official victories and after the war became the first man to fly faster than the speed of sound in the X-1

A documentary of life as a fighter pilot at an American airbase during World War II. The airbase was in Leiston, England and supported European bombing operations from late 1943 until the end of the war in Europe.

The story is told by retired Colonel Clarence E. "Bud" Anderson, an American triple ace who flew with the 357th fighter group based out of Leiston field.

the gentleman who made this 30 minute video is Ken McCall. I met him in the course of my research. He his the nephew of Frederick McCall 357Fg 364Sq. In WW2 each pilot did not have their own airplane. the more senior ranking pilot got the privilege to name and decorate "his" plane. but on the days he was not scheduled to fly another pilot would take that plane out on the daily mission. on Jan 10, 1945 Fred McCall took my father's plane ( the cathy mae/karger's dollie) out and during a strafing run over paderborn airdrome was shot down by by flak and kia. Ken had an interest in the 357th and got together with bud anderson and put documentary together. its actually pretty good for an amateur interview...and bud is a genuinely decent fellow. once the video loads you may have to jump start it by moving the time bar up a few seconds.

http://vimeo.com/11923563

The May fliers - Jan Linzel
translation by marcel

Air Battle - 10 May 1940.

This day of May, innocent people will die. It is still dark. There is a humming in the air.The radio broadcasts confused messages.
Swelling noises, droning, explosions. All noises are drowned by the aircraft of the Teutons. Jan Linzel has a restless sleep.
At half past one in the morning there is someone at his bed: commander
Boy Ruijs de Peres.1st Lt. Boy Ruijs de Peres
"Go to Marienhoeve immediately and awake the ground crew. They must come to the base in a hurry. There is a lot of flying activity and we will have work to do".
Shortly after 01.30 there is a large number of aircraft flying high over our country from East to West. Large formations of German planes flying in the direction of the North sea. It is said that they will go to England.
But soon the intentions become clear. They turn over the sea and in the grey morning light they approach our airfields from the West.
The pandemonium starts at 02.55 hours.
Linzel drives on his bike along the concrete path to the farm. He runs through the stables and shouts: "Rise, everybody! As soon as possible to the base and prepare the aircraft!".
The boys are at their posts very quickly.
Jan changes his uniform for a brown woollen jack, his personal white pilots cap and runs with his parachute to his plane, the Fokker D-21 (215).
They did this before, but never that early.
After warming up the engines, the pilots stay in their cockpits in order to take off at first alarm.

Three sections are stand by:
1. P.J.B. Ruijs de Peres (222), G.K.P.Kiel (216), J.Eden (247)
2. G.Steen (246), A.M.van de Vaart (212), J.Linzel (215)
3. F.G.B.Droste (22, P.J.Aarts (217)
Only the Fokker D-21 (227) of Ottes was not prepared to fly, probably under repair.

It is still dark. There is no light in the cockpit of the D-21. The instruments are fluorescing, but not quite clear.
The Fokker D-21 is only provided with a few blind-fly instruments and has for instance no artificial horizon. There is a turn coordinator and a vertical speed indicator; the last one is reacting slowly.
Soon it will be daytime. Because fair weather the horizon is visible and the possibility for a safe take-off is getting better every minute.
At 03.55 hours (Amsterdam time) the siren starts its howling.
One after another the three flights start to take off.
Lt. Steen is nr. 1 of Jan Linzel. He is flying in the direction of Delft. They see a large formation of Heinkels flying in NE direction.
"Foreign Aircraft Violating our Air Space."
There is a large number. Jan is surprised that Steen doesn't attack but returns to base. Jan, who already had been punished for not following the leader before, follows immediately.
After Steen has landed, Jan parks his plane near him. Steen has already left the cockpit and asks Jan: "Are your machine guns ready to fire?" "Don't know". "Let me try them, mine don't work!"
Linzel descends the 215 and Lt. Steen climbs into the cockpit. He tries the MG's and says: "I take this plane, you can use mine!"
It is not funny, but what to do as an ordinary sergeant? Linzel runs to the 246 and gets in.
The ground crew in the mean time discovered that the compressed air bottles of this plane were closed. The machineguns work on compressed air.
Steen has Jan's parachute; fortunately they have both nearly the same size, so Steen's chute fits Jan too.
The soldiers shout "Try your machineguns!" Linzel gives short bursts of fire; all four are okay.
The moment he fastens his belts and the ground crew is starting his engine, from the South-West a large formation of Heinkel bombers approach. A number of approximately 36 are counted.
Suddenly there is everywhere screaming and bombs begin to fall. They fall on the field, in large rows, 200 to 400 meter in front of Jan.
The boys of the ground crew disappear. One is hiding in a sewage tube, another under a car. Linzel in his belts stays in his cockpit and is watching where the bombs fall.
In the direction of Delft is a non-damaged strip and for the first time he is aware of the fact that war has begun.
A few soldiers come running and swing the engines start handle. A new formation of Heinkels is approaching from the South-West. The boys gesture and shout: "Shoot their balls off, serg!" Jan starts taxiing, pushes full throttle and takes off.
Linzel starts in a crater-free direction and behind him are bursts of explosions. Bombs fall on the place he was just before. The second group of Heinkels release their bombs over buildings and hangars. One of the ground crew is killed.
Linzel climbs to 3000 meter in South-East direction. Levelling at that altitude he sees a plane from left to right at a higher altitude. The silhouette stands out against the clear eastern sky. Never he saw an aircraft like that.
He turns climbing to the left and comes right after the enemy. It's a Messerschmitt 110, flying very calmly; obviously never saw the Dutch aircraft at their tail or were convinced of their strength and didn't expect any resistance.
Right behind them, Jan gives a burst of fire. Immediately a purple flame comes out of the starboard engine, followed by black smoke. The Me dives downward and Jan stays after it. On low altitude the Germans level their aircraft, pass the Voorburg-Gouda railway and belly-land in a meadow with a thick cloud of smoke.
Linzel climbs to 3000 meter again and sees a formation of Heinkels over the Westland near Delft in the direction of The Hague. Time is now about half past four.
Jan attacks the last plane at the right. Right behind it he fires all his remaining bullets into that aircraft. He can't see if there is any damage, but as he turns away he sees a Heinkel leaving the formation.
That moment he feels a bang in his left thigh. A bullet has hit his leg. He does not know from where the bullet came. The sky is full of German planes and of course they saw Jan.
There is no time thinking about that. He is bleeding and knows this is very badly. He begins to feel light in the head. The Fokker is flying level; Jan throws his cockpit roof off and pulls himself up at the handle on the upper side of the windscreen. Sitting on the edge of the cockpit he lets himself fall backward. His feet nearly strike the stabiliser wing.
After counting to three he pulls, an enormous jerk and he is hanging quietly in the air.
Now everything turns black and he is unconscious for a while. As he comes to he is still hanging in the air, seeing the burning Ypenburg air base. Much smoke!
Blood is dripping from his leg. Again everything is black.
Then, a big bang. He comes to and is lying in a meadow. Suspicious cows come to look at him. There is no wind and his parachute lies behind him. It has been a cold night and the ground is wet and cold. Jan slides backward until the chute is under his back.
It is 04.35 hours. Jan pulls down his trousers. It does not look well. At the foreside of his thigh is a little hole, but at the back it looks awful. There is a big hole and pieces of flesh lay on his trousers but the bone is not hit. As he tries to sit up, he is dizzy again. Too much loss of blood.
Suddenly a whole flight of Junkers drone over his head. Of one of them the starboard engine is in fire. From the open door "Fallschirmjäger" are jumping out, land in the meadows further away, take positions and are heading in the direction of the airport.
Jan is still lying there, unable to do anything.
In a distance of 300 meters are little farmhouses. Jan swings his flying cap, but people don't see him. He blows on his whistle and waves with his pilot chute. He sees they are looking, but do not come nearer.
How long has he been there? A couple of hours?
A Heinkel, about 1000 m over The Hague, is hit by AA-fire from the ground and falls like a stone.
Linzel is unconscious now and then.
At last, it's almost 7 o'clock, a couple of farmers come walking slowly in his direction. A dog is circling around him, barking. An old man comes nearer and says: "We supposed you were a German paratrooper".
"I'm as Dutch as your cows overthere! I have been shot down, wounded and can't walk!"
"How can we take you away?"
"On a ladder!"
As they bring a ladder, they lay Jan on it with his parachute under his head and bring him to one of the houses. The old man goes out and after some time he comes back with two Red Cross soldiers.
They are just bandaging Jan, as suddenly two German paratroopers enter the room.
"Was ist hier los?" ("what is going on here?")
"Bin abgeschossen." ("I've been shot down") Jan answers.
“Tut uns Leid. Ist's schlimm?"("Sorry, is it bad?")
"Es geht, aber ich kann nicht laufen."("Not that bad, but I can't walk")
"Na ja, Krieg ist Krieg. Tut uns wirklich Leid!" ("Yes, it's wartime. We are really sorry")
They are friendly but have wounded men of their own and leave with one of the medics.
"Auf Wiedersehen!"
After the other soldier has bandaged Jan, a couple of members of the Air Surveillance, called by the farmers, take Jan to a hospital in Delft.
There is is nursed between other wounded soldiers, both Dutch and German.
Linzel is in hospital until the 24th of June, as he leaves, collected by his father, walking with a stick.
He stays with relatives at Voorburg for a couple of weeks to recover.

long but interesting..i believe THESE are the guys the movie Dark Blue World was written about.

Karel Miroslav Kuttelwascher was born in a family of a railway inspector at Svaty Kriz (Santa Cruz) near the town of Nemecky Brod (today Havlickuv Brod) on 23rd September 1916. He spent his childhood there, and graduated from a trade school. He worked in a convenience store in Kladno for a brief period, but he was not attracted by this kind of career. He loved planes, and volunteered to join the airforce. He went through the Military Flying School in Prostějov between 1935 and 1937. This school - SODL - prepared future junior airforce officers. There were many promising talents among them: the 73 graduates of 1937 also included future aces like Václav Jícha, Otmar Kučera or Ladislav Světlík as well as many other western front fighter pilots. First of all he had to go through a hard Prussian-style infantry boot camp, then through theoretical preparation, and then, finally, he got to flying. After graduation, Kuttelwascher served at the 4th Regiment in Prague-Kbely. He went through his fighter pilot training there. In May 1938 he transferred to the 1st 'T.G.Masaryk' regiment in Hradec Králové. He joined the 32nd Fighter Flight equipped with Avia B-534 biplane fighters. The flight commander was Staff Captain Evžen Čížek a later Sqadron Leader of the No. 312 (Czechoslovak) Squadron and a future ace, too.

International tensions grew in the fall of 1938. The 32nd Flight rotated between several South Moravian airfields (as part of the 4th Army Air Arm), and later operated in Eastern Slovakia and Ruthenia (3rd Army). They were on watch for Hungarian aircraft violating Czechoslovak air space frequently. After the Munich agreement and the Vienna settlement, Czechoslovakia lost large territory. The flight returned to Hradec Kralové. It was still there on the cold morning of March 15, 1938, when the remain of Czechoslovakia was taken by Germans. Extremely bad weather conditions (as well as military discipline) prevented pilots from fleeing abroad.

There were still enough of those who never put up with the situation. They left the country to offer their services to countries expected to get into a war with Germany soon. Sergeant Karel Kuttelwascher was among them. He and his friends from the Flight crossed the Polish border sealed in a railway car on the night of 19th June 1939. They were aided by the semi-legal Czechoslovak Airman Union. 23 of his SODL classmates escaped the same way at that time. He reported to the Czechoslovak consulate in Krakow. The Czechoslovak military group operated there, later to become the core of Czecholovak Resistence in exile. He spent some time in the nearby camp of Male Bronowice.

Polish officials did not show any interest in the runaway Czechoslovaks, and many Czech soldiers and pilots only viewed Poland as a stopover on their way to the West. A decision was taken to trasnfer them to France. This was under the condition that they join the Foreigners' Legion. There was still peace, so France could not hire any foreigners for their regular army. Kuttlewascher left Kdynia, and arrived in the French port of Calais on board of the Calstelholm ship on July 30, 1939. He went on to the 1st Foreigners' Legion Regiment in Sidi-bel-Abbés in Algeria. He had to go through hard infantry training once again.

As had been promised by the French authorities, the Czech airmen were transfered to the French Armeé de l'Air as soon as the war started. Kuttelwascher was sent to airports in Tunisia and Algeria. In the winter of 1939 he left for the fighter pilots training base (Centre d'Instruction de Chasse No 6) in Chartres. About a hundred of Czech airmen were retrained for French and American equipment there. He became familiar with the Morane-Saulnier MS-406C.1 fighter aircraft. Altough he got through the training very quickly, he did not get to the front line during the 'Phony War'. The situation changed after the German western attack on France which started in May.

Kuttlewascher, together with five other Czechs (including his later RAF Squadron friends Bedřich Krátkoruký and František Běhal) were transfered to the Groupe de Chasse III/3 seven days later. This unit, equipped with MS406-C.1 fighters, was stationed at the Beauvais-Tille airport. Evžen Čizek, Kuttelwascher's former commander, was among the many Czechs serving with the unit. The CG III/3 fighter group was very active from the very first days of the German offensive. It was led by Commandant Le Bideau. After tough fights at the opening phase of the Blitzkrieg, GC III/3 transferred to the Cormeilles-en-Vexin airport (21st May). They were equipped with modern Dewoitine D-520C.1 fighters, the only ones capable of resisting the enemy successfully. There were desperately few of those. GC III/3 was back in action by early June. They were fighting a lost battle, though. The resistence of the demoralized and decimated French army was getting close to an end. The unit was retreating south under the pressure of the moving front line, still fighting on the way. They passed through the airports of Illiers-l'Eveque, Germinon, La Chapelle-Vallon, Montargis, Grand Mallerey, Avord, and Perpignan-La Salanque. Three days after new French prime minister Philippe Petain asked for truce, the remains of GC III/3 crossed the Mediterrainian for Africa (20th June). Kuttlewascher's 6th escadrilla landed in Algeria one day before. The 5th escadrilla landed in Bone. The whole unit gathered in Realizane on 22nd July. They learnt about the French capitulation three days later.

Kuttlewascher's scores in the Battle of France are interpreted in various ways by different sources. The most precise figure given by French archives is two confirmed and one probable kills. He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre with a Palm and a Silver Star.

After the French capitulation, there only was one place to go for the Czech airmen - Great Britain, the only country still resisting Germany. The Czech members of CG III/3 were released from service on 1st July and took a train to Casablanca in Morroco. This is where the Czech pilots from all over Northern Africa gathered. A numerous group of them left Casablanca on board of the Royal Scotsman on July 9. They transferred to the David Livingstone in British Gibraltar. They took off on 21st July and arrived at the British port of Cardiff on 5th August.

Tired, but not broken, these men in unfamiliar uniforms speaking a strange language disembarked on the British coast. They were welcomed with high appreciation. Britain was alone against the enemy that had never been defeated. Well trained and experienced pilots was a really great help. They were given all they needed to fight on.

After a short stay in a quarantine camp, Karel Kuttlewascher joined the Royal Air Force in the rank of Sergeant (14th August 1940) as a Voluntary Reserve, as every foreign pilot had to. He was in a group of pilots sent from the Czechoslovak aircraft depot in Cosford to the No. 5 OTU in Aston Down to be retrained for the Hawker Hurricane fighters. He celebrated his 24th birthday with his first flight on the Hurricane. He achieved all his RAF victories on this machine.

On 3rd October 1940, the Battle of Britain was beginning to ease up, and the Germans were switching to night bombing. Kuttlewascher was transferred to the No. 1 Squadron that day. He stayed with this unit for almost two years, and contributed significantly to its fame.

The No. 1 Squadron was equipped with Hurricanes Mk. Ia in those days, which were replaced by Hurricanes Mk. IIa in February 1942, with some Mk. IIb's added in April. It was based in Wittering, Loncolnshire. Starting from 15th December 1940, the the Squadron operated from Northolt, Middlesex, and on 5th January 1941, they moved south of London to Kenley, Surrey. It was led by S/Ldr David Pemberon. After his fatal crash in November 1940, Canadian S/Ldr Mark 'Hilly' Brown took over, but he was soon replaced with S/Ldr Richard Brooker, DFC, on January 1941. The unit was mixed, as was common with RAF Squadrons. It was made of the British, Canadians, New Zealanders, French, even one Lithuanian, but mainly Czechs. There were eleven of them in October 1940, and the total number of Czechs serving with the Squadron within the next two years was 30. They formed almost one half of the flying personnel. In May 1941 was the A-Flight declared as Czechoslovak. It was headed by F/Lt Antonín Velebnovský until his death. Several Czech aces were with the flight beside Kuttelwascher -Vaclav Jícha, Bedřich Krátkoruký, Josef Příhoda, Evžen Čízek, and Josef Dygrýn-Ligotický.

Operational activities of the 1 Squadron were wide. Apart from defensive actions, they flew the first attacks over the coast of occupied France. These actions were called Circus: a code name for an air-raid performed by a small number of bombers accompanied by a strong figter escort. The goal was to attract and destroy the enemy right in the air. These offensive sweeps were usually done by a Wing - a higher tactical unit made out of three or more Squadrons. The No. 1 was first operational within the Northolt Wing (1, 601 and 303 (Polish) Squadrons). On 7th Apri 1941, the Squadron moved from Kenley to Croydon, and settled down at the Croydon satelite base of the Kenley sector in Redhill on the very beginning of May. It was transferred to the Kenley Wing made of the 1 and 258 and 302 (Polish) Squadrons, which was soon replaced by the 312 (Czechoslovak) Squadron.

Kuttelwascher drew attention to him during these offensive actions. He gained three certain and one probable kills in the Spring and early Summer of 1941. The machines shot down were Bf 109's, the E and F versions, generally considered superior to slower Hurricanes.

On 1st July 1941, the 1 Squadron was withdrawn from sweeps over France, and it transfered from Redhill to Tangmere. The base was located 5 kilometers North-East of picturesque Chichester. The unit stayed there for over a year. It was entrusted with the night defence of nearby ports of Southhampton and Portsmouth. It was rearmed, and the pilots started intesive night training. They were now flying Hurricanes NF Mk. IIc, which completely replaced the Mk. IIb versions in January 1942.

The 1 Squadron experimented with an unusual night tactic called Turbinlite. A two engined Douglas Havoc equipped with a radiolocator AI. Mk. IV and a huge searchlight at the nose was accompanied by a pair of satelite Hurricanes not suited for a radiolocator. Havoc pinpointed the target and lit the enemy, so the Hurricanes could attack it. This idea arose in the fall of 1940 during the massive Luftwaffe night bombing, when there was a shortage of radiolocator equipped night fighters. The project was dropped later, because it yielded poor results in view of high losses caused especially by collisions. There were also enough Bristol Beaufighter night fighters available in the end of 1941. The machines used in the 1st Squadron Turbinlite training were usually Havocs Mk. I of the 1455 Flight located in Tangmere. The 1 Squadron then employed another offensive night method called Night Intruder, which will be described later.

The operation activites of the 1 Squadron dropped a bit in the late Summer and fall of 1941. There were only some sporadic attacks on enemy targets in the Channel known as Channel Stop and Roadstead. In early 1942, Pilot Officer Karel Kuttelwascher was the only Czech serving with the unit, as the others had been transferred to other Squadrons. His abilities and achievments were rewarded on 17th February 1942, by a promotion to the rank of Flight Lieutenant, and the A Flight leader. In November, 1941, S/Ldr Brooker was transferred to the Far East Command, and replaced by famous S/Ldr James MacLachlan, DFC, DSO. This Royal Air Force ace, who had lost his left arm in a combat over Malta, made his mark once again by Kuttlewascher's side in the Night Intruder actions. This method was just getting its finishing touches en early 1942.

The Night Intruder was not Kuttelwascher's invention, as was sometimes claimed. It is true, though, that Kut brought this method to perfection, and achieved the highest score with it. These actions meant the night destruction of enemy bombers near their bases. The first RAF unit to use this method was the No. 87 Squadron, in return of similar actions taken by Junkers Ju 88's of the I./NJG 2 penetrating over British airports by night. It was later joined by the 3, 32, 43, and 253 Squadrons, but none got anywhere near the No. 1. The method itself developed significantly. In the beginning, British coastal guard reported German bombers approaching the coast. Several Hurricanes took off heading for selected German airports to wait for the returning attackers there. The bombers were very vulnerable on return. They had little fuel and ammunition, the crews were tired and frequently wounded, and the gunners had to leave their positions for the landing. They flew at a low speed with their positioning lights on, over lighted runway. All of this offered some chances to the Hurricanes. There is no denying this was sabotage tactics. Tired bomber crews shaken by the hell they had experienced over England were returning to their base, happy they had been given another day. Suddenly - right over their own airport - the shadow of a Hurricane emerges from the darkness. Tracing shots cut through the darkness. Explosions, flames, end... None of those blond men would have time to say their prayers... However advantageous this method was for the intruder, it was a passive method. The attacks were staged on machines that had already done their job. Another stage of the Night Intruder actions started when the British took the initiative, sending out the Hurricanes soon after dusk to catch the German bombers on the take off. This was riskier, since the German crews were more concentrated, but the effect was higher - the bomb load intended for British cities was destroyed with the aircraft. This was important especially in the Spring and Summer of 1942, when the Luftwaffe waged the so called baedecker offensive targeted at British historic towns, such as Bath, Canterbury, York, and Exeter, as well as other places of a high historic value. The Night Intruder operations, undertaken by lonely Hurricanes, were extremly dangerous. They were only suitable for pilots with strong nerves and cats' eyes, because no radiolocators could be installed into the single seated Hurricanes. The pilot was on his own, over enemy teritorry, near heavily defended airports, under circumstances that made him visible. He had to count with flak, German night fighters or engine failure. A short distraction could prove fatal in low flight. Navigation was very difficult. The pilot had to hold the lever in one hand, trying to spread the map on his knee with the other hand, and read it in the faint light of the controls. If he managed to find the badly visible enemy airport, he still had no guarantee of seeing anything there. Kuttelwascher sometimes visited up to five bases in one flight with no success. Luftwaffe frequently returned to other airports than they had taked off from. The crews had some twenty bases to choose from. Kuttelwascher remembered this later: "...I wonder around and wait. I must not be too low, or else I would not be able to copy the terrain, but I must keep to the ground as much as possible to see the sillhouettes of the returning airplanes above me. Sometimes waiting is in vain. I spent tens of minutes lost in the dark while my planes were not coming back. They were landing somewhere else, or they had never taken off from that particular airport. Sometimes I get lucky and managed to join them as they were getting ready for the landing. I had to decide quickly. If somebody went into my way, I took him immediately. If I was not sure, I climbed up a little bit, and joined them in the circle, so I could choose well. I occasionally turned on my lights, so they thought I am one of them - a Luftwaffe aircraft - and did not get scared unnecessarily. This is what I needed, I have to had order in my work. Just no turmoil. It will start anyway when the first catches on fire. It is best when it falls and explodes on the ground. The other then thought this had been a crash, and I had more time to choose another one..."

As the Night Intruder missions were pointed at airports deep in France, the Hurricanes carried two additional tanks under their wings, 200 litres of fuel each. Together with the 313 litres in the main wing tanks, and the 127 litres in the reserve fuselage tank, this made 840 litres of fuel - from 3 to 3,5 hours of flight at speed of 270 kph. No wonder the pilots returned quite exhausted from these long thrilling missions.

The Night Intruder operation was run by the 1 Squadron from 1st April to 2nd July 1942. They took 180 missions, shot down 22 enemy aircraft, and damaged another 13. They also destroyed 67 trains, 5 boats and a one vehicle. The highest scoring pilot in No. 1 was F/Lt Karel Kuttelwascher. In only 15 missions, he gained 15 confirmed kills, and 5 damaged airplanes. It was by far the best individual score in this operation. Kuttelwascher's personal scores went up to 20 confirmed kills, 2 probable, and 5 damaged.

On 9th July 1942, the 1 Squadron was transferred north from Tangmere to Acklington. They were re-equipped with Hawker Typhoon machines. Their task in Tangmere was taken over by the 43 Squadron. Kuttlewasher wished to continue with night actions. On July 8, 1942, he was transferred at his own request to the 23 Squadron, which performed Night Intruder missions over France, Belgium, and mainly the Netherlands. The No. 23 was located at the Ford base in Sussex. On August 6, 1942, they turned in their current machines - Douglas Boston Mk. III and Havoc Mk. I - switching completely to the new night fighter planes De Havilland Mosquito NF Mk. II. They moved to Manston, Kent. They spent the following two months moving back and forth between this base and and the Bradwell Bay airport. The standard equipment of this famous Mosquito included a AI. Mk. IV radiolocator, but this was not the case with the 23 Squadron. The loss of an aircraft over enemy teritorry would have meant the Germans getting acquainted with this top secret device. It is worth mentioning that Kuttelwascher was the first foreigner allowed to fight on the new Mosquitos.

Kuttelwascher formed a two-member crew with navigator P/O G. E. Palmer. They undertook six Night Intruder missions over France and the Netherlands from August 11 to September 8, 1942. Kuttelwascher wasn't as lucky as with No. 1 - he did not shoot down or even see a single enemy aircraft. Operations had to be stopped because of bad weather in the Fall of 1942. On October 1, 1942, F/Lt Karel Kuttelwascher, DFC & Bar, was permanently recalled from all actions. Having left active service, he was transferred to the Czechoslovak Airforce Inspectorate in London. He was entrusted with a special mission in the US on June 10, 1943. He helped in drafting American Czechs for the Czechoslovak Airforce in Great Britain, and gave lectures at flying schools, making his enourmous combat experience available to the young USAAF pilots. He travelled around the US from July to September 1943. He went thourghout the country, from Boston to Florida, from Washington to California. He lectured at the Army Air Forces School of Applied Tactics (AAFSAT) in Orlando. The Americans showed detailed interest in his success and tactics. They were trying to employ it against the Japanese. He also flew many machines exotic for the Czechs, such as P-40 Warhawk, P-51 Mustang, and P-38 Lightning. He made many public appearances in America. He was on CBS radio show twelve times (he had spoken on the BBC 42 times in England), he was a Hollywood guest meeting famous Errol Flynn there, and even became the hero of a comic strip calle the "Czech Night Hawk". Starting from October, he continued his tour in Canada. He visited RCAF flying schools from Montreal to Vancouver. New aircraft types were added to his flight records: Airspeed Oxford, Avro Anson, and Lockheed Hudson.

Half a year later, on December 12, 1943, Kuttelwascher came back to Britain. On January 24, 1944, he was transferred to the 32 MU (Maintenance Unit) in St. Athan near Cardiff, South Wales, as a testing pilot. He spent the rest of the war there, flying in new, repaired and modified aircraft of all categories. It were figter aircraft such as Hurricanes, Spitfires, and Beaufighters, seaborne Fireflies, light Magisters, Masters, and Proctors, two-engined Mitchell and Wellington bombers, transport Warwicks, Ansons and Dominias, as well as four-engined Halifaxes, Lancasters, Linconls, and Yorks.

With his 15 confirmed night kills, he appeared as the sixth on the listing of best RAF night fighter pilots. This was not a fair comparison, though, because his more successful colleagues (with 16 to 21 kills) won most of their victories under much better circumstances than him. They flew tow-engined Beaufighters or Mosquitos equipped with radiolocators. Kuttelwascher flew an one-engined single seated Hurricane with no radiolocator, relying exclusively on his cat's eyes. Unlike most of his higer scoring colleagues, he had to fly for his victims all the way to the heavily defended enemy airports, while most of the others collectied their kills over their own teritorry. In this aspect, he was only beaten - by the margin of a single kill - by W/Cdr B. Burdbridge. Burdbridge, however, scored as late as 1944, that is two years after Kuttelwascher. Kuttelwascher was by all means one of the most successful allied fighter aces.

He returned to liberated Czechoslovakia on board of a 311 Czech Squadron Liberator on August 18, 1945. He was welcomed as a national hero. He was promoted to a Staff Captain and transferred to the military section of the Praha-Ruzyně airport. One month later, he took up an assignment with the Military Airforce Academy in Hradec Kralové as an instructor. His post-war life was quite unlike the fate of his less lucky friends, who were released from service after the Communist putch in 1948, persecuted and frequently imprisoned. He quit his job with the Czechoslovak Airforce on May 21, 1946, and five days later left on board of a Dakota to join his family established in England during the war. He got a job with British European Airways in 1946. He flew Vickers Viking, Airspeed Ambassador, and Vickers Viscount airliners as the first officer, and later as the captain. This brought the number of types he had flown up to 60.

The war effort left its hidden consequences in him. He died of a heart attack quite unexpectedly on the night before August 18, 1959. This happened on a vacation in Truro in Cornwall, southern England. He was less than 43 years old. He is buried in Uxbridge near London.

He was decorated many times for his exceptionally successful military activity. He got the Czechoslovak Military Cross five times, the Czechoslovak medal For Bravery four times, Czechoslovak Degree I Honourable Medal, Memorial Medal of the Czechoslovak Army in Exile (with F-GB shields), the French gave him the Croix de Guerre with one Palm and one Silver Star, the British decorated him twice with the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC & Bar - 16th May and 27th June 1942), with The 1939-1945 Star with French and Battle of Britain Clasps, Air Crew Europe Star, Defence Medal and the War Medal.

His biographer R. Darlington wrote:

"Kut was essentially a complicated, modest man with more than a trace of contradiction. He managed to combine cool blood in the air with a certain irritability on the ground, he frequently showed modesty in the public together with a strong personal ambition, and generosity towards friends with lack of the same towards some of his family members. He was very withdrawn in relation to his numerous British friends, so he seemed to use words with the same caution as he had shot his shells years before. There was nothing chivalric in his behaviour in the air. He felt tremendous hatred for the Nazis, which could have only originated in the fact that he had personally witnessed the violation of his homeland. He was absolutely determined to shoot down as many Luftwaffe aircraft as possible.

He was an uncompromising man, quite given to his job. He was an absolute professional, who took flying very seriously, and loved nothing more than being in the air. His asketic way of life usually excluded drinking, smoking, gambling, and even parties, at least on the night before an operational flight. He was in no way a rebel, but he distingueshed himself outside the group. He was a loner, rather than a leader, and this was an important factor contributing to his success as a night fighter pilot. More than ten British and Czechoslovak decorations bear witness to his bravery. After all, his excellent actions speak for themselves."

Arnošt "Wolly" Valenta - The Great Escape


In June 1943, RAF pilots held in the Stalag Luft POW camp started preparations for a large scale escape of over 150 prisoners - the Great Escape. Intelligence work was needed to obtain information and documents from the German staff. The man in charge of this task was a former RAF bomber wireless operator - Czechoslovak Arnost Valenta.

Arnost Valenta was born on October 25, 1912 in Svebohov near Zabreh na Morave. He graduated from the Hranice Military Academy as a radio operator. He also took courses in philosophy at the Bratislava university. He was a deeply devoted but tolerant christian.

He left occupied Czechoslovakia on March 19, 1939. He took a short course with the Polish intelligence and returned secretly to the Protectorate. He supplied the Polish general command with information about the organization and plans of the German army.

He crossed the Polish border for the second time on the planned date of August 27, 1939. He joined Lieutenant-Colonel Svoboda's unit in Poland. While retreiting to the east, the unit was interned by the Soviets until March 1940. Following an agreement between the Czechoslovak and Soviet authorities, he was sent to Marseilles by way of Odessa and Beirut. He served with the military department of the Czechoslovak National Committee in Paris. After the fall of France, he was evecuated to Britain, where he joined the 311 (Czechoslovak) Bomber Squadron as a wireless operator. He flew six missions on a Wellington Mk. Ic (KX-T) with the crew of P/O Cigos.

These missions were extremely risky for the Czechs. The British, Americans, Canadians, French, Belgians, and even Poles and other allied nationals were protected by the international law. There were only two exceptions: the Soviets, not considered statutary POW's under the pretext that the USSR had not signed the Geneva agreement, and the Czechoslovaks. The Nazis formally used the so-called Protectorate Status issued by Hitler on March 16, 1939, according to which the citizens of the 'Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia' were considered Reich nationals. Any resistance - including membership in an allied regular army - was treated as high treason. Some Czech POW's were even tried on these charges and condemned to death. Only after the British government threatened with severe sanctions (including the executions of captive German pilots), did the Germans put off the executions until after the war. The prisoners were still harrased, interrogated and jailed.

On February 6, 1941, the navigator of Cigos's crew became sick, and had to be replaced by an inexperienced freshman. The mission bombed the Boulogne port successfully, but on the way back the navigator suffered from altitude sickness so badly that he was unable to do his work. The flight continued with regular position checks with the base in England. Unfortunately, the radio broke down. The pilots had to guess their position. They landed on an airfield which they believed to be near Honnington. In reality, they landed in Normandy near the city of Flers.

Cigos attempted to take off again, but the plane got stuck in mud, and the crew were taken prisoners. They pretended to be Canadians, but the Germans had good information about Czechs in RAF. Jailing and harsh Gestapo interrogations followed. In the end, they were sent to Stalag Luft III.

Valenta was among the most active Czechoslovak officers in the camp. He took part in sports, enrolled for the Staff College and he was soon able to even teach there. He spoke perfect English and German. He followed both German and English radio and newspapers, kept track of the military and political situation in Europe, and lectured on these subjects as well as Czechoslovak history and resistence. Wolly - as he was called - soon became a respected expert. This is why the X Committee charged him with his important intelligence task in the escape.

His job was difficult and dangerous. He had to assess all the German staff in order to learn about their character streaks and weaknesses. The best method to weaken them was corruption. American cigarettes, cans, chocolate, coffee and cocoa were irresistible temptation for the Germans. Once they accepted the first gift, they were lost. They got used to the bribes, and sometimes they were even blackmailed into bringing 'gifts' in exchange.

In order to obtain a camera, Valenta corrupted an inexperienced young officer. He once delivered newspaper to Valenta and signed the acceptance of a reward - a food package. Wolly claimed this was just a formality in order to keep the Red Cross papers in order. When he was later asked for a camera, he had no choice. Illegal trade with prisoners was punished by a front line assignment.

Another method was 'lost and found', although there is a better word for these activities. A new German officer took off his coat while having a cup of tee with the prisoners. He later found out he had lost his ID. He was afraid to report this to his superior. In two days the prisoners 'found' the card and returned it discreetly. Its copy was ready by then.

Valenta also obtained forms with various company headers to make invitation letters for business trips. Another important document was a travel permit. Valenta stole one and gave it to a trusted German kitchen employee. He sent it to his wife in Hamburg to make a printing template. Other Czechs, including Bedrich Dvorak, Frantisek Cigos, and Vaclav Kilian worked in the tailor workshop.

The escape was planned for 220 prisoners. Seventy 'tickets' were given to people most involved in the preparations. These included three Czechs: Ivo Tonder, Bedrich Dvorak, and Arnost Valenta. The remaining 150 had to play a lottery. There also was a lottery to assign everybody his exact number. Valenta was among the first four together with Roger Bushell, the mastermind behind the escape.

The escape was planned for the night of March 25, 1944. Unfortunately, travel through the tunnel took more time than expected, and the far end was a few yards short of the forest by mistake. By five in the morning, 76 prisoners got out. Then the tunnel was discovered by a German guard, and a chase began. The remaining prisoners destroyed all their equipment quickly.

Architect Müller alias Valenta and French enterpreneur Rougier-Marshall decided not to risk a train journey under these circumstances. Valenta suggested walking to Bohemia using his knowledge of the terrain and friends in Hirschberg. The distance was something over 100 kilometers. They spent the day in the forest. As they set off in the evening, they were stopped by guards. Valenta could speak the local dialect and his papers were perfect. Before he could explain why architect Müller was hiking around a village near Halbau, Marshall was discovered. His French was not bad, but unfortunatelly, one of the Germans knew the language even better.

Out of the 76 escapees, only three made it to freedom. Two Norwegians, young Per Bergsland (aka Rock Rockland) and Jens Einar Müller got to Sweden aboard a Swedish ship, while Dutchman Bram van der Stock travelled through Holland, Belgium, and France to Madrid. They all got to London within four months. Out of the remaining 73 men, 50 of them were shot to death after they were captured. Arnost Valenta was executed on March 31, 1944, together with Pole Kolanowski, Canadians McGill, Langford, Birkland, and Englishmen Hall, Evans, Stewart, and Swain.

The remaining escapees were returned to Stalag Luft III or to concentration camps. This happened to the other two Czechs - Dvorak and Tonder. Paradoxically, the "traitors" were the only non-British who were not shot on the spot. Unlike the others, they had to stay alive to face their high treason charges in court. They survived and were liberated by the allies from the Colditz fortress.

Arnost Valenta became the only Czechoslovak airman killed in German captivity.

Ben Hauck
8th Af, 487th BG, 837BS Co-Pilot, F/O

The day I baled out we were on a mission to Brandenburg, which is on the outskirts of Berlin. It was April 10, 1945. We were just about ready to go on the IP when we were attacked by ME 262 jet fighters. We had seen them a couple times before.

The first ones that came through got one plane; I don't think anyone got out of it. I didn't see any chutes. A couple minutes later we got hit in the number 1 main gas tank and it started a fire. So we tried to get back to the American lines because we knew they had stopped at the Elbe River. But when the aluminum slags started falling off the back of the wing, we said it's time to get out of this. The communication system was knocked out in the back, so it was hard to get their attention, but they got the message and they all bailed out.

We started to get out at the front hatch - we couldn't go through the bomb bay because it was on fire. I was the co-pilot and I looked down and I saw that the guys were having trouble getting the hatch door open. I told Ted, the pilot, I gotta go down and help those guys. So I jumped down there. I said "Robbie, you pull on the release and I'll jump on the door." Well, the adrenaline was running so fast, I didn't notice that my leg straps [of the parachute] weren't fastened; I always flew with them unfastened because it was more comfortable to fly that way. When I jumped on the door, out I went.

I counted to ten, then I counted to ten, then I counted to ten one last time. When I pulled the ripcord and the chute opened, one of the buckles flew up and cut my lip wide open. That's when I realized what I had done. The part of the harness that goes across your chest came up and popped me under my armpits. If I had had my arms up, hey I would have been gone.

They said to count to three or four, then pull, but we were at about 28,000 feet. We didn't have bailout bottles.

We all made out it out OK, but we were still over enemy territory. They gathered us all up and the next day we were in the Madenburg Luftwaffe airfield jail. Another plane from our squadron that got shot down that day had their crew there, too.

The only bad part about the whole ordeal was the food. The Germans were starving to death themselves, and they knew it. They didn't treat us badly otherwise. I had a piece of bread about the size of a bar of soap maybe twice a week. It was terrible, but you had to eat something.

When we left the airfield, they marched us across Germany over to Leipzig. That's quite a ways! It took us five days to get over there. It took us five days because the guards were crippled with canes and crutches - we had to go slow because of them. But in those five days, one day we got a sort of stew with a few potatoes and carrots in it and maybe a bit of meat.

Other than that the only food we got was when one night they put us in an empty potato cellar. It was a quonset style hut covered with earth. We started digging around in there and lo and behold we found some potatoes. The guards didn't come in the cellar because it was cold in there; they stayed outside where they had a big fire going. So I can speak German, and I went out and asked them if I could throw the potatoes in the fire. I had maybe a dozen or so - it wasn't enough for everybody - but they let me throw them in there for about half an hour. They were all burnt to a crisp, but when I brought them back in I just about got mobbed. At least it was something to put in your stomach.

In prison, the food that we got was potato peelings, carrot tops, rotten rutebagas, all kinds of crap they'd throw in a garbage can with some water. Once a day we got a tin cup about 4" in diameter and about 3" tall full of that stinking mess it smelled horrible.

I didn't eat anything for the first three days. The guys who'd been in for a long time were fighting over my stuff [laughs]. But after about the fourth day I held my nose and just ate it. Well, you eat or you die, period. It gave you just enough nourishment to survive. In the month I was a POW I lost 22 lbs without even trying [laughs].

The 3rd Armored Division liberated us. They took us up to Hildesteim Germany. They took all the clothes away from us and burned them and put us in a DDT # they fogged us up real good and gave us clean clothes. The first meal was just broth from a killed sheep - there was no meat. It wasn't much. Then there was a bunch of prisoners on litters who had malnutrition paralysis.

They had about a dozen C-47's there but no pilots - I don't know what happened to the pilots, but they didn't have enough. There was about 5 or 6 of us who volunteered. I had never flown a C-47. I'd never been in one. But I figured, hell, if I can fly a B-17, I can fly one of these. They loaded those planes up and we flew to Paris. They ran the sick guys to the hospital, but they didn't have quarters for us pilots, so they put us in the hospital. it was a good place - good food, a warm bed.

After we got to Paris they forgot about us. We were there for 24 days. We got sick and tired of nothing to do and we said we want to go home! We had to beat the table and they sent us up to Camp Lucky Strike, then they sent us home.

Lev Shestakov versus Hans-Ulrich Rudel


Winston Churchill once described Russia as "an enigma wrapped up in a mystery". The same can be said about much of the history of the air war on the Eastern Front during WW II. The Soviet fighter ace Lev L'vovich Shestakov became legendary already during his lifetime. After the war, Vladimir Lavrinenkov (twice appointed Hero of the Soviet Union, credited with 35 + 11 kills), wrote a book - "His Call code - Sokol (Falcon) 1" - about Shestakov. Having drawn his first blood as a fighter pilot in the Spanish Civil War, Lev Shestakov flew in defense of Odessa as commander of 69th IAP (Fighter Aviation Regiment) in the first months of the Russo-German war.

On 10 August (9 August, according to the Russian report), Shestakov's fighters were engaged by fourteen Bf 109s of II./JG 77 flying as escort for the He 111s of KG 27. While the German pilots Oberleutnant Anton Hackl and Fahnenjunker-Gefreiter Günther Marschhausen each claimed one I-16 shot down and II./JG 77 reported no other loss than one damaged Bf 109 E, 69 IAP claimed to have shot down nine Bf 109s without any losses.

Lev Shestakov eventually flew more than 200 missions during the war, took part in 32 aerial combats and was credited with 15 kills before being killed in action in March 1944. According to Lavrinenkov's book, Lev Shestakov fought a private war with a well-known German Stuka ace - a 'Kurt Renner', who was awarded 'the Golden Knight's Cross'. No such Stuka ace existed, but the famous Stuka flier Hans-Ulrich Rudel - who flew over the same operational area as did Shestakov - was the only person to be awarded the Knight's Cross with the Golden Oak Leaves.

Interestingly, Lavrinenkov, who flew in Shestakov's unit, describes how he once met 'Renner' on the ground. His Airacobra hit by debris from a FW 189 he had shot down, Lavrinenkov went down over enemy-held territory and was captured by the Germans. He was brought to the Stalino airfield, where he met 'Renner'. Lavrinenkov claims that 'Renner' thought he was Shestakov, because he flew the Airacobra with call-code '01'. (Later, Lavrinankov managed to escape from a POW transport due to Germany, joined a guerilla detachment and eventually managed to make it back to the regular Soviet troops, where he re-joined his Fighter Regiment and took up combat flights again.) During this time, Hauptmann Hans-Ulrich Rudel (appointed commander of III./St.G. 2 'Immelmann' in September 1943) was stationed in Stalino.

During the first months of 1944, Lev Shestakov was hunting a Ju 87 with a viper painted along its fuselage sides - assuming that this conspicuos aircraft was flown by Rudel. Major Rudel certainly flew a Ju 87 G - one of the few Ju 87s still active in 1944 - over the same battlefields as Shestakov during this time. Due to his considerable successes against Russian tanks, Rudel was a highly coveted prey among the Soviet fighter pilots - as confirmed in Rudel's autobiography. Until March 1944, Rudel was credited with the destruction of more than 200 Soviet tanks and was awarded the Diamonds to his Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords.

On 13 March 1944, Lev Shestakov finally caught the Ju 87 he had been hunting for so long. Hit by a burst from Shestakov's La-5FN from short distance, the Ju 87 exploded in mid-air near Proskurov. But Shestakov didn't live to celebrate his victory. According to the version given in Lavrinenkov's book, his Lavochkin was thrown into a spin from the explosion and the famous Russian ace fell towards his death.

In reality, Rudel survived the war. No other famous Stuka ace was killed on 13 March 1944, nor is it known that Rudel ever flew a Ju 87 with a viper painted on its fuselage side (although he used a Ju 87 with a chevron painted on the fuselage side, which was quite unsusual in the Stuka units).
------------------------------------------------------------------------

'It is quite possible that this is a nice story to cover up how one of the highly esteemed fighter pilots was killed in a fight with a single Ju 87', according to Rodion Podorozhny. In his autobiography, Hans-Ulrich Rudel recalls how his Ju 87 once came under attack from 'an excellent "Lag-5" pilot': 'I just can't understand how he manages to follow my sharp turns in his fighter aircraft', wrote Rudel: 'Sweat poured from my forehead.' Rudel started preparing himself for the final end, as he suddenly heard his rear-gunner, Stabsarzt Ernst Gadermann, cry over the R/T: 'Got the Lag!' Rudel continues: 'Was he shot down by Gadermann, or did he go down because of the backwash from my engine during these tight turns? It doesn't matter. My headphones suddenly explode in confused screams from the Russian radio; the Russians have observed what happened and something special seems to have happened... From the Russian radio-messages, we discover that this was a very famous Soviet fighter pilot, more than once appointed as Hero of the Soviet Union

The Ghost Ship
The date was November 21, 1944; Lt. Harold R. DeBolt with the 401st Squadron was assigned a B-17G number 43-38545 from the 324th Squadron, Hal's 33rd mission. The plane was so new; it didn't have a "Name" yet. It was only the 3rd mission for this plane. The mission was to go back to Merseberg, Germany and was lead by Major Klette.

The weather was terrible, with solid clouds everywhere as the mission proceeded. Most things had been routine until he turned on the bomb run. The formation tended to slow up in the turn and with bomb bay doors open, DeBolt's aircraft stalled and dropped out of formation. At this instant he was attacked by enemy fighters and also began the run through a very heavy and accurate flak barrage. Due to malfunction with the bomb release mechanism, the bombs would not drop. This caused the aircraft to fall further out of formation. About this time the whole ship took the blast from a flak burst just below the bomb bays, the plane was badly damaged.

The explosion caused the bombs to drop but No. 2 and No. 3 engines also went out. No. 2 was out completely and No. 3 was windmilling and causing undue vibration throughout the aircraft. The crew began jettisoning all surplus equipment in an effort to lighten the Fortress as DeBolt set course for home.The plane was losing altitude and was turned to a heading of 270 degrees west, for friendly lines. The crew stayed with the plane as long as they could and when it was down to 2,000 feet, Hal gave the signal for everyone to "bail-out" and they did, while the Fort continued on its way with the autopilot doing its job. All chutes opened and the men were picked up by British infantrymen soon after landing.

The damaged Fortress continued onward, losing altitude and remaining in a perfect landing attitude. The Fortress mysteriously made a perfect three point landing in a plowed field. It ground looped at the end of the field and sat there with engines still running, undamaged in an open field, near Liege, Belgium. The landing was in a flat strip area, near a British Army encampment. A British Officer ran out to help the crew, but only found neatly stacked flying gear inside and was astonished to find no one on board. He inspected the Fort (as a possible German trap) but found no one. He then turned off the operating engines. The British Officers name was Major John Crisp.

The Stars and Stripes published the story the next day and called DeBolt's B-17 - a Ghost Ship, or Phantom Fort.

That's pretty incredible!

On Christmas Eve 1944, a formation of specially configured HE-111 Heinkel bombers (I/KG53 squadron) flying over the North Sea launched 45 V1 Flying Bombs (Doodlebugs) aimed at Manchester 31 of which reached the target area. Fifteen fell on Manchester, the remainder impacting in surrounding towns and sparsely populated outlying areas BBC Report -- Doodlebug attack on Manchester

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/e...er/4122627.stm

One hit a row of terrace houses in nearby Oldham killing 37 people, including some evacuees from London, and seriously wounding many others. The blast damaged hundreds of nearby homes.

Six people died when one landed on Chapel Street, Tottington, near Bury.

One V1 that impacted near Oswaldtwistle carried a load of propaganda leaflets. Leaflets from these V1s were also found at Brindle, near Manchester and Huddersfield, Yorkshire. I believe the V1 that flew directly over our house was the one that impacted at Oswaldtwistle.

One of the errant V1s impacted in a farmer's field at Gregson Lane near Bamber Bridge just outside Preston. This crash site has recently been examined and recorded by the Lancashire Aircraft Investigation Team (V1 Gregson Lane 24.12.1944).

This V1 raid was a rude Christmas Eve shock for all of us in the Manchester area, for local officials had been hinting that the danger from air raids was was pretty much over for us in the North. D-Day had heightened the expectation that the war was winding down, besides, the unexpected V1 raids had been directed against London. Certainly none of us expected an air raid siren alert followed by the sound of Doodlebugs chugging across Lancashire skies during that Christmas of 1944! This V1 raid on Manchester occurred exactly four years after the first major Air Raid on the city -- the horrendous firestorm Blitz of Christmas 1940.

Evidently a large number of V1s were loaded with propaganda leaflets. This subject is covered in meticulous detail by Herbert A. Friedman in his Web page article The German V1 Rocket Leaflet Campaign.

http://www.psywarrior.com/V1RocketLeaf.html

This fascinating article explains how the leaflets were stored and dispersed and includes an impressive number of V1 related photographic images and numerous actual propaganda leaflet reproductions. It is also a treasure trove of V1 Flying Bomb information.

The British government was pretty secretive about V1 impact sites for they did not want the Germans to know the number of those that reached the target area and exactly where they had fallen.

Andrew Charles Mynarski was born in Winnipeg (Manitoba, CANADA) on the 14th of October 1916, the son of Polish immigrants. He had five other siblings, two brothers and three sisters. He was educated at the King Edward and Isaac Newton Elementary Schools and at St. John's Technical School. To help support his family after his father's death in age of 16, he worked for four years as a leather worker in Winnipeg.
He later built furniture and air planes models in a workshop that he built in the basement.
In November 1941 (the Second World War) he enlisted in the Royal Canadian Air Force. He took his training at Calgary and Edmonton (Alberta) and MacDonald (Manitoba) graduating in 1942 as a mid-upper gunner shortly before his 25th birthday. He went overseas in December 1942.
His first operational posting was with Number 9 Squadron in October 1943. In March 1944, he replaced another mid-upper gunner in 419 (Moose) Squadron and joined the crew with whom his name would be forever linked. On the crew's ninth mission together, (June 5th, 1944... D-Day minus 1) they were assigned a brand new Canadian built Lancaster Mk-X, with number KB-726 VR-A .
On June 11, 1944 Mynarski was promoted to Pilot Officer / Gunner.
On the night of June 12, his crew was to take off on the new Lanc's fourth mission, their target: the rail marshalling yards at Cambrai, France. It would be the 13th mission of the crew. They would be over the target on Friday the thirteenth. While waiting to go, the crew couldn't help but think of these omens related to the number "13". Andrew found a four leaf clover in the grass by the planes. He insisted that his closest buddy in the crew, tail gunner Pat Brophy, should take it. Pat put the leaf into his helmet...
Shortly after crossing the French coast, the Lancaster was briefly coned by enemy searchlights. After some evasive maneuvers, they were in the safety of darkness again. They began descending to the level of their planned attack when a Ju-88 came in from astern. It's cannons blazed from below.
Three explosions tore the aircraft. Both port engines were knocked out and began to flame. The third burst tore into the aircraft between the mid-upper and rear turrets starting a fire. Hydraulic lines to the rear turret were severed and the fluid ignited, turning the rear of the fuselage into an inferno. The captain, Art de Bryne gave the order to bail out...
...Pat Brophy, the tail gunner proceeded to exit his turret and bail out. To get out, Pat had to straighten his turret in line with the fuselage, go through the doors, collect his parachute and jump from the fuselage door on the starboard (right) side. Tail gunners stored their parachutes in the fuselage because there wasn't the room in the confines of the rear turret to wear or store one. Unfortunately that third round had split the hydraulic line feeding his turret, it wouldn't move and flames where sweeping down towards him. The alternate route was to rotate the turret with the inner doors facing to the outside and to bail out backwards. Pat managed to open his doors to the inside of the aircraft, enough to grab his parachute and clip it on. He would then manually rotate the turret with a hand crank as far he could to the side, open the doors and bail out into the night. To his horror, the handle broke off. He was now trapped in a burning aircraft heading for the ground. At that time Mynarski left his post at the mid upper turret and began to make his way to the rear escape door...

The remainder of this encounter is best left up to Pat Brophy himself:
"(...) Then I saw Andy. He had slid down from the mid-upper turret and made his way back to the rear escape hatch, about 15 feet from me, having received the same P signal to bail out from the skipper.
He opened the door and was just about to jump when he glanced around and spotted me through the plexiglass part of my turret. One look told him I was trapped. Instantly, he turned away from the hatch - his doorway to safety - and started towards me. All this time the airplane was lurching drunkenly as Art tried to keep it on an even keel without instruments. Andy had to climb over the Elsan chemical toilet and crawl over the tailplane spar, as there is no room at that part of the fuselage. These cramped conditions forced him to crawl on his hands and knees - straight through the blazing hydraulic oil. By the time he reached my position in the tail, his uniform and parachute were on fire. I shook my head; it was hopeless. 'Don't try!' I shouted, and waved him away.
"Andy didn't seem to notice. Completely ignoring his own condition in the flames, he grabbed a fire axe and tried to smash the turret free. It gave slightly, but not enough. Wild with desperation and pain, he tore at the doors with his bare hands. By now he was a mass of flames below the waist. Seeing him like that, I forgot everything else. Over the roar of the wind and the whine of our two remaining engines, I screamed, 'Go back, Andy! Get out!'
"Finally, with time running out, he realized that he could do nothing to help me. When I waved him away again, he hung his head and nodded, as though he was ashamed to leave - ashamed that sheer heart and courage hadn't been enough. As there was no way to turn around in the confined quarters, Andy had to crawl backwards through the flaming hydraulic fluid fire again, never taking his eyes off me. On his face was a look of mute anguish. "When Andy reached the escape hatch, he stood up. Slowly, as he'd often done before in happier times together, he came to attention. Standing there in his flaming clothes, a grimly magnificent figure, he saluted me! At the same time, just before he jumped, he said something. And even though I couldn't hear, I knew it was 'Good night, Sir'. (...)"

Now as Pat sat there alone with five tones of explosives fifty feet from him, in a Lanc that would hit the ground in seconds, he braced himself for the impact. As the aircraft came down in a steady glide, it hit a thick tree with its port (left) wing and spun round. Two of its twenty bombs exploded almost immediately after the first ground impact, throwing the tail gunner clear. He came to rest about fifty feet from the burning remains, against an another tree alive and with no a scratch.
His watch stopped at 12:13 a.m., Friday, June 13, 1944.
At the time when he picked up his helmet, out of it fell the cloverleaf.
The seven crew members were now all on the ground. Unfortunately, Andrew Mynarski was dead.
He had landed alive with his clothes still on fire. French farmers who had spotted the flaming bomber found him and hustled him off to a doctor but he died shortly of his severe burns.
He was buried in a local cemetery in Méharicourt (France).
Four of the crew members were hidden by the French and returned to England shortly after the crash.
The others were captured by the Germans and were interned until they could be liberated by American troops. It wasn't until 1945 when Pat Brophy was reunited with Art de Breyne and could tell the others what happened to himself and Andy that anyone knew the story.
Art de Breyne started the process by recommending an award for Andy at the end of 1945. The recommendation worked it's way up the command structure of the RCAF and RAF until it was decided upon, a Victoria Cross would be awarded for "valour of the highest order".
The medal was presented to his mother, Mrs. Stanley Mynarski by the Right Honorable J.A. McWilliams, Lieutenant Governor of Manitoba on 12th December 1946.

THE PREACHER
They called him The Preacher. 2nd Lt. Daniel T. Roberts, Jr. was a former divinity student from the torrid ranching community of Springer, New Mexico. With the onset of World War II Danny set aside his theology studies and joined the Air Corps completing flight training at Randolph Field, Texas. He didn’t smoke, drink or cuss and the nickname stuck.

The 80th Squadron of the 8th Fighter Group went to Darwin Australia and on to Port Moresby, New Guinea to bolster sagging fighter defenses in the area with P-39s and P-400s- the export P-39 version with the 20 mm cannon replacing the 37 mm but the four .50s in nose and wing retained.

The Japanese were on the move in New Guinea. Only the where and when were uncertain. The group flew a few missions without enemy fighter contact. There was activity at Buna Bay and enemy troops finally established a beachhead close to Milne Airdrome. The 80th went on a mission against the Japanese airfield near Buna Mission on August 26, 1942.

Ten war-weary P-400s cranked their rear-mounted Allisons and took off at 0600 led by Captain Greasly. His Airacobra developed electrical problems and he aborted along with three others cutting the odds even before enemy contact. Six planes led now by Lt. William Brown popped up over the Owen Stanley mountains and skimmed down the northern slope.

It was a surprise as the Zeroes were all not yet in the air. Roberts hit the triggers and a Zero just airborne took the brunt of his shells. Danny pulled a tight turn and came at one head on. Both pilots fired but Roberts’ rounds were accurate. The fighter shuddered and dropped into the water just off the beach. He got some rounds into another Zero before exiting the area. Two other Zeros were dispatched by other pilots and the P-400s pushed for home.

In the following days the groups continually attacked troop and supply columns and escorted bombers. The pounding paid off and though the Japanese were but a day’s march from Port Moresby, they were halted. New P-39Ds soon arrived with the blessing of the maintenance crews who’d done wonders keeping the older ships flying so long. No better than the P-400s, the P-39Ds at least were fresh and the group managed to hold off the enemy with them until they were scheduled for R and R in Australia in December 1942.

Upon returning to New Guinea in March and promoted to Captain, Roberts and his fellow flyers received the P-38F Lightnings to play with. On April 11th He led a flight of four and sighted a gaggle of twenty Vals escorted by Zeros intent on attacking Allied shipping in Oro Bay.

The quartet dived and Roberts caught a Val at 17,000 feet squarely with 20mm and .50 caliber. It disintegrated. Looking up he saw three more dive-bombers and pushed the throttles forward entering a steep climb. A long burst nailed one and a wing fluttered off. The result was a crazy, sharp turn and it crashed into the sea. Roberts noticed his wingman blazing away at a Val but three Zeros were lining up on him as he horsed the big plane towards them. The Val exploded and the other P-38 nosed over diving out of the Zeros’ reach. As often happened in combat, when Danny looked around again the sky was empty. But the four Americans tallied eleven shot down- three Vals and eight Zeroes.

When the 475th F.G. was formed in summer 1943 Danny Roberts was squadron commander of the 433rd Squadron. He was responsible for tactics, which he planned and discussed on the ground stressing that the pilots stay together “like a pack of wolves.” His ability continued and he downed a pair of Haps (A6M3 Model 32) on August 21st. An Oscar followed on September 9th.

On October 23rd Roberts led a sweep over Rabaul and was to keep enemies at bay from B-24s scheduled to appear for their big show. His squadron was at 25,000 feet and the two other squadrons at 15,000 were more than holding their own against some Zeros. Then thirty-five more enemy fighters materialized and the squadron now dropped their auxiliary tanks.

Thirty-two Allisons wound up and the sixteen P-38s accelerated down. Roberts lined up behind a Zero and punched out three short bursts. It fell off on a wing as The Preacher immediately slipped behind another. One burst hammered the right wing and the flimsy fighter turned into a ball of fire. Danny racked the P-38 around in a tight turn and came out head on to yet another. One more torrent of shells made the Zero roll and plunge groundward, streaming fire. He registered three quick victories and the whole squadron scored twelve.

By the November 2, 1943 Roberts had thirteen confirmed and a probable when their mission was to escort B-25 to hit airfields at Alexishafen on the northern New Guinea coast.

The P-38s dropped to treetop level to scour the area for enemy planes. Twenty Zeros, Haps, and Oscars challenged and Roberts sent deflection fire at a Hap maneuvering low to the water. The plane promptly exploded.

As they reformed with the bombers Roberts spotted a lone Zero skimming low headed home. Wingman Lt. Dale Meyers saw him and formed up on the right with Roberts as Lt. William Grady did so on the left. Down the trio went. Evidently the enemy saw his doom in the making and snapped a sharp turn to the right. Roberts quickly began a turn to counteract it but Meyers was split second slow and the two Lightnings smashed together and exploded killing both men.

Danny Roberts had the potential of being one of the top Pacific aces. At this time **** Bong only had nineteen and McQuire thirteen kills. Yet another fine ace was felled through accidental means.
__________________

12 May 1940 - In an attack on the Maas bridges, four out of five Battles are shot down. Fg Off Garland and Sgt Gray are later posthumously awarded the first air VCs of the War.

6 Apr 1941 - Six Beaufort torpedo-bombers attack the German cruiser Gneisenau, anchored in Brest harbour. One, piloted by Fg Off Kenneth Campbell, makes a successful attack before being shot down, inflicting serious damage that took six months to repair. For this, Campbell was awarded a posthumous VC. Also on this day, German forces simultaneously invade Yugoslavia and Greece.

4 Jul 1941 - A low-level daylight raid on Bremen, Germany by 15 Blenheims of Nos. 105 and 107 Sqns, results in the award of the Victoria Cross to the formation leader, Wing Commander H I Edwards.


9 Dec 1941 - Japanese aircraft attack Alor Star airfield, Malaya. From the two squadron of Blenheims based there, only one aircraft survives; its pilot, Flt Lt A S K Scarf single-handedly overcame strong enemy defences to attack Singora airfield in the North. After recovering to Alor Star, Flt Lt Scarf died from his wounds, and was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross five years later when the full facts of his heroism were established.


30-31 May 1942 - The first 1,000-bomber raid. 1,047 aircraft were des patched to Cologne, of which 868 attacked the main target dropping 1,455 tons of explosives, two-thirds of which were incendiaries. The city suffered severe damage and 469 people were killed. About 250 factories and 18,400 houses were destroyed or damaged. Half of the city's power supply was out of action, and some 12,000 fires started, many of which burned for days. Forty one aircraft were lost, and Fg Off T Manser was posthumously awarded the VC for remaining at the controls of his No. 50 Sqn Manchester to allow his crew to bale out.

17-25 Sep 1944 - Operation Market Garden, the airborne invasion of Holland begins. During the morning of 17 Sep, some 3,887 Allied aircraft, including 1,053 Dakota transports and 500 gliders towed by Stirling and Halifax bombers, were involved in supporting or airdropping 35,000 men behind enemy lines in three areas; Arnhem to the North, Eindhoven some 65 miles further south and Nijmegen in the centre. During the initial phase of the operation not one RAF transport was lost. The attempted capture of bridges over three rivers met with fierce resistance on the ground, and air support from 2nd TAF Typhoons was needed to take out enemy gun positions. Over the following 7 days, aerial resupply by Dakotas, Stirlings and gliders resulted in the loss of 238 aircraft and 139 gliders, but the bridges at Nijmegen and Eindhoven were captured. Of some 10,00 men dropped at Arnhem, more than 7,500 were killed and the remnants evacuated after nine days of bitter conflict. Flight Lieutenant D S Lord of No. 271 Sqn, was posthumously awarded a VC for his conspicuous bravery during the resupply mission on 19 September; the only one awarded to a Transport Command pilot during the Second World War.

rommel killed by the raf??

On July 17, 1944, the 308 "City of Krakow" Polish Fighter Squadron patrolled over the northern France. The Western front seemed quite. The 308 was sent for a routine patrol, just to stay in shape.
Near Livarot, some 45 kilometers southeast of Caen, few motor vehicles were spotted, moving in the east direction. F/O Stanski with his wingman dove down to have a closer look. Flying on a deck, they concluded that two soldiers-full tracks escorting very chic limousine, indicated a traveling German VIP. The pilots strafed the column in few passes and climbing, returned to the squadron's formation.
Upon the return to the base, a British intelligence officer debriefed both pilots. The next day, the same officer sent for F/O Stanski to inform him:
- Claim Rommel!
- Are you sure?
- Yes I'm sure. Last night the Radio Berlin announced Feldmarshall Rommel - the Desert Fox -
killed in northern France, during strafing attack of British aircarft.
- How can you be sure it was our work?
- Yesterday, only the 308 sortied for France, and only you were strafing vehicles.

As it became known later, Feldmarshall Rommel survived the attack, but was seriously wounded.
In his book "Classic Warplanes - Supermarine Spitfire" (Salamander Books Limited - 1991) , Mike Spick wrote: "A significant contribution to the Allies war effort was an attack of Spitfires IXs near Livarot on July 17, 1944, on the car carrying Feldmarshall Rommel, during which, he was seriously wounded what removed him from active command."
(retranslation from polish)
An interesting question is why the Radio Berlin announced false information on Rommel's death. Was the Abwehr's disinformation to blame? Impossible. Three days later in Wolfschantze near Ketrzyn, an unsuccessful attempt on Hitler's life took place. It is known that Rommel sympathized with the members of the putsch. Some time later, during the visit by mysterious guests, Rommel committed suicide. This obscure event has many versions.
On 17 July that year, F/O Waclaw Stanski became twenty-four, and coincidently gave himself a memorable birthday present.
Waclaw Stanski was born on July 17, 1920, in Bezenczuk in Soviet Russia, as a son of force-laborer in Siberia, Jozef Stanski, who was sent there for refusing to join the Czar's Army. His roots were in Podlasie, eastern Poland. After the October's Revolution, Jozef was freed, and to reach Poland he had work for many days to afford one or two hundred kilometers by train. After crossing Ural Mountains, he found a temporary employment near Ufa, at a watermelon plantation. He fell in love with the youngest of the owner's daughters, married her and returned to newly independent Poland. He returned home not only with his wife, but also with his two sons and mother-in-law. Six other daughters of Szevieliev, stayed in USSR with the father. Szevielievs never met theirs mother, sister and wife again.
Upon his return to Poland, Jozef Stanski settled in Siedlce and worked for PKP, Polish national railroad. Waclaw, and his older brother Wiktor, grew up in Siedlce. As a teenager, Waclaw was very keen with sports. He played football (soccer) and competed in athletics. In 1936 he finished parachute course and a year later, glider course in Warsaw Aeroclub. He planned to graduate from the Szkola Lotnicza in Deblin (Military Aviation Academy). He failed one class, what postponed his High Scholl graduation by one year. In 1939 he entered the officer cadets course in Swidnik, where he trained on RWD-8.
During the Polish campaign he evacuated to Romania, then through Bulgaria and Liban he reached fighting? France (see left). During combat flying in England, Waclaw Stanski scored 2 and 1 shared, enemy aircraft destroyed (Focke Wulf FW190). Flying with 131 Polish Fighter Wing (302, 308 and 317 squadrons), Waclaw Stanski logged in record breaking number of dive bombing sorties. It is mentioned in Tadeusz Schiele's memoirs: "Blisko nieba" ("Near the Sky"). Schiele, Stanski's closed friend, was highlander, pilot, writer and mountaineer.
Once asked whether he was ever really scaired, he replied:
- Yes, very much so! When they shot me down over the front lines somewhere in France or Belgium. I forced landed with undercarriage up on a wood clearance at no-man's land, between Wermacht and Canadian divisions. Both sides fought for me like crazy. I lay under my Spitfire frozen with fear. Luckily for me the Canadians were better fighters.

After returning to Poland in 1947, it became apparent that, it was tough to live through war but to live through the "peace" was far more difficult. The "eastern climate" brought the real hardship.

Tom McGuire's Most Exciting Mission...

(McGuire and Bong were in an ace race for the us in the PTO)

During the give and take air battles to and from Rabaul in Oct 43, McGuire (Mac from here on out) flew what he remembered as his most exciting mission...

On Oct 17th, the 431st FS of 475th FG met a Jap formation head on at 23,000 ft... On the first pass, Mac got a Zeke and was promptly jumped from behind by 3 more... Getting separated from his flight, he was left with one course of action - dive away... Going down to 12,000 ft, he felt as if he were on a huge circular stage: Zekes all around but not a single P-38... Nothing to do but fight it out...

Both Mac and the enemy exchanged numerous passes... Spotting a smoking Lightning, he attempted to help, but was bounced by a flock of fighters... He turned into the formation and engaged... One Zeke blew up, then another... With 3 for the day, it was time to leave, but before he could bank away, the instrument panel disappeared under enemy fire, the left engine broke into flames, and a 7.7 mm round hit him squarely in the wrist... Instinctively, he pushed forward on the yoke to get away, going straight down... The then right engine began pouring black smoke and a 20mm round exploded in the cockpit, hitting the yoke...

The rear of the canopy flew off and 5 pieces of shrapnel entered his arm and leg... The -38 was out of control, giving no response to Mac's movements... Only one fear crept into his mind, "Boy, will Nick be sore at me!!!" (He was flying Maj Franklin A Nichols' plane)...
Trying to get out, Mac became wedged halfway - the oxygen mask was firmly attached over his eyes as the wind tore at him.... Kicking like crazy, he finally came sailing out after falling 5,000 feet... Find the rip cord - it was gone, torn off!!! Another 5,000 feet was gone before he found the D-ring wire trailing behind...

At 800 feet, Mac yanked the wire, the chute deployed and he hit the water... Getting away from the chute and harness, he inflated his rubber dinghy, but it was full of bullet holes and sank away... As he was going under, a PT boat picked him up and got him to the hospital...

On November 1st, just 2 freakin weeks later, a group of 20 P-38's flew in to Tacloban air field on Leyte, which badly need more fighters... Suddenly a Japanese Tojo fighter appeared... Mac opened up the P-38 full throttle, hit the gear and flap levers, sounded a warning to other pilots, and swung around to face the Tojo... In full view of the Tacloban airstrip, the P-38 pilot attacked and shot down the intruder with one short burst.... The Tojo crashed in flames just outside the field. Finding no other Jap planes, the P-38 pilot circled and landed....

The man really was a hell of a pilot...

Mac climbed down from his beloved Pudgy V and grinned... He had just shot down his twenty-fifth Japanese aircraft.... "This is my kind of place. You have to shoot down Japs to land on your own field..."

McGuire was the commander of the 431st Fighter Squadron of the 475th Fighter Group... The pilots of the 431st felt that McGuire could do things in a P-38 that were virtually impossible... His skill with the P-38 was so extraordinary, he almost defied reality.... He had tremendous faith in his skills as a pilot and the plane he flew....

"Wing commander Nicky Barr, who has died aged 90, was one of Australia's most successful wartime fighter pilots, credited with destroying at least 12 enemy aircraft.

Shot down three times, on the third occasion he was badly wounded and was taken prisoner by the Italians. He then escaped three times, and remained behind enemy lines for more than a year conducting clandestine operations with the partisans and special forces.

On January 11 1942 Barr was flying a Kittyhawk fighter with No 3 (RAAF) Squadron escorting bombers over El Alamein. When enemy fighters appeared on the scene Barr attacked, shooting one down.

He then observed one of his fellow pilots being forced down by two enemy and he immediately engaged them, dispatching one. Minutes later Barr saw his colleague waving to him from the ground, and, as he was preparing to land in the desert to rescue him, two Messerschmitt Bf 109 fighters attacked.

Although the undercarriage of his aircraft was not fully retracted, Barr engaged his attackers, only to find that his guns had jammed. He quickly rectified the fault and shot down one of the Bf 109s before two more appeared. When they attacked he was wounded and forced to crash land.

While on the ground Barr was again wounded by enemy fire, but still managed to make his way through enemy lines. He reached Allied territory after walking through the desert for three days, bringing with him valuable intelligence on the dispositions of enemy tanks and defences. He was awarded an immediate DFC for "displaying the greatest courage and tenacity".

Andrew William Barr, always known as Nicky, was born on December 10 1915 at Wellington, New Zealand, but he grew up in Australia. He was educated at Swinburne Technical College, in Victoria, where he excelled as a sportsman. But it was at rugby that he made his greatest mark, playing as hooker for Victoria and Australia.

Barr was selected for the Australian team to tour England. But shortly after their arrival war was declared, and he immediately returned to Australia to train as a pilot. Commissioned as a pilot officer in November 1940, he joined No 23 Squadron, flying Wirraway aircraft patrolling the coasts of Queensland.

After demanding to see some action, he was sent to join No 3 (RAAF), a squadron that developed a reputation as one of the most aggressive and outstanding fighter squadrons of the Desert Air Force.

Initially flying the Tomahawk, Barr achieved his first success on December 12 1941, and this was quickly followed by four more before his encounter with German fighters over El Alamein. His philosophy in combat was simple: "The Tomahawk and Kittyhawk were not considered by us to be top fighter aircraft.

I decided early on that any deficiency either type had could be offset by unbridled aggression. I had done some boxing, and had beaten better opponents by simply going for them, and I decided to use this tactic in the air. It paid off."

After recovering from his wounds, Barr returned to combat and immediately destroyed an Italian fighter near Tobruk. He was made a flight commander, but on May 27 1942 the engine of his Kittyhawk overheated and he had to land in the desert. He took off the covers to repair the engine, having already prepared a rough strip for take off.

Then he heard enemy tanks approaching and, despite the malfunctioning engine, he took off without replacing the engine covers and reached base after being missing for four hours. The next day he was promoted to squadron leader. It was just six months since he had joined as a junior pilot officer.

On May 30 Barr went to the aid of his wingman, who was being attacked by fighters. Flying at only 50 ft, his aircraft was hit by ground fire and he was forced to crash land. On this occasion he returned after spending two days in the desert.

In June he accounted for another Bf 109, his twelfth confirmed victory, in addition to having damaged at least five others. During the fierce fighting around Tobruk on June 16, Barr flew six sorties during the day in support of the retreating ground forces engaged against Rommel's Panzers.

Ten days later he was escorting bombers when he suffered engine trouble, and was then attacked by two Bf 109s. Badly wounded, he baled out of his burning fighter.

After 84 sorties, in which he was No 3 (RAAF) Squadron's top-scoring pilot of the war, Barr became a prisoner of the Italians, and nothing was heard of him for three months - he had been put in hospital in Tobruk before being moved to Italy. Once his survival had been confirmed, it was announced that he had been awarded a Bar to his DFC.

Barr spent five months recovering in a hospital at Bergamo, in northern Italy. As soon as he felt fit enough he escaped, getting as far as the Swiss border, where he was apprehended by a customs official; Barr knocked him unconscious, but was soon captured.

After a court martial, in which a Swiss border guard spoke in his defence, he was given 90 days' solitary confinement in the notorious Garvi jail, near Genoa.

Following the Italian capitulation in September 1943 the Germans started to transport all Allied PoWs to Germany. Barr jumped from a moving train and travelled south to join the Italian partisans. He helped other escaped prisoners to make their way towards the Allied forces, but after two months he was recaptured by the Germans and badly beaten up.

He escaped for a third time, and, with the help of Italian farmers, eventually joined an Allied special operations group collecting intelligence and conducting sabotage operations.

Finally, in March 1944, Barr escorted 10 other prisoners through the German lines and met up with the advancing armies. For his gallantry in organising escape routes and on clandestine operations against the Italian Fascists and Germans, he was awarded the MC.

Barr arrived in England in April 1944, and two days after D-Day he landed on Omaha Beach in charge of an air support control unit. Despite being grounded, he managed to fly Typhoons on a number of rocket-firing operations against German forces in Normandy. In late 1944 he returned to Australia as chief instructor, fighter operations, and then flew fighters in Papua New Guinea and Celebes in support of Australian ground forces.

After leaving the RAAF in 1946 Barr was involved in the development of the Murray Valley Basin in Victoria; he later joined the oil seed industry, becoming chief executive of Meggitt Ltd. He was the Australian representative on, and chairman of, the International Oil Seed Group. In 1983 he was appointed OBE for his services to the industry.

Barr earned a reputation amongst allies and enemy alike for his acts of bravery, his selflessness, dogged determination and his infectious sense of humour. He was an ardent supporter of the RAF Escaping Society, and regularly returned to Italy to meet the Italian farmers and peasants who had aided him.

Nicky Barr died on June 12. He married his wife Dot in 1941; they had two sons."
Sydney Morning Herald, June 2006
__________________

There is an awesome IL2 1946 movie about Nicky Barr. I'll try and find it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THAHc...834&feature=iv

Lt Col Harry harrington USAF Retd joined the RCAF in 1940 got his wings dec 41 i n Mar 43 came on strength of USAAC but remained with 410 sqn RCAF this is one part of an article out an old Airforce (RCAF Assoc)magazine at the time of this story its Nov 44
"410 squadron had by Nov 44 moved from Amiens Glissy to Lille Vendeville joining 409 squadron . November was a quiet month until the 25th . That night Harrington had been patrolling for about an hour with nothing to report . Then quite suddenly he and his navigator F/L DG Tongue recieved vectors on to a target which he and Tongue identified as a JU88g . Harrington utilised his standard attack manoeuvre and shortly obtained strikes on the enemys a/c cockpit engines and wings the a/c exploded and crashed to the ground . Immediately after the pair was vectored on to a second a/c and while stalking this adversary it was determined that they were being stalked by a 3rd a/c after 10 minutes of violent evasive action the second Junkers fell prey to Harringtons marksmanship recieving strikes on cockpit engines and wing roots. after a half roll hard turn to the left looping and stalling the enemy a/c ended up in a inverted spin which ended with a spectacular crash and explosion . climbing out of this second engagement Harrington again encountered enemy a/c 2 this time and one was immediatly engaged with the same results the Ju88 caught fire and descended below cloud and exploded with his ammunition spent and another enemy night fighter in the vicinity Harrington elected to RTB icredibly the entire action took 16 minutes the Hat trick raised his an Tongues score to seven confirmed kills and one unconfirmed . As such Harrington distinguished himself as the highest scoring nightfighter ace of the USAAF


First air victory of WWII

At about 7:00 a.m., (other sources say 5:30 a.m.), two P-11c's moved onto the runway. Just after take off, at about 300 meters altitude, the Polish fighters were suddenly attacked by a pair of German Ju 87B dive-bombers, from I/StG2 "Immelmann". Uffz. Frank Neubert , piloting a "Stuka" coded "T6+GK", sucessfully shot at Medwecki and scored probably the first air victory of WWII. "Jedenastka" ("Eleventh" - popular Polish name of P-11) fell, and commander of the "City of Krakow" Regiment was killed. Gnys was now also under attack, but a few seconds later he shot at a "Stuka" piloted by Lt. Branderburg. From the German aircraft there appeared some smoke, but it managed to escape into the clouds and returned to Nieder-Ellguth Airfield.

CR 42

"After taking off at 15:00 on 30 January [1941], Flying Officers Ernest Mason and Thomas Patterson of 274 Squadron, arrived over an Italian airfield, which they identified as Barce [but probably was Benina] at 16:45. Here they discovered a CR.42 on the starboard beam and 2000 feet below, which they chased down to 6000 feet. The Italian pilot fought back tenaciously, hitting Patterson’s Hurricane (P3765), who was forced to retreat with shrapnel wound in his left arm and was taken to hospital the next day. The Italian then started a series of head on attacks on Mason (P3723), who recalled:

This CR 42 was very tough. We kept doing head on attacks where we rush at each other head-on until point-blank range and then shoot past each other. Usually very successful. But this fellow wouldn’t go down. On the fourth attack we were rushing each other, each firing. But this time he didn’t pull out but came straight on. I pulled up instinctively and as he passed underneath my wing I felt a crash and a bump. I thought we had collided. I had a glimpse of him going straight on and burning.
I now realised that I had been hit and not collided (…)

Mason had to turn back, he was slightly wounded in the side, his plane had been badly shot about, but he was able to return to Gazala and land at 17:45. Back at base, he claimed this CR 42 as confirmed.
The RAF duo had run into Sgt. Mario Turchi of the 368a Squadriglia. The young Sergeant had taken off for a standing patrol over Benina when at 16:20 he was attacked by two Hurricanes. Under the eyes of his Squadriglia mates and of his temporary CO (Lt. Giuseppe Zuffi), Turchi was able to quickly disengage from the first Hawker [Patterson] and then attacked the second one, finally colliding with it [Mason was right in his first impression] loosing the wingtip of the upper wing and suffering some airscrew cuts in the lower wing. His last opponent was seen to abandon the fight, leaving a track of smoke and claimed damaged. The Italian pilot landed his Fiat (MM6255), which was classified RS, being welcomed like a hero by his Squadriglia comrades that had witnessed his successful combat.
...
Turchi was awarded with a Medaglia d’argento al Valor Militare for this combat."


unseen help

There was even a case of eleven twenty-millimeter cannon shells penetrating the fuel tanks of a B-17 flown by the 379th Bomb Group without exploding. Inside one of the shells, taken by technical intelligence for examination,
was a note in Czech that read 'This is all we can do for you now.'

This was in Winged Victory, talking about the high amount of duds that the Germans were using mainly due to slave labor. What are the odds? That's a pretty neat little story.

lady be good ala italiano

On 21 july 1960, Gian Luca Desio and Giovanni Vacirca, technicians of the CORI (geological prospects company), that were 580 km south of Bengazi, heading for Cufra, at 8 km from the Gialo-Giarabub track, discovered the body of a man, perfectly preserved under the sand.
He dressed an italian flight suit, with him there were a big compass taken from the instruments of an italian bomber, a 1/2 liter empty water tank, a screwdriver, a signal gun with three used rockets and a bunch of keys marked MM23881.
The body was that of Marshall Giovanni Romanini, gunner of the torpedo bomber SM 79 MM23881 that taken off from Berka in the late evening of 21 april 1941 and never turned back.
On that day the Italian torpedo bombers were employed in a series of spaced out attacks at dusk counter a british convoy near Crete. The MM23881, was commanded by Cpt. Oscar Cimolini that, with his crew, arrived in Africa only two days before. The aircraft has taken off a middle our after that of Lt. Robone. Robone arrived over the convoy at 19,25, badly damaged the tanker "British Lord" (the merchants "Bankura" and "Urania" were lost due to aerial attacks that day) and landed safely at 21,30. He testified to have heard AA fire from the convoy when he was coming back, so he thought Cimolini attacked the convoy only few minutes after him, but after that there were no more signs ot the MM23881, for 19 years.
After the recovery of the body of Romanini, the search for the aircraft and for the rest of the crew resumed, but only after two month, and still by case, the aircraft was discovered 80 km south of him (and several hundreds of Km out of the maximum range of the aircraft) by the technicians of AGIP (Italian oil company).
The aircraft, apart for the fabric covering, was in nearly perfect conditions, with even the windscreen intact and without signs of enemy fire. Subsequent studies estabilished that it landed with the engines functioning and the undercarriage open (that was broken at impact)
Still on the pilot's seat there were the body of Cpt.Cimolini, with a broken shouder. The bodies of the others members of the crew and some empty bottles of water were few meters off the plane.
What happened first than the landing is only a matter of hypotesis. The more probable is that, returning from the attack, in the dark, Cimolini has misjudjed the intensity of the wind to calculate the drift, so lacked the airstrip, was lost in the desert and finally, running out of fuel, decided to land, but this explanation supposes the failure of the radio. It's difficult to estabilish if the radio was or not functioning at 19 years of distance, but the AGIP technicians were able to switch it on with only a summary polishing.
What appened after is easy to immagine. The crew decided to send one of them in search for rescue, hoping to find a track. Romanini, the younger of the crew, was equipped with the compass, the signals and the keys (probably to permit an easier identification in case of death) and headed north.
He covered 80 km of distance in the desert, carring the heavy compass, first to die at 8 km from salvation. Probably, in his last night (perhaps hearing the vehicles over the track) he fired the rockets, but none saw him.

i had posted a story about P 38 jock Mcguire who was in an ace race with bong. come to find out he wrote a small book on tactics in the pacific theater and here it is.

http://www.eaf51.org/EAF/Miscellaneous/CTinSWPA.pdf

Following its attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, Japan's primary goal was to capture the island of Java and force the surrender of Dutch forces in the Netherlands East Indies.
The Japanese military desperately needed the region's vast oil reserves and natural resources to support its war on Mainland China.
By February 1942, their forces had taken the islands of Tarakan, Borneo, Celebes, Ambon, Bali and the southern half of Sumatra.
In an effort to stem the Japanese advance, the American,British,Dutch and Australian governments formed a joint military command to coordinate the Allied defense of Southeast Asia. ABDA (American, British, Dutch, Australian)
- as the command was named - became operational in January 1942 and quickly established its primary supply base at the port of Darwin in Northern Australia. As supplies for ABDA forces arrived, they were routed through Darwin to the East Indies, Singapore and Mindanao in the Philippines.
In addition, Darwin was a vital staging point for air reinforcements bound for Java. While Allied bombers had the range to reach Java non-stop, fighters had to navigate a network of primitive island airstrips throughout the eastern East Indies. From Darwin, they staged through Penfoi Airfield on Timor to Den Passar Airfield on Bali and then onto Java. These reinforcements, especially the fighters, were critical to the survival of Java. Without them, Japanese air power would break Allied resistance and the East Indies would collapse. The Japanese quickly recognized the importance of Darwin as they moved into the eastern Netherlands East Indies. Their primary goal was the capture of Timor to cut off air reinforcements to Java. At the same time, its capture on 20 February would give them an air base only 600 miles off the north coast of Australia. To cover their invasion force and disrupt Allied supply efforts, an air raid on Darwin was simultaneously planned for 19 February 1942.

At nightfall on the 15th, a powerful carrier task force under the command of Vice-Admiral Nagumo Choichi departed Palau. His force included the 1st Carrier Fleet with the 1st Carrier Squadron (IJNS Akagi and IJNS Kaga) and the 2nd Carrier Squadron (IJNS Hiryu and IJNS Soryu). Although the 3rd Carrier Squadron (IJNS Shokaku and IJNS Zuikaku) had returned to Japan in late January, Nagumo's force was essentially the same as that which
had attacked Pearl Harbor. IJNS Akagi and IJNS Kaga had just returned from a refit at Truk, while IJNS Hiryu and IJNS Soryu had recently supported the invasion of Ambon. In support were the 1st/3rd Battleship Squadron (IJNS Kirishima and IJNS Hiei) and 8th Cruiser Squadron (IJNS Tone and IJNS Chikuma). The 1st Destroyer Flotilla with the light cruiser IJNS Abukuma (flagship), 17th Destroyer Division (IJN Ships Tanikaze, Isokaze, Hamakaze, Urukaze), 18th Destroyer Division (IJN Ships Kasumi, Arare, Kagero, Shiranuhi) and the destroyer IJNS Akigumo screened the task force. In accordance with orders he had received on 8 February, Nagumo put into Kendari on the 17th.
The following night, he made a high-speed run across the Banda Sea.
By dawn of the 19th, his strike force was in position in the Timor Sea to attack Darwin. The four carriers then launched 188 planes - 36 fighters, 71 dive bombers and 81 level bombers. 54 Japanese Army Air Force Ki-21 "Sally" bombers from recently captured Dutch airfields on Ambon and Kendari were to join them over the port as part of a second wave of air strikes. En route to Darwin, the carrier formation encountered a United States Navy PBY Catalina flown by Lieutenant Thomas Moorer USN. The PBY belonged to Patrol Wing 10 and was on patrol out of Darwin. One of the Kaga's Zeros, flown by Naval Air Pilot 1st Class Yoshikazu Nagahama IJN, broke formation and bounced the Catalina before Moorer's crew knew what hit them.
In his first pass, Nagahama shot out the PBY's port engine and ruptured the port fuel tank, causing flames to engulf the plane. Killing power on both engines to counter the drag caused by the dead engine, Moorer managed set down on the water in an extremely hard landing. As the crew scrambled into rafts the PBY disappeared in a column of flame and smoke. Observing the action, a small Filipino Flagged merchant ship - the Florence D - altered course and rescued the crew a short time later.
From her captain, Moorer learned that she was a blockade-runner under contract to the United States Navy to deliver supplies to American forces in the Philippines. Despite the presence of Japanese aircraft, the captain had already been unsuccessfully attacked several times and remained confident of his chances. The attack on Moorer's PBY had been so fast that his radio operator had been unable to notify Darwin.
As the Japanese passed over Melville Island, an Australian coastwatcher radioed a warning. However, 10 P-40E Kittyhawk fighters, led by a LB-30 Liberator, had just departed Darwin and it was assumed this was the same formation.
They were bound for Java via Timor.
However, had liaison between the Americans and Australians been better, the Australian duty officer might have realized that Melville Island was well north of their course. A second warning followed at 0937 as the Japanese passed over Bathurst Island. Father John McGrath of the island's Catholic Mission sighted it and radioed -
"AN UNUSUALLY LARGE AIR FORMATION BEARING DOWN ON US FROM THE NORTHWEST."

Again the duty officer took no action; as at Pearl Harbor on 7 December, Darwin's final chance to make last-minute preparations for the impending raid slipped away. Without radar, the port was unaware of the Japanese and they were able to approach the port undetected. Port Darwin itself had very few defenses of any kind and the recently departed P-40s had represented the only effective fighter cover. A cyclone had shut down the port from February 2-10, so the harbor was crammed with merchant ships waiting to unload. The port's communist-led stevedore union then staged a strike, further adding to the backlog. When unloading finally continued (using American troops armed with rifles and bayonets), the tiny port's single wharf could only unload two ships at a time.
The harbor contained nearly 30 ships.
Australian ships included the examination steamer Southern Cross; the boom vessel's Kookaburra, Koala, Kangaroo, Karangi; and the gate vessel Kara Kara. Also present, were the RAN auxiliary minesweepers HMA Ships Tolga, Terka and Gunbar; patrol boat HMAS Coongoola; depot ship HMAS Platypus; sloops HMA Ships Swan and Warrego; and the 24th Minesweeping Flotilla with the corvettes HMA Ships Deloraine, Katoomba and Lithgow. The hospital ship Manunda also awaited orders after being held in port when Singapore fell.

The American destroyer USS Peary and the United States Army Transports Meigs, Mauna Loa, Portmar and Admiral Halstead were also in port.
The seaplane tender William B. Preston was making preparations to head further south down the coast. They joined the British tanker British Motorist, which carried a full load of high-octane aviation gasoline. The Australian cargo ships Barossa, Tulagi, Zealandia and Neptuna (whose cargo included 200 tons of depth charges) waited to unload at the small wharf.
On Darwin's military airdrome were nine Hudson bombers of 2 RAAF and 13 RAAF Squadrons. Darwin's civilian airport was home to five unserviceable Wirraway fighters of 12 RAAF Squadron. Nine more of the squadron's Wirraways were on Batchelor Field, just outside of Darwin. Some distance away was Daly Waters, a primitive airstrip with eight more Hudsons.
A miscellaneous assortment of civilian aircraft rounded out the military planes. There were very little antiaircraft defenses at any of these bases.

As the Japanese formation approached Darwin, it encountered the 10 P-40s, which had taken off at 0915. En route to Timor, the American planes, belonging to the 33rd Pursuit Group, encountered violent weather just 20 minutes after takeoff and turned back to Darwin. Five planes landed to refuel, while the remainder patrolled the skies over Darwin. These planes now encountered the Zero flown by NAP 1st Class Yoshikazu Nagahama IJN.

His attack on Moorer's PBY had caused Nagahama to lose his formation, so he proceeded to Darwin alone. As a result, he was the first Japanese plane over the target. He sighted the five American Kittyhawks immediately and dove to attack.
The first indication the Americans had of Nagahama's presence came when Lieutenant Robert Ostreicher USAAF casually looked up and was shocked to see a Zero bearing down on him.
Ostreicher immediately jettisoned his drop tank and dove away.
The other P-40s attempted to follow, but Nagahama was too quick.
In a matter of seconds, he shot down Lieutenant Jack Peres USAAF and Lieutenant Elton Perry USAAF before they could react.
Both plunged to the ocean in flames.
Nagahama then shot up Lieutenant Max Wieck's (USAAF) P-40 so badly that he was forced to bail out. As Wiecks floated to the water, Nagahama also seriously damaged the plane flown by Lieutenant William Walker USAAF.
Barely out of flight school and unable to shake the Japanese pilot, Walker was badly wounded and barely managed to crash-land his mangled plane at Darwin.
The first elements of the main Japanese formation now arrived over the port and almost immediately encountered Lieutenant Ostreicher's lone Kittyhawk.
He made a number of attacks and claimed to have shot down one bomber and damaged another. Although his own aircraft was damaged by return fire, he was able to land safely at Darwin. It is possible that Ostreicher attacked two different formations, both belonging to IJNS Soryu. The first consisted of 18 B5N "Kates" which reported being attacked by fighters and having four planes damaged, but none lost. A second formation of 18 D3A "Val" dive bombers also reported being attacked by fighters. One was lightly damaged, while a second was forced to ditch in the ocean. A Japanese destroyer later rescued its crew.
The main fighter force now arrived over Darwin and began strafing AA positions and other targets of opportunity. One of their first targets was the auxiliary minesweeper HMAS Gunbar as she passed through the harbor boom. She suffered heavy damage and a number of dead and wounded before the Zeros moved on. The five P-40s refueling on Darwin's military airfield now tried to scramble. The 33rd Pursuit Squadron's commanding officer, Major Floyd Pell USAAF, was the first off the ground. He managed to reach approximately 100 feet before his plane was attacked by a flock of Zeros from IJNS Hiryu. Pell bailed out of his burning plane at about 70 feet, and his parachute barely opened before hitting the ground. He was still alive and crawling slowly when a group of strafing Zeros killed him. Lieutenant Charles Hughes USAAF did not make it off the ground and was killed in the cockpit as his Kittyhawk rolled down the runway. Lieutenant Robert McMahon USAAF got into the air and encountered three Zeros, which he managed to get behind. He claimed hits on one, but his landing gear then dropped, helping the Japanese gang up on him.
The Zeros badly holed the P-40 and wounded McMahon in the leg, but were unable to complete the kill before AA fire from the harbor drove them off.
As McMahon nursed his burning plane back to the airstrip, he encountered a "Val", which he hosed with gunfire.
The rear gunner slumped over his weapon but McMahon was forced to bail out before he could observe more.
This could also have been one of the planes attacked by Lieutenant Ostreicher. The attention paid to the three previous pilots undoubtedly helped Lieutenants Burt Rice USAAF and John Glover USAAF get airborne.
However, Rice came under attack almost immediately and his plane crashed in flames. He bailed out and drifted to the ground in a semiconscious state.
Glover tried to cover Rice's parachute, but he too was hit.
With his plane barely controllable, Glover headed back to the airfield.
There, he crash landed and was dragged from the burning wreckage by RAAF ground personnel.
At 0957, the level bombers began their run over the harbor and town at 14000 feet. One minute later, Darwin's air raid klaxons belatedly sounded.
Bombs struck the wharf, blowing the pier's train into the harbor.
Explosions destroyed water mains, oil pipes and much of the pier itself.
The bombs then slowly and methodically moved across the hospital, post office, police barracks and through the town's administrative district.
Many workers were killed with dozens more wounded and trapped.
With the water mains destroyed, it proved impossible to extinguish the fires that soon engulfed the town. Attacking singly, in pairs and in waves of three, 27 "Vals" now concentrated on shipping in the harbor.

HMA Ships Swan and Warrego along with the USS Peary and William B. Preston got underway, but USS Peary was buried under a rain of bombs.
Two bombs on the fantail demolished the depth charge racks, sheared off the propeller guards and flooded her engine steering room. A third bomb exploded in the galley. It was followed by a fourth, which penetrated her main deck and exploded in her forward magazine. A fifth bomb then gutted her engine room and the ship broke apart. Eighty officers and men perished in the hailstorm and flaming oil that surrounded the USS Peary. Among the dead was her captain, Lieutenant-Commander John Bermingham USN, along with all his officers. Only 40 enlisted men survived, most of them wounded.

The only officer to survive was Lieutenant W.J. Catlett USN who was ashore in the hospital during the attack.
As Manunda sent out rescue boats, William B. Preston blew through the harbor at high speed. Steering on her engines, she just missed the hospital ship's bow by mere inches, cleared the harbor and set a southerly course down the coast of Australia at full speed.
Shortly afterwards, Manunda - although clearly marked with white paint and red crosses - was near-missed several times by dive-bombers.
Postwar Japanese records indicated these attacks were in error and were not condoned. None-the-less, she suffered four dead, 76 shrapnel holes and over 100 indentaions in the hull with heavy damage to her upper works.
A direct hit then smashed the aft end of the bridge, causing much internal damage and starting seven fires.
Despite 12 killed and 47 wounded among the crew and medical staff, Manunda continued to provide medical care to wounded personnel during and after the raid.
At the same time, HMAS Swan was badly damaged by a near-miss.
The British Motorist was also badly hit and began sinking by the head.
Mauna Loa had her back broken by a direct hit and began to settle at the stern. HMAS Platypus managed to beat off her attackers, although three near misses immobilized her engine room and sank the lighter Mavie, which was tied up alongside. HMAS Katoomba was confined to dry dock, but sharp AA fire from her gun crews caused a dive bomber to miss. Zealandia took a bomb down her #3 hatch, which exploded deep in the hold. She then swung slowly into the wind, causing flames to fan up all along the ship.
As they spread fore and aft, her master gave orders to abandon ship.
As his crew went over the side, Tolga, Terka and several small harbor patrol boats moved in to take off her survivors and those of the British Motorist.

Neptuna and Barossa were unloading at the pier when both were hit.
With their boilers cold, neither could move as burning oil from the wharf's ruptured oil pipes gradually enveloped them.
Braving intense heat and flames, the naval tug HMAS Wato moved in and towed away the oil lighter moored to Barossa's side.
She then returned and towed Barossa to safety.
HMAS Wato beached the burning ship nearby and her cargo of timber for expanding the pier was allowed to burn itself out. Tulagi was also hit and beached to avoid sinking. She would later be pulled off and repaired with little difficulty.
Shortly after the raid ended, Neptuna's 200 tons of depth charges exploded, destroying what was left of the pier and much of the town.
Although her stern and engines disappeared immediately,the bow briefly remained afloat.
The carrier raid lasted less than an hour and these planes were gone before 1100. Bombers from Kendari appeared overhead at 1158.
They ignored the town and harbor, instead concentrating on the military airfield. What little the Zeros had left untouched, the bombers finished off, including the damaged fighters belonging to Ostreicher and Walker.
Although only six men were killed, highly accurate pattern bombing destroyed two hangers, four dormitories, mess halls, equipment stores and a number of other buildings, including the hospital. Sinking ships and shattered hulks littered the harbor and small boats darted everywhere, fighting fires and gathering wounded. Eight ships had been sunk, including USS Peary, British Motorist, Neptuna, Zealandia, Mauna Loa, Meigs, Mavie and the coal hulk Kelat. Three more - Barossa, Portmar and Tulagi - were saved only by beaching, although the latter suffered little damage and was soon repaired.
Ten others were damaged in varying degrees.
On the ground, the Zeros and bombers had destroyed virtually every Allied plane they could find. In addition to the 33rd Pursuit Squadron's 11 P-40s, one LB-30 and three USAAF Beechcraft biplanes used for liaison duties were also destroyed. In addition, Zeros from IJNS Hiryu burned three PatWing 10 PBYs in the harbor.
The RAAF lost six Hudsons with another one and a Wirraway damaged.
As hard as it is to believe, the raid could have been worse.
AA fire was extremely heavy, causing a number of attacks to fail.
Still, the Japanese lost only one fighter and two "Vals" over Darwin.
A third "Val" was forced to ditch in the ocean on the return flight, but its crew was rescued by one of Nagumo's destroyers. Another 34 aircraft were damaged in varying degrees, although the number written off upon their return to the carrier task force is unknown.
No Army planes were lost or damaged.
As the Japanese retired, dive bombers from the IJNS Kaga sighted what they reported to be a "camouflaged cruiser." Based on this report, IJNS Soryu and IJNS Hiryu each launched nine "Vals" on an armed reconnaissance patrol.
1½ hours later, the planes from the IJNS Soryu found the ship; it was actually the 3200 ton merchant vessel Don Isidore, which like the aforementioned Florence D, was also under contract to the USN as to blockade runner between Darwin and the Philippines.
The dive bombers scored five direct hits, leaving the ship heavily damaged.
In exchange, return fire lightly damaged one "Val."
Just 30 miles to the south, Florence D picked her distress call.
Don Isidore reported that she was under heavy attack with many casualties.
Her captain immediately changed course to render assistance.
He had barely done so when an Aichi E13A1 "Jake" floatplane appeared.
Launched from one of Nagumo's battleships or cruisers, it had likely been sent out to monitor the attack on Don Isidore.
Unarmed and with a top speed of only 10 knots, Florence D's captain decided it was useless to try and outmaneuver the floatplane.
He dropped anchor and ordered everyone to take cover.
The "Jake" then came around and dropped two 100 lb. bombs; fortunately the pilot was a poor aimer and both missed the ship by several hundred feet.
He then strafed Florence D several times before flying off to the west.
As the "Jake" disappeared, Florence D continued on course.
Approximately 90 minutes later, lookouts sighted the Don Isidore.
Although the two ships exchanged recognition signals, the latter did not slow down as she continued to the south.
She later lost rudder control and was beached on the north coast of Australia to avoid sinking. The Australian corvette HMAS Warrnambool rescued her crew on 20 February.
Florence D's captain now decided that it was too dangerous to proceed and turned back for Darwin. Unfortunately, his decision came too late; 30 minutes later, IJNS Hiryu's nine dive bombers found the freighter and launched an immediate attack.
Although only two bombs hit, the first exploded in the forward cargo hold, which contained 3-inch AA shells and a large quantity of .50-caliber ammunition.
The second exploded amidships and Florence D went down by the bow within a matter of minutes.
Moorer's men and the surviving crew eventually reached the north coast of Australia and were also rescued by the HMAS Warrnambool on the 23rd.
Once IJNS Hiryu's dive bombers were recovered, Admiral Nagumo turned for Kendari, where he arrived on 21 February.
The operation had been a complete success.
Not only was Timor taken without Allied sea or air resistance, but the vital air route to Java had also been severed. A series of devastating air strikes then let the Japanese achieve complete air superiority over Java, allowing their invasion convoys approach virtually unhindered from the air.
Unlike Pearl Harbor - where Nagumo's pilots had failed to hit fuel stocks, repair facilities and other shore installations - they were ordered not to make the same mistake at Darwin. As a result, it was annihilated as a supply base with 262 killed and 311 wounded. The port would later be rebuilt into a major supply hub, but played no further role in the Netherlands East Indies campaign. And although Japanese bombers attacked the port well into 1943, improved radar, AA and fighter defenses prevented another Australian Pearl Harbor.

The military zeppelin USS Macon was meant to be a floating American aircraft carrier over the Pacific Ocean -- but it crashed, sank and has been lying on the ocean floor for more than 70 years. Now scientists have discovered and documented the unique wreck off the coast of California.

The tragedy unfolded unusually slowly for an aviation catastrophe: The crew fought to control the USS Macon for more than an hour. US naval officers threw fuel canisters overboard in an attempt to reduce the weight of their vessel. The canisters imploded on their way to the ocean floor. Meanwhile, the Macon -- the largest rigid airship ever constructed in the United States -- sank inexorably downward, the safety of the Moffett Field hangar just within reach.
The Macon hit the water surface only five kilometers (three miles) off the Californian coast, along the latitude of the Point Sur lighthouse near Monterey, on Feb. 12, 1935. The zeppelin broke apart and sank into the deep water. Two of the 83 crew members died -- the low number of deaths is likely due to the fact that the Macon sank in slow motion.
Neither enemy fire nor sabotage was to blame for the giant airship's doom (and a giant it was: longer than three 747 jets parked nose to tail). A heavy storm above the picturesque stretch of Californian coast known as Big Sur tore off the Macon's vertical tail fin. The airship's structural framework was so badly damaged that the Macon broke apart when it hit the water.

A riddle at the bottom of the ocean

Why and how that happened is the question an interdisciplinary research team now wants to answer. While an investigative commission formed by the US Navy following the catastrophe was able to determine that shoddy repair work was to blame for the crash -- a test flight above Texas had led to damage to the structural framework earlier -- the results reached by the commission were never definitively proven. The commission's researchers had to content themselves with speculation -- after all, the evidence for their hypothesis lay 450 meters (1,476 feet) below the ocean surface. Scuba divers are still unable to reach that depth today, although treasure hunters and dealers in military paraphernalia are sometimes equipped to go there. However, the location of the wreck was kept secret precisely in order to prevent plundering.

It was only in June 1990 that Chris Grech, the deputy director of the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute (MBARI) discovered the first pieces of wreckage on the ocean floor. Several high-tech searches had been unsuccessful during the 1980s. Grech finally discovered the Macon's remains in the middle of a deep-sea reservation area. Its existence is the only reason why what Grech calls a "unique time capsule from another era" has remained untouched for more than 70 years. If commercial fishing had been allowed in the area, dragnets would long since have destroyed the ghostly remains at the bottom of the ocean.

In late September of this year, scientists from MBARI and the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) joined forces with the US Navy. They left Monterey on board the research ship Western Flyer in order to systematically survey the area. Until then, the scientists had to work with low-resolution sonar images of the wreckage, but now an underwater robot, the remotely operated vehicle (ROV) Tiburon, was able to explore the Macon's final resting site -- and take close-up pictures.

A chapter in the history of military technology

"The primary goal of the mission is to conduct comprehensive documentation of the site of the USS Macon's loss that can be used to evaluate the archaeological context of the craft," according to a NOAA statement. But the scientists are also secretly hoping to find the Macon's tail fin -- the part that turned out to be the weakest link in the construction, during the airship's final, ill-starred ocean flight.

Grech, the project's director, says he's noticed changes since his last visit. "A lot of the wreck is covered up," Grech told the New York Times. "It's easy for sediment to build up over time, and some large objects have moved."


Water currents along the Californian coast could pull the Macon's remains so far apart that they would become useless to historians. That's why the September expedition documented every detail of what it discovered, producing a mosaic of photographs. Paradoxically, the most easily recognizable objects on the photographs are the remains of four small Curtiss F9C-2 "sparrowhawk" fighter planes. The airship was intended to function as an airborne aircraft carrier -- an enormous, cigar-shaped vessel that would carry the small, agile biplanes much further into the airspace above the Pacific Ocean than they would ever have been able to venture themselves. The propeller-driven fighters were meant to fly reconnaissance flights above the ocean. As early as the 1920s, the US Navy was preparing for a war in the Pacific.

"The planes don't look damaged," Grech told the New York Times, pointing out that the wings of the planes are intact and that their bright yellow color and blue and white Navy star are visible. What is more, five of the Macon's giant Maybach engines can also be seen lying on the ocean floor off Point Sur, along with parts of the airship's canteen and the officer's quarters. An aluminium chair, a metal cabinet, a desk and several shelves offer insight into the interior design preferences of the 1930s military.

No tail fin, no corpses

The Macon consisted of a rigid framework made from aluminium alloy; the framework supported a canvas hull. Inside the hull, helium tanks ensured the overall construction was lighter than air. While the giant airship's overall weight was more than 200 tons, the lightness of its construction materials has turned out to be the very factor that poses special difficulties for today's underwater archaeologists.

Only two thirds of the wreck have been discovered and mapped, according to Grech. When they returned to the port of Monterey, the scientists had to face up to the fact that the Macon's missing tail fin -- the decisive component of the crashed airship -- has yet to be discovered. "It's either buried under sediment or in one of the canyons," Grech told the New York Times. Nor was any sign of the two victims of the crash discovered. Bruce Terrell, a marine historian at NOAA, told the New York Times that the researchers "had not seen any indication of human remains."

The loss of the USS Macon in 1935 marked the end of the US Navy's dirigible program, which already had a 20-year history then. The program had long been criticized for the high costs involved -- costs especially well exemplified by the USS Macon, the most expensive aviation object of its time. Following the Macon's crash, concerns about costs were compounded by security-related arguments, and the aviation program no longer seemed justifiable. And yet the airship the New York Times called the "high-tech wonder of its day" was off to a good start: The construction was considered especially safe, since it contained no flammable hydrogen, but only helium, which cannot explode.

Two years later, the most famous of all airship disasters demonstrated just how dangerous the use of hydrogen -- which is lighter and cheaper than helium -- can be: On May 6, 1937, the German airship LZ 129 Hindenburg caught fire on the Lakehurst airfield in New Jersey, where the USS Macon had been stationed for a brief period of time as well. Filled to the brim with hydrogen, the Hindenburg caught fire while landing on the airfield -- 36 of the 97 persons on board died. That day, military strategists lost whatever interest they may still have had in the use of airships for military purposes.


picture 1- The USS Macon flying over New York harbor in 1933.

picture 2- The wing and cockpit of one of the Curtiss Sparrowhawk biplanes that went down with the USS Macon. The tube at lower right was a telescopic gun site. Just above the cockpit is the frame for the "sky-hook" that allowed the biplane pilot to dock with a trapeze hanging beneath the belly of the USS Macon.

The kamikaze pilot who chose life before empire- an oil leak and a kind commander saved a young recruit...

IN ALL ways but one, Shigeyoshi Hamazono is the kind of elderly ex-military man whom you might meet anywhere.
His back is ram-rod straight and his black shoes and grey suit are as polished and crisp as a uniform. His skin is tanned by the southern Japanese sun, and he looks closer to 70 than to his 81 years.
Even if you spotted the singeing that still affects his eyebrows, and the shrapnel fragments in his arm, you would never guess Mr Hamazono’s extraordinary story. For he was a kamikaze pilot, destined to die at 21.
Mr Hamazono resolved to die — gladly, as a sacrifice on behalf of his mother country — and flew to the boundary between life and death. Staring across it, to his own great surprise, he chose life.
He tells a story of young men like him, sucked into volunteering for a war they could not see beyond, who were nonetheless deeply ambivalent about the sacrifice of themselves and their comrades, and took great risks to save one another from death.
“I saw so many of these new young pilots, fresh out of training, arriving at the airbase in their fresh uniforms — the next day, they were gone,” he says.
“On the surface, they thought they had no choice but to be kamikaze pilots. But deep in their hearts, it wasn’t what they wanted.”
Mr Hamazono was born into a fishing family in southern Japan. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor in December 1941, he volunteered as soon as he could. He said: “My mother could hardly read but she wrote me a letter with the only words she could manage: ‘Don’t be defeated’ and ‘Don’t die’.”
It was the young Mr Hamazono’s bad luck to be fighting for commanders for whom these two priorities were mutually exclusive.
As Japan’s early success turned to a slow, grinding reverse, he had many narrow escapes as a naval fighter pilot. Then, in October 1944, he found himself in the Philippines, where the first Divine Wind Special Attack Squadrons were organised.
Service in the Special Attack Squadrons was to be entirely voluntary, and so a hundred pilots in Mr Hamazono’s group were handed a piece of paper, and invited to mark it with a circle, indicating that they volunteered, or a cross if they declined.
“Three men marked the cross,” he says. “And they were forced to go anyway. Some of them came back saying they couldn’t find the enemy, or that their fuel was running out. They were sent out again. I feel hatred towards those officers who made them go like that.
“One day, I was called in by the commander, and he said, ‘I’m sorry, but will you go tomorrow?’ I knew immediately what it meant.
“As a military pilot, there was no way to say no. I was grateful for my training, and the responsibility given to me, and my Zero fighter. This was my duty. That night all I thought about was my mission.”
With two other pilots, Mr Hamazono took off the next morning, bound for their target, a British cruiser. In two years of flying a Zero fighter, he had never had a technical problem — but now, suddenly, oil began to leak from his propeller and sprayed across his cockpit window, obscuring his vision. He radioed to his commander in the aircraft in front and was ordered to return to base. Then another order: to go not to Manila, from where he had flown, but to Taiwan.
“I had never cried before — that was the first time,” Mr Hamazono said. “He knew that if I landed at Manila I’d be sent out again the next day. I could have disobeyed his order, but the commander recognised that I had not decided whether to live or die. He recognised my feeling, and he saved my life.”
Mr Hamazono never recovered the will to die. He stayed in Taiwan, where the engineers obligingly lingered over the repairs to his aircraft. With an increasing shortage of airworthy planes, he was sent back to Japan.
By this time, in any case, the chances of the heavily laden, rickety aircraft penetrating the American air defences to get close to a ship, were almost nil. Two thousand kamikaze aircraft set out during the war, but between them they sank only 34 ships.
Suicide aircraft were supposed to fly with enough fuel for only a one-way trip; on his second mission, Mr Hamazono’s engineer made a point of giving him a full tank. But long before they reached their target, he and his comrades were cut to pieces by US Grumman fighters, and he alone limped home to live out the few remaining weeks of the war, training the new and younger pilots who were being hastily sent to their deaths.
He continued serving the Japanese defence forces until retirement.
“They used to tell us that the last words of the pilots were ‘Long Live the Emperor!’,” Mr Hamazono said. “But I am sure that was a lie. They cried out what I would have cried. They called for their mothers.”

interview with a yak pilot...

"While trying to set a date and place for the interview with “our” pilot, we got the impression of him being strict man that prefers to keep his privacy and stay away from the public eye. Another thing that concerned us was that he said he flew 15 types of planes which puzzled us a bit.
So we had some concerns but hoped for the good. Meeting this guy we found him to be nice 83 old year man with good hand shake, very good memory (we brought some cockpit pics from the game and he loved to elaborate on them and thought that they are rather good) and above all an honest man that has no phony thing about him.
The pilot asked us to remain anonymous as he dose not want to appear in any public eye so we can only say that the interview took place in Israel and we will refer to him as “A” in the interview.
Since we had interpreter we can’t say we quote him in the most exact manner but we did our best to bring things in the right spirit and facts.
We had only one hour to complete the interview and so here is his story in very brief way:
“A” was born in Gomel in Belarus in 1923, In 1939 at the age of 16 he joined flight club in the city of Odessa and learn to fly Polikarpov-2 for 1 year, He joined the army at the age of 17 though the age of enlisting was 18, he was granted permission to do that after he had sent a letter to the defense minister. In September 1940 he joined the air force flight school in Odessa later towards the coming war the school was moved (orders) to Stalingrad were they became 1000 man combat flight school, When the war broke there was a thought to turn 600 man from them to regular soldiers but it was abandoned and all continued flying studies. They started training on PO-2 (Polikarpov biplane) than moved to Polikarpov UTI-4 (monoplane) and than to I-16.

PO-2 (Polikarpov biplane)

UTI-4 (monoplane)

In 1941 when the war started, the school was moved to a spot near the Don river and when the Germans got close to 100 km’ the school was moved to Kazakhstan where they got to train on YAK-1.At that time all the flight instructors were sent to fight the Germans and new flight instructors were appointed from the students,” A” was among the newly elected guides. ”A” served as fight instructor till October 1944.Then it was decided to send the school instructors to combat duty so they will get actual fight experience and return to be better guides and pass their knowledge to the students. “A” was sent to the”1st Belarus front” were he flew the YAK-9T as close escort for IL-2, The whole plane unit was under the command of the artillery commander of the front and their act was to defend IL-2 who had an artillery officer on board instead of rear gunner and was sent to locate German units and inform the artillery they’re whereabouts. They flew in 7 to 9 planes a flight – 1 IL-2, four to six YAK-9T as close escort (no close than 500 m’) and 2 more YAK-9T as high altitude escort.
Q: Did you have radio control on board?
A: Only flight leader and his #2 had tow way radio, all the others had receiver radio only.
Q: What were the German planes you were up against?
A: Mostly BF-109 variants, FW-190 and Ju-87 also.
Q: Did you encounter German fighters?
A: No, at that time of war they were week and would not go up against larger fighter group, only to pick on one or two planes.
Q: Did you try to seek for German fighters?
A: No, our job was to protect our most important IL-2, allowing it to be shot down was not an option.
Q: Did you encounter AA fire and hits?
A: We knew the places of AA guns so we went around, I got hit only once and my trim was damaged.
Q: What was your place in the flight?
A: I was #2 of the of the escort leader.
Q: Did you fly a lot and get combat fatigue?
A: No, we had easy times – sometimes we didn’t fly for a week and we had nothing to do.
Q: How many combat sorties did you fly in the Belarus front?
A: 25.
Q: Did you have problems hitting targets with the 37 mm’ gun of the YAK?
A: No, it had strong recoil but I had my sight and had no problems hitting targets.
Q: Was the YAK physically demanding to fly?
A: Not at all, we flew 400 to 450 kmph and there were not such loads at that speed.
Q: At what height did you start to use supercharger?
A: We activated supercharger and used oxygen masks above 5000 m’ but since I didn’t usually fly that high I didn’t use it.
Q: How did you manage the prop pitch?
A: We use to change prop pitch only on long distance flight in order to conserve fuel otherwise it was at 100%.
Q: How did you find the YAK-9?
A: I liked it very much, it was very good, relievable and simple, could be flown by any average pilot, easy to take off and land. It had no compressed cockpit and no heating system so it was very cold in the winter-we use to ware arctic suits. We use to have our fuel tank filled up and that would degrade the plane behavior, the “hunters” of us who went to pick up German planes, got their tanks partially filled for better dogfight ability. The YAK-3 was better plane and had better organized cockpit without all the radiators sticking up as in the YAK-9, the French Normandy Niemen got it.
Q: What did you do after Belarus?
A: I was stationed in Belarus till the war in Europe was over, Than we moved to Mongolia to fight the Japanees in the same roll as in Belarus, Got to fly two combat sorties and the war was over.
Q: What about after the war?
A: I became squadron leader and flew the La-9, La-11, Mig-15, Mig-17, got to train on Mig-19 but in 1958 the air force was forced to make cuts and the program was stopped.
Q: What plane did you like best?
A: Mig-15/17, they are almost the same.
Q: What about prop driven, La and sort?
A: I liked the YAK better - it was much easier to take off and land.
Q: Did you have to use a lot of pedals during take off?
A: It wasn’t such problem, after the tail wheel was up I needed to use more pedals in order to compensate for increased tendency to fly sidewise because of the torque.
Q: What next after the cuts?
A: I was offered to be 2nd in command for wing leader position but my wife said “enough” and I left the air force with full pension benefits.
Q: Did you take the flight as a job or really like it?
A: Oh I loved flying very much and wish I was flying till this day."

This is the second session we had with a yak-9 ww2 pilot. This time he agreed to publish his name - Boris alterman.
At the beginning of the session we showed Boris the sim (FB 4.06). Without too much explanation, we asked him to give it a try. The set we used was X52 joystick and throttle (no pedals).
The next 5 minutes were extremely moving and exciting, something that all who were present will never forget - Boris alterman, an 83 years old man, using a cane, transformed in seconds into a sharp professional pilot, looking and moving as a much younger man.
He started flying the Yak-9, immediately doing a few perfect rolls. While performing it, his legs moved instinctively trying to push the (nonexistent) pedals, and his body moved in anticipation of G forces.
Performing loops was much more difficult, because he tried to evaluate his situation according to his body position (and being unfamiliar with the view system). When in stall situation, he again tried to push pedals.
Boris flew the sim for 5 minutes. We could tell he was enjoying very much, despite the unfamiliar joystick system and sim functions. He said that in order to really play he would need to practice for a few days, since the feel of the sim is different than reality, due to the lack of gravity and G forces on the body. The joystick in the sim responds too strongly, the rudder in reality was not difficult to press.

The next phase was the interview. We kept the FB tracks playing, and so what we have is based also on comments to what he saw on the screen

About his ww2 service: He served in a unit named: “The aerial unit for reconnaissance and intelligence no. 117” (we have the name in Russian, not sure about the exact translation). As mentioned in previous interview, he flew escort missions for IL2 artillery observation plane.

Battle formation: when escorting IL2, a pair at the same level, 1 k”m to the side and behind, the other pair in front and higher. 4 other planes flew high cover. Hight differences - 500 meters.

Communications: At the beginning of the war, only a few of the airplanes had radio receivers, and even fewer had transmitters. When a pilot saw an enemy plane, he moved his wings to draw attention. By the time he flew combat missions, 1945, all planes had 2 ways radios.

Navigation: IL2 pilots used maps; combat pilots did not have time for that. Therefore, they relied upon visual objects and learning the area. There were no beacons. In case of cloudy weather, they flew under the clouds.

Airfields: improvised, as they were chasing the retreating Germans into Prussia. They used agricultural fields; sometimes metal nets were spread on them. The net was 500 meters long, 100 meters wide, size 5X0.5 meters.

Take-off ‘s and landings: at the center of the strip, flaps 15 degrees down. With the brakes pressed, applying full power and than idle – a few times, to warm the plugs. Letting go of the breaks, throttle ahead, applying rudder. Lifting the tail slowly to keep the propeller blades from hitting the ground and the fuselage from turning right or left (depending on the direction of the motor)

Shooting: 200 meters (not recommended) and less, the closer the better. At the beginning of the war there were no cannons – only 7.9 machine guns
.
Dog fighting a Messerschmitt with Yak 9: depends on the abilities of the pilot. If he were able to anticipate the opponent’s moves, and act before him, he would win. It was extremely important to stay on the inside of the opponents turn radius. And again – it is up to the pilot and not the plane.

Head on – the FW could dogfight head – on, due to the star like engine that could sustain damage, protect the pilot and continue to operate. The Yak 3 could not, because it had a radiator, but the LA could.

Use of rudder in turns – always. Keep the ball in the center.

The Normandy Niemmen – he visited their sqd a few times, but communication was difficult due to language differences. They flew different missions – intercept – protecting general Zacharov’s army. Once, after landing, someone brought out a football. Everybody, including mechanics that fixed the returning airplanes, and preparing others for missions, left their jobs and ran to play football.
At the end of the war Stalin gave them 33 new Yak 3 (from the factory) as a gift to France.

I-16 (in the background he saw TB3 with 2 I-16’s): Boris laughed as seeing a dinosaur coming to life, and said that indeed they were in use. The I-16 ‘s engine would not shut off immediately, if the joystick was pushed forward, or even if the plane flew inverted. There was enough fuel for 2 or 3 minutes. The Germans were happy to fight these planes, as they shot them down easily.

P39 Aircobra – they had no doors, but a sliding canopy. The engine was not strong, in the last year of the war they changed to Kingcobra. Why did the Americans consider it as not feet for dogfight? – “It is the dancer’s legs, not the floor”.

Hurricane – extremely inflammable, turned into a ball of fire quickly (you should have seen the ed look on his face when he saw the Hurricane).

About Yak’s and LA’s: Boris flew all models of Yak, except the 3 model (he was supposed to fly one, but the gift to France prevented it), and LA 7, 9,11. He considers the Yak a good plane for mediocre pilots, and the LA for a higher-level pilots, in part because they are more difficult to land.

The third part of the interview, is in fact, from the second session. It details an after war training flight experience where he almost lost his life in an inverted spin.

“After the war, I flew in a 2 seats trainer with a new trainee. The guy was at least 10cm taller than me, much heavier, and blocked completely my front view. We reached 2000 meters, me strapped only in the belly straps, and than I passed the control of the plane to the trainee. I told him to pull the stick upwards, combined with weak pressure on the rudder, and than to recover from the situation.

The trainee pushed the rudder hard - all the way, and the plane inverted upside down – and started an inverted spin. I could not reach the pedals, because I was lifted from the seat (downwards in fact) and my head bounced against the cockpit glass. I ordered the trainee to react, but he just dropped his head on his shoulder and did not move – completely paralyzed. Meanwhile, the plane made at least two spins, and lost some 1000 meters.

I pulled myself with my hands strongly into the seat (upwards in fact), and tried to push the pedals. I could not because the trainee (who was bigger, heavier and stronger than me) would not let go. Finally I opened the glass between the seats, knocked him on the head strongly, and only than he let go of the pedals. I managed to level and recover at 200 meters.

The commander of the flight school came to see us right after we landed, to ask us what had happened, as he was watching us from the ground. He sent us to the clinic, as our eyes were filled with blood from the opposite G forces, and told me to take the rest of that day off.

As for the trainee – he was too afraid to fly again, and was sent to the AA forces, where he made a good career. He used to send me a greeting card every year, at the date of that event, to “our new birthday”. Many years later, I flew with some officers to the Ukraine where we were ordered suddenly to land at a certain airport. I was surprised to find the trainee, who has become a high-ranking officer in the AA forces, waiting. He saw my name on the flight list, and decided to take me for dinner!”

601 Squadron: Millionaire flying aces of World War II

from http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-11951642

Seventy years after the Battle of Britain, the BBC has retraced the story of a little known amateur RAF squadron formed in a London gentlemen's club and composed of aristocrats and adventurers. But their privileged upbringing did not shield them from the brutal realities of war.

Born into high society in 1914, William Henry Rhodes-Moorhouse was determined to follow a family passion for flying.

His father had built and designed planes and flown in World War I, becoming the first airman to win the Victoria Cross, the highest award for bravery in battle.

Flying at just 300ft (91m), William Barnard Rhodes-Moorhouse volunteered to drop a single bomb on a strategic rail junction near Ypres in the face of intense ground fire. He made it back to British lines, but died of his wounds shortly afterwards.

Young Willie, his son, was able to fulfil his dream, thanks partly to his school friend George Cleaver, whose family owned a plane. He had his pilot's licence by the age of 17 before leaving Eton.

After extensive travelling, he returned to settle in England where, so family lore records, he "fell head over heels in love" with his wife-to-be, Amalia Demetriadi. A strikingly attractive woman, she was approached in a London restaurant by a talent scout to be screen-tested for the role of Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With The Wind. A private person, Amalia declined.

For Amalia and Willie, life must have seemed to be bursting with promise. They were well off and enjoyed invitations to the south of France and skiing trips to St Moritz.

A keen sportsman, Willie was selected for the 1936 British Winter Olympics team, but an accident on the ski jump prevented him from competing. But war was looming and short of funds, the RAF had its eyes on amateur pilots like Willie, George and Amalia's brother Dick. It could not maintain a large peacetime force, but if war came, it would need to mobilise fast.

As early as the mid 1920s, the first Chief of the Air Staff, Lord Trenchard, had come up with the idea of auxiliary squadrons, amateur pilots who could be rapidly recruited and deployed on the outbreak of war.

The first auxiliary squadron, 601, later to be known as the Millionaires' Squadron was, according to legend, created by Lord Grosvenor at the gentlemen's club White's, and restricted to club membership.

Recruitment under Grosvenor involved a trial by alcohol to see if candidates could still behave like gentlemen when drunk. They were apparently required to consume a large port. Gin and tonics would follow back at the club.

Grosvenor wanted officers "of sufficient presence not to be overawed by him and of sufficient means not to be excluded from his favourite pastimes, eating, drinking and Whites," according to the squadron's historian, Tom Moulson.

The squadron attracted the very well-heeled, not just aristocrats but also sportsmen, adventurers and self-made men. There would be no time for petty rules or regulations. But Grosvenor was nonetheless intent on creating an elite fighting unit, as good as any in the RAF.

Under their next commander, Sir Philip Sassoon, the squadron acquired a growing reputation for flamboyance, wearing red socks or red-silk-lined jackets as well as driving fast cars. Wealthy enough to buy cameras, they even took to filming their escapades.

There were other auxiliary squadrons, but none was as exclusive or elitist as 601.

The Millionaires had a reputation for escapades and flouting the rules, says Peter Devitt from the RAF Museum. "But they could not have got away with it without being an efficient and effective fighting unit. They were very serious about their flying and their fighting."

Heavy losses

Days before the German invasion of Poland in 1939, 601 squadron was mobilised. Stationed at RAF Tangmere in West Sussex, by July of the following year, Willie, Dick and George were on the front line.

The German air force, the Luftwaffe, was targeting Allied shipping in the Channel in an attempt to lure the RAF into combat.

On 11 August 1940, in one of the opening skirmishes of the war, 21-year-old Dick Demetriadi was shot down off the Dorset coast.

Willie had lost his best friend, but he also had to break the news to Amalia that her brother would not be coming home.

The following weeks saw intense raids on southern England as the Luftwaffe attempted to destroy the RAF and seize control of the skies to allow an invasion.

Willie and the Millionaires of 601 Squadron were in the thick of the fighting. After heavy losses, the squadron was pulled back to Essex, only to find themselves in the front line again as the Luftwaffe targeted London.

From an initial strength of about 20, they had lost 11 men in action, with others injured or posted to other squadrons.

The replacements were a more mixed crowd. And while many of the Millionaires' traditions survived, they were no longer the band of aristocrats and adventurers who had started the war.

Other squadrons suffered heavy losses too but the RAF pilots were destroying two German planes for every British loss. Willie was responsible for shooting down nine aircraft. On 3 September, he and Amalia were invited to Buckingham Palace where Willie was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.

It was to be one of their last times together. Just three days later he was shot down.

Other members of 601 squadron survived the Battle of Britain, including Willie's friend George "Mouse" Cleaver, who shot down seven planes before an eye injury which ended his flying career.

But by the time the Luftwaffe called off its assault and the invasion of Britain was cancelled, the RAF had lost 544 pilots.

Churchill immortalised "the few", but for each man lost, there were wives, parents and sisters left behind, women like Amalia.

It was not fashionable for women like Amalia to go to work and, after the war, she lived within modest means, tending her garden and - like many of the wartime generation who had lived through rationing - recycling everything.

She never remarried, although there were certainly offers, and lived a quiet life until her death in 2003.


Average age of RAF pilots was 20 Two huge bombing raids on London on 15 September 1940, known as Battle of Britain Day It marked a heavy defeat for the Luftwaffe, which lost 61 planes to the RAF's 31 A week earlier, the Germans had switched tactics from targeting RAF bases to focusing on London This gave Fighter Command some breathing space to prepare to defend the nation

Willie's body was recovered from his plane and his ashes buried alongside his father The Victoria Cross was sold to raise money for the W.B. Rhodes-Moorhouse VC Charitable Trust which makes donations to RAF charities Willie is pictured above with Amalia, who died in 2003

Fokker D.XXI over Holland

written by pilot Carl Steensma, a civil KLM pilot who flew Fokker D.XXI’s in the LVA. On May 10th 1940 he had to escort 2 T-V bombers on their way to the airfield Waalhaven, which was captured by German para’s.:




We’ll see….

The weather was beautiful on that day, May the 10th. At 2000 metre there was only some Cumulus. The two T-V’s took off to bomb Waalhaven. We followed them immediately. The fighters would be flying around a lot, above the T-V’s.. and we’ll see…

… a Heinkel
Even before we arrived at Rotterdam, I saw a Heinkel flying, below and to the right. I steeply dived upon him, with the intention to fly past and underneath it while firing. Then I would pull up and take a shot at it from straight under it.

..tracers..
The idea worked out quite nicely, but the moment I fired my 4 machineguns, I had a real fright. Tracers flashed right in front of me and for one moment I thought I was being shot at from behind.
In all my life, I had never fired tracers, not even practiced with it. And nobody had thought of informing me about this very useful ammunition.

...disengaging
Meanwhile, the Heinkel was a few hundred meters above me and I steeply pulled up my kite, almost vertical, and I sprayed the port engine, the hull and the cockpit, too. In order to get away quickly, I cut the throttle and with a quick roll, I dived away. Then I pushed full throttle to gain height again. The last I remember of the Heinkel was a silhouette turning to the left. I was alone, eh well….

…but German fighters everywhere..
When I was circling, I saw Me 109’s at greater altitude then me. Me 109’s to the left and right
A neat ‘Kette’ fare above. I still know exactly what I thought: “Look, that’s a real piece of art. What I was doing seemed to me very amateurish and clumsy…and most unreal.

…me in my KLM clothes…
Then I was, over Waalhaven in my KLM uniform, under a clear blue sky in a D.XXI with deadly ammunition. The place where I got my first licence. The place where the enemy was. The place that had to be bombed by the T-V’s. And I had to make it possible by downing all the flying Jerries in the sky…madness.
…being attacked
The way they attacked didn’t surprise me. From far I had seen how they dived on their prey from a small group in neat formation, one after the other and after a long furious blast disappeared the heights again.
I was much more manoeuvrable, but that was about it. I had to make a mess out of it, turning from the right to the left like a madman and see what would happen.

..victory over a German fighter..
..The last attacker tried some kind of sloping looping. By flying directly in his line, I forced him to dive steeper and longer than he probably intended to do. I got on top of him with half a roll and when he pulled up, I fired for what I was worth. I kept the straight line, out of which he couldn’t escape because of his high speed. In the middle of the line of fire, debris suddenly started to fly. Around me I saw some smoke becoming darker and darker.. the last dive of that Me 109.

..being shot myself…
Surprised about the ease of things, I ascended with roaring engine in order to gain altitude… and was totally surprised by some big noise. Fire seemed to spray between my legs and I literally freezed from terror.

…but I could escape
The instrument panel was destroyed. Oil poured over my feet. Loose fabric was on the right wing. And my right leg felt funny. I felt with my hand and it became smeared with blood.
----
After this, Steensma escapes in a cloud. Although the flaps and breaks don’t work he manages to land on Schiphol. There he had to be carried out of the plane. The bullets had ripped though his KLM uniform, right under his arm and also between and through his legs. The plane was a write off as there was no time to repair it.
During the war Carel Steensma tried to escape to England. His leg had to be amputated in a German prison.
On the 4th of May 2006 he died at 93.

THE GREEK PZLs IN OPERATIONS

The first aerial engagement was on the very day the war was declared by the Italians , the 28th October 1940. , with a squadron of SM-79 escorted by CR-42 attacking Thessalonica. The few PZLs that got up were found outnumbered as part of the squadron was moved to the western Albanian front. Yet, they did dash against the agressors and were able to disperes them effectively so that no harm was done to the city or the harbor. One PZL came down in flames but the CR-42 were rather ineffective despite their superiority. Then on the 2nd of November 1940, over the VII (Greek) division’s front in Epirus, 3 PZL-24s of 21 Fighter Sq,mixed F & G types, attacked a hostile formation of fighter-bombers , possibly Cant Z-1007 bis (Alcyon). During the action F/Lt Sakellariou & Sgt Papadopoulos were shot down and killed in action. The third PZL managed to escape.

The same day also saw the first Greek aerial success when a formation of Cant Z-1007 bis bombers tried to bomb again Thessalonica. Six PZLs of 22 Sq. , supported by A/A fire, engaged the enemy. F/Lt Marinos Mitralexes, after unsuccessfully expending all his ammunition against an Italian bomber, he rammed it sawing off its rudder with his propeller’s blades. The bomber crashed to the ground out of control, while Mitralexes successfully crash-landed his own aircraft. During the same action Sgt Epameinondas Dagoulas claimed one more bomber. Mitralexes was decorated with the Golden Order for Valour and later on with the Flying Cross, War Cross, Golden Cross of St. George’s Order with Swords and the Phoenix Order with Swords .

During the evening hours of the same day another formation of 15 enemy bombers, escorted by 7 fighters, raided the city of Thessalonica once again. Aircraft of 22 Sq. took off under the leadership of the unit’s commander, Cpt Andreas Antoniou, who shot down one enemy fighter for the loss of one PZL-24, whose pilot, Sgt Konstantinos Lambropoulos, bailed out safely.

Next day, 3 November, 5 fighters of the same unit tried to chase off a formation of 9 Italian bombers and fighters heading for a third time against Thessalonika. F/Lt Konstantinos Giannikostas claimed one enemy fighter.

14 November 1940. Nine PZLs of 23 Sq. shot down two CR-42s and damaged a third, which was later destroyed during crash-landing. Unfortunately the Greek pilots who claimed these victories are not known.

18 November. On the 18th PZL-24s of 22 & 23 Sqs engaged in combat with Italian fighters over Morova. Valkanas, of 23 Sq, desperate to claim his first victory, rammed on purpose an enemy fighter. Italians on the other end, claimed half of Royal Hellenic Air Force’s aircraft as destroyed, on paper at least ! During the same fight Sgt Demetrakopoulos was shot down but took to his parachute.

20 November. A section of 4 PZLs of 21 Sq were engaged with 3 CR 42s and a Capproni bomber over the Small Prespa Lake. The bomber was shot down by the Squadron’s C.O. Cpt Ioannis (John) Kellas. Only hours later 21 Sq. had all its PZL-24s replaced by British biplanes Gloster Gladiator. Although maneuverable they were prone to frequent mechanical problems due to overuse during their previous service in Britain’s fights against Italian and German aircraft. Yet one of the British pilots Lt 'Pat' Pattle was able to shoot down at least 21 Italian planes with a Gladiator becoming the first RAF scorer at the time

The last engagement for the year came on 3 December 1940 over the region of Moschopolis, when 6 PZLs of 23 Sq. fought against 18 CR-42s, during which P/Officer Konstantinos Tsetsas fell victim of the enemy’s numerical superiority.

During 1941 Royal Hellenic Air Force was significantly supported by the arrival of RAF units in Greece. Greek serviceable aircraft at that time were down to 19 PZL-24s, 2 Bloch MB 151 and 7 Gladiators. From January 1941 onward RHAF (Royal Hellenic Air Force) changed its tactics according to those of its British ally, the RAF, trying to gain control over an area by flying numerous standing patrols over the battlefield.

At 09.30 of 8 January 1941, over Ostrovo, 9 PZLs of 22 Sq. and 6 Gladiators from 21 Sq. attacked a formation of Cant Z1007bis, Cptn Gregorios Fanourgakes of 22 Sq. claiming one as probably shot down. The same Greek formation was later engaged in combat against 9 CR-42s and one Romeo 378bis over Celoure, where Captains Antoniou and Nikolaos Scroubelos claimed one each as confirmed destroyed.

Bad weather during the rest of January prevented further action until the 25th of that month, when the enemy appeared again over Thessalonika. Concentrated actions from 21 & 22 Sqs resulted in one more Cant Z1007 confirmed destroyed by Antoniou.

During the evening hours of that eventful date 7 PZLs and 7 Gladiators from the very same two squadrons attacked against 8 BR-20 bombers over Cleisoura, where Antoniou scored his first “double” of the war –a rare feat in those days. One more was claimed by Staff Sgt Panagiotes Argyropoulos of 22 Sq. A third one was destroyed by the guns of Cptn Kellas of 21 Sq. Two more BR-20 were also destroyed fell to the guns of one more PZL and one Gladiator, although the names of the two victorious pilots remain unknown to this day, raising the score of the day to 6 confirmed destroyed without loss to the Greek side.

January 1941 came to an end with one more Greek success on the 28th, when PZLs from 22 Sq. attacked an enemy bomber formation heading to Thessalonika. Cptn Savellos, former commander of 24 Sq, later transferred to the 22nd, shot down one Cant Z1007. Greek success on the 28th, when PZLs from 22 Sq. attacked an enemy bomber formation heading to Thessalonika. Cptn Savellos, former commander of 24 Sq, later transferred to the 22nd, shot down one Cant Z1007.

A curious incident took place on 8th of February, showing to the extreme the varying capabilities and fighting skills of Greek fighter pilots: during a reconnaissance over Cleisoura, 7 Gladiators of 21 Sq. and 8 PZLs of 22 & 23rd, all attacked against a lone two-engine Italian bomber, which, thanks to the skills of its pilot and the inexperience of the Greek pilots, managed to escape safe and sound!

On the February 9th it was the turn of 24 Fighter Sq. to show up, when the unit’s Bloch MB 151 attacked Italian bombers over Thessalonika . One Cant fell to the guns of Staff Sgt Eleftherios Smyrniotopoulos. Meanwhile a large dogfight took place over Cleisoura between 8 PZLs of 22 & 23 Sq. plus 4 Gladiators of 21 Sq. against 30 Italian bombers escorted by 12 fighters. F/Lt Mitralexes claimed one CR 42 trailing black smoke as probable. Cptn Kellas shot down two fighters and one more was claimed by Stf. Sgt Demetrakopoulos of 21 Sq. Two other pilots belonging to the same unit claimed one probable fighter each. Dagoulas of 22 Sq. on the other hand, described by the archives as …“…a wise and dangerous to the opponent fighter pilot, always on the forefront of the fighting”, added one confirmed destroyed to his tally. There were losses to the Greek side also: two badly damaged fighters were crashed while trying force-landings on their bases.

On 10 February, a mixed patrol of 21, 22 & 23 Squadrons, consisting of 11 fighters in all, attacked three Italian bombers over the area Boubesi-Cleisoura-Premeti, resulting in the probable downing of one bomber by Cptn Fanourgakes.

11 February. Two Gladiators of 21 Sq. on a patrol searching for enemy aircraft reported in their sector, were surprised and shot down by Italian fighters. The pilots, Cptn Anastasios Bardivilias and Stf Sgt Kostorizos, were killed after having damaged two Italian fighters.

15 February. Cptn Fanourgakes claimed one bomber, out of a formation of three, as probable over the Tepeleni area.

On 20 February a fierce scrap took place over the Sendeli area, when a massed force of 19 Greek fighters from all available squadrons –in other words the whole of Royal Hellenic Air Force- escorted friendly bombers. 10 Romeos 37 and 15 G-50s attacked out of the blue and in the ensuing melee the 7 PZLs of 22nd Sq lost contact with the rest of the formation due to a radio malfunction, and were forced to bear the brunt of the fighting on their own. 4 Italian fighters were shot down by Antoniou, Fanourgakes, F/Lt Michaletsianos and Dagoulas. The PZL of the unit’s commanding officer, Antoniou, was badly shot up but the pilot crash landed safely at Premeti.

On February 23rd a mighty formation of Greek fighters consisting of 3 Gladiators of 21 Sq, 5 PZL of 22 Sq and 9 PZL of 23 Sq, engaged 7 Italian fighters but this time, instead of their numerical superiority the battle ended as a Greek defeat, with the death of F/Lt Scroubelos and Staff Sgt Chrissopoulos, whose Gladiator was destroyed while crash landing.

On April the 2nd , 1941, over Florina, took place the last major aerial battle between Greek and Italian aircraft, when 8 Gladiators of 21 pursued 10 Cant Z-1007 bombers. Reportedly two bombers were shot down with no further details. Four days later the German invasion of Greece drew the final curtain to the fighting days of the Royal Hellenic Air Force. Until that moment the Greek fighters fought to the bitter end with whatever they had, along with the experienced RAF which during the two-month period of November-December 1940-41, shot down a total of 42 Italian aircraft for the loss of 16 British aircraft. Without the British support the Greek fight would never have had stood a chance.

Greek Squadrons had flown a total of 1531 hours –mainly: 21 Sq 513h, 23 Sq 455h, 22 Sq 455h, 24 Sq only 158h due to problems with its Bloch MB 151. All those resulted in the confirmed destruction of 64 victories with another 24 probable. Greek losses were 19 aircraft.

Although the number of Greek losses is more than verified, serious doubt was raised during post-war research as to the verification of the victories, since according to the pilots combat reports, the sum of total enemy aircraft shot down was down to a mere 22 confirmed plus 12 probable! Even the sum of confirmed plus probable victories would only give us 34 victories. So the only way the total of 64 can be brought up is by adding the 31 victories reported by the Greek A/A defenses. It still remains unknown if that “mistake” was done in purpose or it was just the result of confusion between confirmed, probable and shared victories -a problem quite complicated even in much more experienced Air Forces of the Allied world, such as the RAF and the USAAF, even as late as 1944-45. On the other hand the Italians have reported not only larger numbers of victories but very often of wrong types ; some 20 Spitfires were mentioned as shot down while no such types were flown in these air battles.

Even against the mighty Luftwaffe of 300 Me-109s & 110s the Greek pilots, while almost considered defeated, at least in the air, managed to score some last victories to the German aerial armada. On 6 April, the very day of the invasion, a German reconnaissance aircraft Hs 126, was shot down, shared between Cptn Antoniou and F/Lt Antonio Katsimbouris. A second aircraft of the same type was shot down, this time shared among three pilots, Cptn Doukas, F/Lt Kontogeorgios and Katsimbouris. During the same day a Dornier 17 bomber was shot down by F/Lt Oikonomopoulos. On April the 15th one more Hs 126 was destroyed by Staff Sgt Pericles Koutroubas of 23 Sq, killed in action later in the day. The remnants of RHAF from all four fighter squadrons were all scrambled in a dogfight over Bascilikee, trying to fight off a large formation of German bombers escorted by fighters. One Gladiator, one PZL and one Bloch were shot down and Staff Sgt Georgios Mokkas was killed. Whatever was left of the Greek fighter force was destroyed on the ground by the subsequent German raids against the airfields.

Stolen Hurricane flies into history books

Two amateur historians have uncovered the story of an audacious spy, who infiltrated the RAF in the middle of World War II and escaped back to Germany in a stolen RAF Hurricane.

Augustin Preucil came to Britain along with scores of other Czech pilots when mainland Europe fell under Nazi domination.

The first clue to Preucil's treachery came when Richard Chapman, an historic aircraft enthusiast who lives in Germany, came across some old photos from the German National Aviation Museum in Berlin.

Dating from 1941, they showed an RAF Hurricane on display among German aircraft.

The squadron markings were clearly visible and Mr Chapman, intrigued to know how the Hurricane got there, set about tracing the aircraft.

Steep dive

Mr Chapman enlisted the support of Roy Nesbit, an air historian with 20 books to his name, and who had himself served in the wartime RAF.

Together they established that the plane belonged to "55 OCU" - an Operation Conversion Unit which trained foreign pilots converting to British aircraft.

What's more they found an official loss report relating to the plane in the picture; it said that the plane, and its pilot Augustin Preucil, had been lost, presumed crashed, in the North Sea off Sunderland.

Preucil had taken off with another pilot, a young Pole, to practice dogfights over the sea.

The Pole returned to base reporting he had seen Preucil in a steep dive and assumed he had crashed.

Gestapo

In fact Preucil had flown his machine across the North Sea to Belgium.

There he landed on a farm and was offered food and shelter by the farmer and his family .

But Preucil immediately betrayed them to the Gestapo and the family were imprisoned.

Preucil went on to work for the Gestapo mainly by infiltrating Czech political prisoner groups in concentration camps; it is known that some of those he betrayed were shot.

When Germany was finally defeated Preucil was captured by the Czechs and put on trial for treason.

He was executed in 1947.

'High regard'

So how was it that Preucil was able to be accepted by the RAF and remain undiscovered?

Roy Nesbit says that in the early 1940s Britain welcomed many pilots from Poland, Czechoslovakia, Greece, Holland and France whose countries had fallen to the Nazis.

"They were very valuable to us" he said.

"The Czechs, especially were courageous. We had a very high regard for them.

"They had a fervent feeling to fight the war, often they were more ferocious than we were. But Preucil was an exception. He was a complete traitor."

Mr Nesbit says that the pilots wouldn't have been very carefully screened and it would have been easy for Preucil to dupe the British authorities.

RAF morale

Mr Chapman believes that Preucil would have had a lot of information of use to the Germans.

"He went from one unit to another and must have gathered a lot of information about RAF morale and, of course, its shortcomings."

Mr Chapman says that in his experience the Preucil story is unique.

"This is the first time I've heard about an agent in the RAF" he said.

The Preucil story leaves many questions unanswered, the most important being who was his handler?

Roy Nesbit thinks he must have been working for a German controller here in Britain.

But so far there are no clues as to the handler's identity and Mr Nesbit believes the files that would reveal it are still classified as secret by the government.

galland talks about the pilots rebellion..

Galland: Yes, he had many problems, but he was basically an intelligent man and well educated, from the aristocracy. He had many weak points in his life, and he was always under pressure from Hitler, yet he never contradicted him or corrected him on any point. That was where he made his greatest mistakes. This weakness increased as the war dragged on, along with his drug addiction, until he was nothing. As far as our Luftwaffe was concerned, he was even less and should have been replaced.

WWII: Isn't it true that regardless of Göring's position the fighter pilots looked to you for leadership most of the time?

Galland: Yes, that was true.

WWII: What were your impressions of Hitler, since you spent months in his company and knew him very well.

Galland: Yes, I did spend months around him, speaking and having meetings, but I don't think anyone ever really knew Adolf Hitler. I was not very impressed with him. The first time I met him was after Spain when we were summoned to the Reichschancellery. There was Hitler, short, gray-faced and not very strong, and he spoke with a crisp language. He did not allow us to smoke, nor did he offer us anything to drink, nothing like that. This impression was strengthened every year I knew him as his mistakes mounted and cost German lives, the mistakes that Göring should have brought to his attention. Other officers did, and they were relieved, but at least they did the right thing and voiced their objections. For Göring to willingly follow along was a terrible situation for me personally.

WWII: So you feel Hitler should have replaced Göring as head of the Luftwaffe long before things became terminal?

Galland: Sure, if Hitler cared, but who would take Göring's place and stand up to Hitler, to do what was right? People were not lining up for the job, I can tell you. Hitler was unable to think in three dimensions, and he had a very poor understanding when it came to the Luftwaffe, as with the U-boat service. He was strictly a landsman.

WWII: Well, of all the men you led and are friends with today, are there any who simply stood out as great leaders apart from their records as aces?

Galland: Oh, my, that would be a long list, and you also know most of them. Of all the names you could mention, I think perhaps the greatest leader was still Mölders. All the rest are still very good friends of mine, but we are old men now, and life is not as fast as it was in the cockpit. However, as their leader I also made many mistakes. I could have done better. I was young and inexperienced with life, I guess. It is very easy to look back retrospectively and criticize yourself; however, at that time it was very difficult. My situation was that I had to fight with Göring and Hitler in order to accomplish what they wished, but without their support, if that makes any sense. Göring was a thorn in my side, and Hitler simply destroyed our country and others without any regard for the welfare of others.

WWII: What led to the Fighters' Revolt in January 1945?

Galland: Basically, it was the problems we were having with Göring, and the fact that he was blaming us, the fighter pilots, for the bombings and the losing of the war. All of the senior Kommodores brought their grievances to me, and we chose a spokesman to represent them. I sat on the panel and arranged for the meeting with Göring.

WWII: Your spokesman was Günther Lützow?

Galland: Yes, Lützow was a great leader and a true knight, a gentleman. When they all sat down with Göring, he told Göring that if he interrupted, which he always did so that he could show his importance, nothing would get accomplished. Lützow, Johannes Steinhoff and myself had voiced our grievances many times, but since I was not invited to this meeting, Hannes Trautloft along with Lützow kept me informed as to their recommending that Göring step down for the good of the service. Well, I was fired as general of fighters, Steinhoff was banished from Germany and sent to Italy, and Göring told Lützow that he was going to be shot for high treason.

WWII: What was the atmosphere like, and what were the Kommodores' opinions of the meeting?

Galland: Well, Göring knew that he did not have their loyalty, and we knew that we could not count on Berlin doing anything to help us, so we were alone, as we always were. At least now it was in the open, no pretenses.

WWII: What do you recall about the death of ace Walter Nowotny, and do you feel that his death had any impact on Germany's Messerschmitt Me-262 jet fighter program?

Galland: I had been telling Hitler for over a year, since my first flight in an Me-262, that only Focke Wulf Fw-190 fighter production should continue in conventional aircraft, to discontinue the Me-109, which was outdated, and to focus on building a massive jet-fighter force. I was in East Prussia for a preview of the jet, which was fantastic, a totally new development. This was 1943, and I was there with Professor Willy Messerschmitt and other engineers responsible for the development. The fighter was almost ready for mass production at that time, and Hitler wanted to see a demonstration. When the 262 was brought out for his viewing at Insterburg, and I was standing there next to him, Hitler was very impressed. He asked the professor, "Is this aircraft able to carry bombs?" Well, Messerschmitt said, "Yes, my Führer, it can carry for sure a 250-kilogram bomb, perhaps two of them." In typical Hitler fashion, he said "Well, nobody thought of this! This is the Blitz (lightning) bomber I have been requesting for years. No one thought of this. I order that this 262 be used exclusively as a Blitz bomber, and you, Messerschmitt, have to make all the necessary preparations to make this feasible." This was really the beginning of the misuse of the 262, as five bomber wings were supposed to be equipped with the jet. These bomber pilots had no fighter experience, such as combat flying or shooting, which is why so many were shot down. They could only escape by outrunning the fighters in pursuit. This was the greatest mistake surrounding the 262, and I believe the 262 could have been made operational as a fighter at least a year and a half earlier and built in large enough numbers so that it could have changed the air war. It would most certainly not have changed the final outcome of the war, for we had already lost completely, but it would have probably delayed the end, since the Normandy invasion on June 6, 1944, would probably not have taken place, at least not successfully if the 262 had been operational. I certainly think that just 300 jets flown daily by the best fighter pilots would have had a major impact on the course of the air war. This would have, of course, prolonged the war, so perhaps Hitler's misuse of this aircraft was not such a bad thing after all. But about Nowotny....

the real dogs of war... has nothing to do with airplanes but interesting nonetheless.

The Red Army trained as many as 50,000 dogs before and during the early part of the war. Dogs proved themselves paricularly valuable during the severe Russian winters, when they located and dragged wounded soldiers from the front on sleds.

A wounded man's chance of survival in the extremely low temperatures of Russian winters, depended largely on how rapidily he was discovered and then transported to a first aid station. Dogs alone could travel in the deep snow, which bogged down motor vehicles, thus improving their chances!

During one battle, near Duminichi, in between attacks, a german shepherd named Bob, located sixteen wounded men, who had crawled into shell holes and ditches. Bob, when he came across a soldier, would lay down beside him, until the wounded man took some dressing from a medical kit strap on the dog's back.

And in one sector of the front, a team of sled dogs, in five weeks, carried 1,239 wounded men from the battlefield and hauled 327 tons of ammunition.

White Samoyeds, were found particularly useful for winter operations and were used to pull white-clad Russian marksmen on sleds close to enemy lines undetected. Plus six dog teams transported machine guns in sleds and two dogs teams were used to pulled soliders on skiis into battle.

The Russian military also trained suicide dogs, during WW II. The dogs (half staved) were loaded with explosives, and trained to seek out food under moving tanks; a trigger device attached to their backpacks, would depressed causing an explosion capable of cutting through the steel under belly of the tanks.

In one day, alone, on the Izyum sector, these canine tank busters destroyed nine tanks and two armored cars. So feared by the Germans, that as soon as they heard the barking and saw the running dogs, they would frantically turned their tanks around and head back towards their own lines, for they knew from experience what was in store for them.

One Russian correspondent stated that "the dogs have saved thousands upon thousands of lives on the Russian front." And he was right!

The German High Command also entered into a secret pact with Russia, to establish other military facilities across their border, in Russia; airfields, training schools, and various war plants. In return for the use of Russian soil, they were to train Russian officers in the art of warfare!

Also at that time, the Army High Command formed an alliance with Hitler, seeing in him, an opportunity to eliminate the Treaty and rearm the military. The National Socialists, then formed their own training camps, where members were secretly trained in military tactics by the army (SA K-9 Units were also formed), under the guise of being public work units.By the time, the Nazis and Adolf Hitler were in power, these units simply traded their shovels for rifles and became the new German Army.

In the ten year period leading up to World War II, Germany trained at many as 200,000 dogs. The Berlin dog paper Die Hunderwelt told of a grand recruiting rally held in that country, adding another 15,993 Shepherds, Dobermans, Airedales, and Boxers to their K-9 army. The dogs were trained as sentries, scouts, guard and messagers.

In 1939, when Hitler launched his blitzkrieg against Europe and Poland, Germany K-9 Army units were there as well, organized and trained as thorough as the Luftwaffe or armored forces were. Once occupied, the K-9 units were used for policing the cities; and the Jewish ghettos and camps create by the Nazis.

The use of large dogs gave the Bahnschutz (Railroad Police) increased effectiveness during patrols of train stations, waiting rooms and railway cars. As early as 1923, the Reichsbahn began a systematic program of training dog handlers as well as dogs.

Schäferhunde (German Shepherds), considered the most loyal and least temperamental of the large breeds and the easiest to train, composed over 90 percent of the Diensthunde (service dogs) in the Bahnschutz.

While on duty a Bahnschutzstreifer (patrolman) normally would accompanied the Bahnschutz Hundeführer (dog handler) and his dog. This allowed the handler to keep the dog on the leash while the second patrolman could perform routine duties such as checking identity papers. When a arrest was warranted, the Streifer handcuffed the suspects while the Hundeführer controlled the dog.

The Reichsbahn operated a breeding farm and training facility for Diensthunde (service dogs) in Röntgental near Berlin.

The leader of the school, was Reichsbahninspektor Langner, who was an experienced World War I dog handler and trainer; he recognized the importance of matching the appropriate handler for each dog.

He sought handlers who were, above all, Hundefreunde (dog lovers), and spent as much time training the Hundeführer as he did the Diensthund.

Each of the 700 teams of dogs and handlers underwent yearly re examination by Reichsbahninspektor Langner, and teams, that were incompatible disbanded. The K-9 training methods developed by Langner became recognized worldwide.

As noted, these same Railroad K-9 Units, were used later on by the SS during the deportation of millions of prisoners to the concentration and slave labor work camps, as well as POWs!

On November 26, 1944 - Dr. Aaron Kuptsow, a B-17 radar officer, was shot down and then captured by German farmers, This is a brief account of what it was like for him!

"We had a force march, which I think was about 17 kilometers. That was the worst experience of my life. I was still wearing my flight boots, and by the time we reached the station, my feet were bloody and raw! I think we had three policemen and two german shepherds walking with us.The march to Frankfurt was quite an experience, the guards and dogs kept us in line, the dogs nipped at us, or the guards prodded us with their guns if we slowed down."

Ousseltria, Tunisia - Allied troops held the western edge of a little valley, and the Germans and Italian forces the eastern side. The battle went back and forth, with each side trying for a knockout blow.

An American lieutenant and two sergeants were sent out to scout the enemy positions. After edging their way slowly to the eastern side, they suddenly spotted a pure white dog, about fifty feet ahead of them. The dog stood as silent as death. He didn't bark or growl a warning as a sentry dog would. Instead he stood there like a statue, head erect and tail straight out behind him. As if he was pointing!

The silents was broken by machine gun fire, hitting one of the men, both his legs shattered. The others had to leave him.

Later, a well armed patrol was sent out to find him, again near the eastern edge of the valley, the white dog appeared again. When the group finally reached the spot where the wounded man had fallen, the man was gone. To all appearances the dog had hunted him out and returned to the Germans, who found him first.

Other white dogs, were later observed, in the Ousseltia Valley, where groups of three or four would prowl through the British and American positions, pointed, then returned to their line. Apparently the German snipers were using them to point the enemy!

Towards the end of the African Campaign, both the German African Corp and Italian armies were forced to abandon most of their dogs during their rapid withdrawal in the North African desert.

The Nazis used so many dogs during the war, that by the end, there wasn't hardily any breeding stock left in the entire country.

Fighter Ace Bruce Carr . . Evading With A Dead Chicken Around
His Neck

After carrying it for several days, 20-year-old Bruce Carr still hadn't
decided how to cook it without the Germans catching him. But, as hungry
as he was, he couldn't bring himself to eat it. In his mind, no meat was
better than raw meat, so he threw it away. Resigning himself to what appeared to
be his unavoidable fate, he turned in the direction of the nearest German
airfield.
Even POW's get to eat. Sometimes. And they aren't constantly dodging
from tree to tree, ditch to culvert. And he was exhausted.

He was tired of trying to find cover where there was none. Carr hadn't
realized that Czechoslovakian forests had no underbrush until, at the edge of
the farm field, struggling out of his parachute he dragged it into the .
During the times he had been screaming along at tree top level in his P-51
"Angels Playmate" the forests and fields had been nothing more than a green
blur behind the Messerchmitts, Focke-Wulfs, trains and trucks he had in his
sights. He never expected to find himself a pedestrian far behind enemy
lines.
The instant antiaircraft shrapnel ripped into the engine, he knew he was in trouble.

Serious trouble.

Clouds of coolant steam hissing through jagged holes in the cowling told Carr
he was about to ride the silk elevator down to a long walk back to his
squadron. A very long walk. This had not been part of the mission plan.
Several years before, when 18-year-old Bruce Carr enlisted in the Army,
in no way could he have imagined himself taking a walking tour of rural
Czechoslovakia with Germans everywhere around him. When he enlisted, all he
had just focused on flying airplanes .. fighter airplanes.

By the time he had joined the military, Carr already knew how to fly. He had
been flying as a private pilot since 1939, soloing in a $25 Piper Cub his
father had bought from a ed pilot who had left it lodged securely in
the top of a tree. His instructor had been an Auburn, NY, native by the name
of Johnny Bruns. " In 1942, after I enlisted, " as Bruce Carr remembers it,
"we went to meet our instructors. I was the last cadet left in the assignment
room and was nervous. Then the door opened and out stepped the man who
was to be my military flight instructor. It was Johnny Bruns !

We took a Stearman to an outlying field, doing aerobatics all the way;
then he got out and soloed me. That was my first flight in the military."

" The guy I had in advanced training in the AT-6 had just graduated himself
and didn't know a bit more than I did," Carr can't help but smile, as he
remembers .. which meant neither one of us knew anything. Zilch ! After three
or four hours in the AT-6, they took me and a few others aside, told us we
were going to fly P-40s and we left for Tipton, Georgia."

" We got to Tipton, and a lieutenant just back from North Africa kneeled on
the P-40's wing, showed me where all the levers were, made sure I knew how
every- thing worked, then said ' If you can get it started .. go fly it' . .
just like that ! I was 19 years old and thought I knew every thing. I didn't
know enough to be scared. They didn't tell us what to do. They just said 'Go
fly,' so I buzzed every cow in that part of the state. Nineteen years old ..
and with 1100 horsepower, what did they expect? Then we went overseas."

By today's standards, Carr and that first contingent of pilots shipped to
England were painfully short of experience. They had so little flight time
that today, they would barely have their civilian pilot's license. Flight
training eventually became more formal, but in those early days, their
training had a hint of fatalistic Darwinism to it: if they learned fast
enough
to survive, they were ready to move on to the next step. Including his 40
hours in the P-40 terrorizing Georgia, Carr had less than 160 hours total
flight time when he arrived in England.

His group in England was to be the pioneering group that would take the
Mustang into combat, and he clearly remembers his introduction to the
airplane. " I thought I was an old P-40 pilot and the -51B would be no big
deal. But I was wrong! I was truly impressed with the airplane. REALLY
impressed! It flew like an airplane. I FLEW a P-40, but in the P-51 - I WAS
PART OF the airplane.. and it was part of me. There was a world of difference."

When he first arrived in England, the instructions were, ' This is a P-51. Go
fly it. Soon, we'll have to form a unit, so fly.' A lot of English cows were
buzzed. On my first long-range mission, we just kept climbing, and I'd never
had an airplane above about 10,000 feet before. Then we were at 30,000 feet
and I couldn't believe it! I'd gone to church as a kid, and I knew that's
where the angels were and that's when I named my airplane 'Angels Playmate.'

Then a bunch of Germans roared down through us, and my leader immediately
dropped tanks and turned hard for home. But I'm not that smart. I'm 19 years
old and this SOB shoots at me, and I'm not going to let him get away with it.
We went round and round, and I'm really mad because he shot at me. Childish
emotions, in retrospect. He couldn't shake me . . but I couldn't get on his
tail to get any hits either. " Before long, we're right down in the trees. I'm
shooting, but I'm not hitting. I am, however, scaring the hell out of him. I'm
at least as excited as he is. Then I tell myself to c-a-l-m d-o-w-n."

" We're roaring around within a few feet of the ground, and he pulls up to go
over some trees, so I just pull the trigger and keep it down. The gun barrels
burned out and one bullet . . a tracer . . came tumbling out . . and made a
great huge arc. It came down and hit him on the left wing about where the
aileron was.

He pulled up, off came the canopy, and he jumped out, but too low for the
chute to open and the airplane crashed. I didn't shoot him down, scared him
to death with one bullet hole in his left wing. My first victory wasn't
a kill - it was more of a suicide."

The rest of Carr's 14 victories were much more conclusive. Being red-hot
fighter pilot, however, was absolutely no use to him as he lay shivering in
the Czechoslovakian forest. He knew he would die if he didn't get some food
and shelter soon.

" I knew where the German field was because I'd flown over it, so I headed in
that direction to surrender. I intended to walk in the main gate, but it was
late afternoon and, for some reason . . I had second thoughts and decided to
wait in the woods until morning."

" While I was lying there, I saw a crew working on an FW 190 right at the edge
of the woods. When they were done, I assumed, just like you assume in America,
that the thing was all finished. The cowling's on. The engine has been run.
The fuel truck has been there. It's ready to go. Maybe a dumb assumption
for a young fellow, but I assumed so. "

Carr got in the airplane and spent the night all hunkered down in the cockpit.

" Before dawn, it got light and I started studying the cockpit. I can't read
German, so I couldn't decipher dials and I couldn't find the normal switches
like there were in American airplanes. I kept looking , and on the right side
was a smooth panel. Under this was a compartment with something I would
classify as circuit breakers. They didn't look like ours, but they weren't
regular switches either."

I began to think that the Germans were probably no different from the
Americans . . that they would turn off all the switches when finished with the
airplane. I had no earthly idea what those circuit breakers or switches did .
. but I reversed every one of them. If they were off, that would turn them on.
When I did that . . the gauges showed there was electricity on the airplane."

"I'd seen this metal T-handle on the right side of the cockpit that had a word
on it that looked enough like ' starter ' for me to think that's what it was.
But when I pulled it . . nothing happened. Nothing."

But if pulling doesn't work . . you push. And when I did, an inertia starter
started winding up. I let it go for a while, then pulled on the handle and the
engine started. The sun had yet to make it over the far trees and the air base
was just waking up, getting ready to go to war. The FW 190 was one of many
dispersed throughout the woods, and at that time of the morning, the sound of
the engine must have been heard by many Germans not far away on the main
base. But even if they heard it, there was no reason for alarm. The last thing
they expected was one of their fighters taxiing out with a weary Mustang pilot at
the controls. Carr, however, wanted to take no chances.

" The taxiway came out of the woods and turned right towards where I knew the
airfield was because I'd watched them land and take off while I was in the
trees. On the left side of the taxiway, there was a shallow ditch and a space
where there had been two hangars. The slabs were there, but the hangars were
gone, and the area around them had been cleaned of all debris."

" I didn't want to go to the airfield, so I plowed down through the ditch, and
when the airplane started up the other side, I shoved the throttle
forward and took off right between where the two hangars had been."

At that point, Bruce Carr had no time to look around to see what effect the
sight of a Focke-Wulf ERUPTING FROM THE TREES had on the Germans.
Undoubtedly, they were confused, but not unduly concerned. After all, it was probably
just one of their maverick pilots doing something against the rules. They didn't
know it was one of our own maverick pilots doing something against the rules.

Carr had problems more immediate than a bunch of confused Germans. He
had just pulled off the perfect plane-jacking; but he knew nothing about the
airplane, couldn't read the placards and had 200 miles of enemy territory to cross. At
home, there would be hundreds of his friends and fellow warriors, all of whom
were, at that moment, preparing their guns to shoot at airplanes marked with
swastikas and crosses-airplanes identical to the one Bruce Carr was at that
moment flying.

But Carr wasn't thinking that far ahead. First, he had to get there. And
that meant learning how to fly the German fighter.

" There were two buttons behind the throttle and three buttons behind those
two. I wasn't sure what to push . . so I pushed one button and nothing
happened. I pushed the other and the gear started up. As soon as I felt it
coming up and I cleared the fence at the edge of the German field, then
I took it down little lower and headed for home. All I wanted to do was clear the
ground by about six inches.

And there was only one throttle position for me >> FULL FORWARD ! ! "

As I headed for home, I pushed one of the other three buttons, and the flaps
came part way down. I pushed the button next to it, and they came up
again. So I knew how to get the flaps down. But that was all I knew.

I can't make heads or tails out of any of the instruments. None. And I can't
even figure how to change the prop pitch. But I don't sweat that, because
props are full forward when you shut down anyway, and it was running fine.

This time, it was German cows that were buzzed, although, as he streaked cross
fields and through the trees only a few feet off the ground, that was not his
intent. At something over 350 miles an hour below tree-top level, he was
trying to be a difficult target. However, as he crossed the lines . . he
wasn't difficult enough.

" There was no doubt when I crossed the lines because every SOB and his
brother who had a .50-caliber machine gun shot at me. It was all over the
place, and I had no idea which way to go. I didn't do much dodging because I
was just as likely to fly into bullets as around them."

When he hopped over the last row of trees and found himself crossing his own
airfield, he pulled up hard to set up for landing. His mind was on flying the
airplane. " I pitched up, pulled the throttle back and punched the buttons I
knew would put the gear and flaps down. I felt the flaps come down, but the
gear wasn't doing anything. I came around and pitched up again, still
punching the button. Nothing was happening and I was really frustrated."

He had been so intent on figuring out his airplane problems, he forgot he was
putting on a very tempting show for the ground personnel. " As I started up
the last time, I saw the air defense guys ripping the tarps off the quad .50s
that ringed the field. I hadn't noticed the machine guns before . . but
I was sure noticing them right then."

" I roared around in as tight a pattern as I could fly and chopped the
throttle. I slid to a halt on the runway and it was a nice belly job, if
I say so myself."

His antics over the runway had drawn quite a crowd, and the airplane had
barely stopped sliding before there were MPs up on the wings trying to drag
him out of the airplane by his arms. What they didn't realize was that
he was still strapped in.

I started throwing some good Anglo-Saxon swear words at them, and they let
loose while I tried to get the seat belt undone, but my hands wouldn't work
and I couldn't do it. Then they started pulling on me again because they
still weren't convinced I was an American.

" I was yelling and hollering; then, suddenly, they let go. A face drops down
into the cockpit in front of mine. It was my Group Commander, George R.
Bickel. " Bickel said, ' Carr, where in the hell have you been , and what have
you been doing now?' Bruce Carr was home and entered the record books as the
only pilot known to leave on a mission flying a Mustang and return flying a
Focke-Wulf.

For several days after the ordeal, he had trouble eating and sleeping, but
when things again fell into place, he took some of the other pilots out to
show them the airplane and how it worked. One of them pointed out a small
handle under the glare shield that he hadn't noticed before. When he pulled
it, the landing gear unlocked and fell out. The handle was a separate,
mechanical uplock. At least, he had figured out the really important things.

Carr finished the war with 14 aerial victories after flying 172 missions,
which included three bailouts because of ground fire. He stayed in the
service, eventually flying 51 missions in Korea in F-86s and 286 in Vietnam,
flying F-100s. That's an amazing 509 combat missions and doesn't include
many others during Viet Nam in other aircraft types.

Bruce Carr continued to actively fly and routinely showed up at air shows in a
P-51D painted up exactly like' Angel's Playmate'. The original ' Angel's
Playmate' was put on display in a museum in Paris, France, right after the war.

There is no such thing as an ex-fighter pilot. They never cease being what
they once were, whether they are in the cockpit or not. There is a profile
into which almost every one of the breed fits, and it is the charter within
that profile that makes the pilot a fighter pilot-not the other way around.

And make no mistake about it, Col. Bruce Carr was definitely a fighter pilot.

On the 30th of April, 1942 a detachment of the 15th Squadron of the South African Air Force, consisting of three Bristol Blenheim Mk.IV. aircraft, under the command of Major J.L.V. de Wet arrived at Kufra, to provide air support to the Garrison maintained by the Sudan Defence Force. On the morning of 4th May, the three aircraft took off on a familiarization and practice mission, never to return. The grim story of the next week is detailed in the War Diary entries:

The testimony of Noel St Malo Juul, the sole survivor, during the subsequent Court of Inquiry is a shocking listing of the DON'T-s of desert survival:

I am an armourer in 15 S.A.A.F. Squadron detachment, KUFRA. On the evening of May 3rd I was detailed by Maj. de Wet to fly in his aircraft on the following morning on a Triangular patrol flight. We took off in formation and started our flight at 06.00 hrs. on May 4th. We completed our patrol as detailed with Maj. de Wet leading throughout the flight, and returned over KUFRA about 08:30 hrs. We flew then away from KUFRA as we had time to spare, but I do not know in which direction. After about half an hour the engine of T.2252 started cutting. This was the starboard engine, and therefore we all force-landed together. The pilots and observers discussed then our position with the aid of maps. At about 11.00 hrs. one aircraft took off and flew away between South and West, as the pilots thought they have ascertained their position from the surrounding hills. This aircraft returned after about half an hour. The pilot 2/Lieut. Wessels could not find KUFRA. We had all this time been transmitting but received no replies. At about 15.00 hrs. on the 4th of May, 2/Lt. Wessels took off again and flew east of South and returned after half an hour. For this flight he had taken some of the petrol from T.2252. he said on returning that KUFRA was not in that direction. we then spent the night all together.

On the morning of the 5th May we drained all the petrol from T.2252 and put it into Z.7513. 2/Lieut. Wessels took off about 11.15 hrs. in a northerly direction, and returned after about half an hour. He had nothing to report, so it ws decided to do no more flying that day.

On the morning of the 6th May, 2/Lt. Pienaar decided to take off in Z.7513 and fly west as this was the only direction that has not been searched. He did not return. We were still trying to receive wireless messages without success.

We were condfident all the time that a search party would find us. Maj. de Wet was uncertain of his position as he had been circling for a suitable forced landing ground. The visibility had been good during all the flights. There was no argument as to our position.

We did not ration the water on the 4th May, and by the following morning had consumed nearly 20 gallons, when we decided to ration water. On the morning of the 6th we received our last ration. On that afternoon we broke open the compasses to extract the alcohol.

On the 6th May in the morning a sand storm blew up, and so we took out the fire extinguishers and used them in the usual manner to try and keep ourselves cool. They relieved us temporarily but soon produced blisters which burst into sores.

The first member of the crews died on the 7th May. It was suggested to Maj. de Wet that he should shoot them as all hope of being found had been given up, but we persuaded him to stick it out. One of the crew, who drank too much alcohol, shot himself from the pain from the alcohol in his stomach. Morphia was used to relieve the pain from the fire extinguisher burns. gentian Violet was also used to relieve the pain of burns, but this gave little relief.

At regular intervals throughout every night we were firing Very lights and tracer ammunition from the turret guns. No ground strips were laid out except to lie on, but a parachute was laid out on a nearby hill. No aircraft nor ground patrols were seen. we did not light any fire.

When at last I did see the Wellington, I was the only one alive, and although I was too weak to fire a Very light I managed to put out some ground strips. The aircraft landed and I was flown back to KUFRA.


The diary of Major de Wet was found, and attached to the Court of Inquiry Proceedings:

Monday 4th Took off 0600 hrs and led 7610 and 2252 on flight Rebiana - Bzema and L.G. No.7. On last leg (No. 7 to Cufra) D.F. gave course to steer 305 deg. On E.T.A. turned to 305 found lost so flew on 125. 2252 engine trouble so landed.
Searched by 7610 and 7513 no avail.
Tuesday 5th D.F contact helio, Cufra, etc. but we cannot receive. they definitely receive us - Kufra gave us Q. 5713 to East gilf 45 miles 90 deg. hannes, frank and Oliver in 5713 on bearing 290 - 100 miles. Did not return.
Wednesday 6th 7610 in bearing 290 - saw nothing. Our last water. Only 1 bottle per man. Sandstorm in afternoon. Most of the fellows dead - started dying 1400 hrs. Still alive but for how long. Van Breda very weak. Still some water left. Broke compass for alcohol - it's stimulating. Not so much heat as previous days - but one must have water.
Thursday 7th (?) Boys are going mad wholesale - they want to shoot each other - very weak myself - will I be able to stop them and stop them from shooting me - Please give us strength.
Friday 6 of us left - out of 12 - no water - we expect to be all gone today. Death will be welcome - we went through hell.
Saturday 9 (?) Hope, Sgt. Vos and Lew also gone. Only me, Shipman and Juul left. we can last if help arrives soon - they know where we are but do not seem to do much about it. Bit of a poor show isnt it. But we will try to stick it out to the very (From this point it is impossible to know what the date is)
Sunday 10th It's the 5th day, second without water and 5th in a temp. of well over 100, But "Thy will be done, Oh Lord".
"Ons kan niks doen behalwe le en wag - miskien kom ons nog weg uit die Hel op Arde Hou diuwels vas hoor !" (We can do nothing except lie and wait - perhaps we may yet get away from this Hell on Earth - Hold tight.)


After an extensive hearing of withesses the Court of Inquiry made the following findings:


The cause of the accident was in our opinion:-

1. The causes of the aircraft forced landing were:

(a) Lack of experience in desert flying by pilots and observers

(b) Failure by the observers to keep accurate navigator's logs

(c) Inability of wireless operators to carry out their duties in the air.

2. The reasons why the searchers failed to locate the three aircraft sooner were:

(a) GROUND SEARCH Lack of accurate information regarding the probable position of the aircraft, difficult terrain, and sand storm conditions made search from the ground far from easy. Nevertheless every effort was made both by No. 15 Squadron detachment and the Sudan defence Force who gave every possible assistance.

(b) AIR SEARCH Despite three aircraft being detailed by No. 203 Group on the day of the loss on prompt advice from No. 15 Squadron detachment, the Bombay did not receive the signalled instructions from Wadi Halfa, the Blenheim became unservicable at Wadi Halfa, and the Wellesley force landed at Station 6. This caused a fatal delay of twenty four hours as on the two following days (May 6th and 7th) visibility in the Kufra area made flying impossible; this weather also affected two other Bombay aircraft sent from No. 216 Squadron by H.Q. R.A.F. M.E. but in addition these did not obtain the call sign of Kufra HF/DF. station. On receipt of instructions from H.Q. R.A.F. M.E. No. 162 Squadron took very prompt and efficient action which resulted in the finding of all three aircraft, the first being located about 36 hours after the original instructions were received by the Squadron.

(c) ASSISTANCE GIVEN BY FORCED LANDED CREWS
(i) Bad D/F procedure even on the ground
(ii) lack of visual signs by day (particularly ground strips and smudge fires)

3. The reasons of the early death of the personnel were:

(a) Failure at first to appreciate their plight.

(b) Failure to ration their water immediately.

(c) Unintelligent use of compass alcohol and fire extinguishers.

...

The Court makes the following recommendations:-

1. That every aircraft likely to fly over desert carries as part of its desert equipment a pamphlet setting out comprehensive instructions covering

(a) Visual signals to be displayed by day and by night.

(b) Information regarding the most economical rationing of food and water.

(c) Precise details as to the use of the first aid kit.

(d) A list of "Donts" regarding compass alcohol, fire extinguishers, urine, leaving the aircraft, etc., etc.

(e) Special instructions regarding the particular type of equipment and its equipment.

2. That only crews experienced in flying over desert should be based at places such as Kufra.

3. No flying should be carried out from Kufra unless at least one serviceable aircraft and crew remains on ground.

4. That no aircraft should leave the vicinity of Kufra until effective two way wireless communication has been established with ground station.

5. That more attention must be paid by navigators to the strict maintenance of accurate navigators' logs at all times.

On the 10th & 11th of November, 2001, during our trip to SE Libya, we have relocated both the forced landing ground, and the possible remains of Z.7513.

By a very strange quirk of fate, during research on the SAAF Blenheims, it emerged that a very similar incident happened to another Blenheim IV of the Groupe Lorraine of the Free French Air Force. On the 5th February 1941, during Leclerc's Kufra campaign, Blenheim T1867 became lost on it's return flight to Faya after bombing Kufra. The remains of the aircraft and the crew beside it were found 18 years later in Ennedi, 250 kilometres to the south east of Ounianga.

more info and subsequent stories here:

http://fjexpeditions.com/frameset/blenheims.htm

the last of the dutch bombers...

It’s the 13th of may 1940, the 4th day of the German invasion. There is a gap in the first line of defence, he “Grebbelinie” but the seccond, the “Waterlinie” is still holding. Near to Rotterdam, the German airborne troops captured the 2 bridges near Dordrecht, called the Moerdijk bridges, leaving the way to Rotterdam open. In the south, the French army retreated, leaving a big gap open for the Wehrmacht, to circumvent the Dutch defense and getting through to the Moerdijk bridges.

At 5.19h, the LVA (dutch airforce) dispatched the very last Dutch bomber, the Fokker T.V 856 to bomb the Moerdijk Bridges with 2 bombs of 300 kg. The bomber was escorted by 2 Fokker G.I’s (numbers 315 and 308 ), the most potent fighter in the LVA.

The 3 planes very low to avoid the German fighters. When passing Dordrecht, they ascended to an altitude of about 1000m. Shortly before they reached the bridges, they were attacked bij 8 Bf109’s of JG26. While being attacked, the 3 planes first flew over the water, made a 180° turn to the north and attacked the bridge with one of the bombs. They missed the bridge by a mere 50m. They saw that they missed, so they turned and headed back south again. Then they made another 180° tun and attacked the bridge again. They threw the second bomb and this time they hit the bridge. Unfortunately the bomb didn’t explode. After this, the 3 planes flew over Dordrecht, back to Schiphol. They were chased by several Bf109’s. One of the G.I’s was attacked by 4 Messerschmitts, finally killing the pilot, lt. Schoute. The plane crashed in a polder. The gunner tried to bail out, but fell to the ground and died as well.

The T.V Was attacked several times and finally crashed near Ridderkerk, killing all 5 crewmembers. One G.I could escape and safely landed at Schiphol airport at 6 o’clock.

One last strange note. The G.I and the T.V were declared been shot down by Hauptmann Karl Ebbinghausen. His Messerschmitt Bf109 still seems to be on display at the Militairy airforce museum at Duxford, England.

Aviator has a blast from a wartime past.

When Lee Lamar sat Friday behind the controls of a vintage B-24 Liberator bomber, it was as if nearly 63 years had faded away.
Lamar of Mission recalls Nov. 18, 1944, with perfect clarity. The four-engine B-24 he co-piloted during World War II had been gunned down over what was then northern Italy.
“They (the Germans) kept hitting us and hitting us,” Lamar said. “It was hard to control with just two right engines. We lost altitude from 20,000 to 5,000 feet.”
The B-24’s two left engines had been shot out. The plane had lost its hydraulics. Lamar and nine other crew members spent the next 30 minutes trying to nudge the plane back to Allied territory in southern Italy, but they didn’t make it.
The men parachuted shortly before the plane crashed in what is now Croatia. Everyone survived — seven escaped and three were captured, including Lamar.
Fast forward to today.
Lamar, now 86, will return to the crash site next month to meet with an archaeologist who discovered the wreckage and tracked down Lamar through the Internet.
Accompanying the veteran will be Park University professor Dennis Okerstrom, who will film the excavation and create a documentary about Lamar’s last mission. The objective was to destroy a German airfield so fighter planes couldn’t take off. Lamar and his comrades succeeded.
Okerstrom called World War II an “extraordinary” time when young men were called into combat. And Lamar, a mere 23 years old when he was shot down, earned the nickname “Pappy” because he was the oldest on board. Other crew members were barely out of adolescence — 17-, 18- and 19-year-olds, Okerstrom said.
“He was one of several million who had to do the horrible time,” Okerstrom said.
Lamar said three other crewmates are still living, but their deteriorating health will prevent them from returning to Croatia.
The bomber Lamar briefly flew Friday is the last flying B-24 in the world, said Hunter Chaney, spokesman for The Collings Foundation, which works to educate the public about World War II through aircraft shows.
The foundation arranged for Lamar to take the helm during a flight from Fort Collins, Colo., to Kansas City. The foundation has the B-24 and a B-17 bomber on display at the Wheeler Downtown Airport until Monday.
“Most of these World War II veterans are in the mid- to late-80s,” Chaney said. “One of our primary objectives is to remind people what these fellows did in the war.”
After his three-hour trip Friday, Lamar was tired, giddy and emotional. He was dressed in a replica leather flight jacket and cap in 90-degree weather. A reporter asked Lamar when he last had flown a B-24.
“Nov. 18, 1944,” he responded as tears welled in his eyes.
Then, he straightened up and faced reporters calmly. He said he had forgotten how much strength it required to control the plane. And the plane’s instrument panel was much like he remembered.
“I enjoyed it,” he said. “It’s an opportunity that a lot people don’t get.”
Regarding the trip to Croatia, Lamar said he hoped to find something he left behind.
“I buried a perfectly good parachute over at the intersection of two stone walls,” he said, referring to the military policy of hiding gear.
Lamar, Okerstrom, their families and several Park University students will depart Aug. 3 for Croatia.

DETAILS Of MARINE CORPS ACE PAPPY BOYINGTON'S LAST COMBAT FLIGHT

It was December 1943. The Battle for the Solomons had reached a furious level and was intensifying daily. Rabaul, the Japanese "Pearl Harbor," at the northern end of the Solomon Island chain, had to be neutralized before the Allied march toward the Japanese homeland could continue.

A key factor in the neutralizing process was Marine Major Gregory "Pappy" Boyington, the swashbuckling CO and his hastily-thrown-together band of casuals and replacements who were blazing a heroic record across the South Pacific skies. Calling themselves the "Black Sheep," as a wry nod to their questionable origin, they had already downed a total of 76 Japanese planes by 25 December 1943. By usually giving him the first shot and protecting him while he scored, they had assissted Boyington in getting within reach of the US record for planes destroyed in aerial combat. That record, 26 planes, was jointly held by Medal of Honor winner Marine Major Joe Foss, for action over Guadalcanal, and Army Captain Eddie Rickenbacker from World War One. Boyington had downed 18 Zeros. These, with the six Japanese planes Boyington claimed from his service with the Flying Tigers shortly after Pearl Harbor, gave him a total of 24 (Editor's Note: Most sources do not allow Boyington the six AVG claims, narrowing his victories to two aerial victories and 2.5 aircraft destroyed on the ground).

We had seen the pressures mount daily on Boyington as he closed in on the record. The news media, already focused on the remarkable exploits of the Black Sheep squadron as a whole, descended on our little island of Vella Lavella in droves and dogged his every waking moment. They were in the ready room, in the mess hall, at the flight line and even in our tent where our Flight Surgeon, Dr. Jim Reames and I tried to fend them off. We recognized that he had enough pressures without the constant questioning: "Do you think you'll break the record?" "Are you scared?" "When will you break the record?" "If you break the record will you quit then?" "How does it feet to shoot down a plane?"

I told the most persistent, A.P. Correspodent Fred Hampson, that I would arrange an interview with Boyington for him if he would then leave him strictly alone. Hampson agreed and got his interview.

As some of us sat in our tent with Boyington on Christmas night, one of the Black Sheep pilots, Bob Bragdon, expressed a thought that was in all our minds:

"Look, Pappy, we all want to see you break the record but we don't want you to go up there and get killed doing it." "Don't worry about me," Pappy responded. "They can't kill me. If you guys ever see me going down with 30 Zeros on my tail, don't give me up. Hell, I'll meet you in a San Diego bar and we'll all have a drink for old times' sake."

On the 27th, Boyington got his 25th Zero to bring him one shy of the record. At the same time, the Black Sheep raised their squadron total to 82.

On the 28th, the Black Sheep shot down four more Zeros to bring the squadron total to 86 but Boyington did not score. The mission was costly for the Black Sheep as J.C. Dustin, Don Moore and Harry Bard failed to return.

Weather partially cancelled the major mission on the 30th but the Black Sheep added another Zero. Again, Boyington did not score.

After the mission on 30 December, Boyington went off by himself to sit and look at the rain. When we went to chow, Fred Hampson sat down across from us at the long table.

"Well, Pappy," he said. "What do you think? Are you going to get another chance at the record?"

"I don't know."

"Well, if you do, are you going to break it? Are you going to be satisfied with just one or two, or are you going after more?"

Boyington blew up.

"God damn it," he shouted, "why don't you guys leave me alone? I don't know if I'm going to break it or not. Just leave me alone till I do or go down trying."

He slammed his fist down onto the table, catching the edge of his plate and spattering food in the face of the correspondent, and then stormed out of the mess hall.

"I told you to leave him alone," I said to Hampson.

"Yes, I know you did, and I'm sorry," he said.

Deciding that Pappy was in no condition to fly on New Year's Day, Doc Reames and I cooked Lip a story about a mythical Zero down in the jungle and arranged for Doug White, a Marine Corps Combat Correspondent, and our own jungle expert, Bill Crocker, to take him out to find it and get some publicity photos. Doug and Crocker tramped what Boyington termed "a thousand miles" and brought him in at five o'clock ready to go to bed. He took a shower, stretched out for a "nap" and slept straight through until time to get up for the 2 January mission over Rabaul.

On that day Boyington led three other Black Sheep among a total of 56 Marine and Navy fighters on a sweep to Rabaul. The Black Sheep got one Zero but Pappy's plane was throwing oil and smeared his windshield so that he was unable to see.

When Pappy returned from Bougainville at five-o'clock all conversation ceased.

"Had a little tough luck up there," he said quietly.

"Do you think you should try to make that hop tomorrow?" Doc Reames asked.

"I'm okay," he said.

We got some sandwiches down from the mess hall for him and gave the thumbs-up sign as he rode away in the truck with Bruce Matheson, George Ashmun and Mack Chatham. The four of them took off for Bougainville for the early morning takeoff the next day.

On 3 January, Boyington led the flight of 44 Navy and Marine Fighters, including just the four Black Sheep, in a sweep over Rabaul. The battle was joined at 22,000-ft over Rapopo airfield with Pappy taking his four-plane division down on a flight of 12-15 Zeros. Boyington and Matheson each shot down a Zero and then, in the melee and the haze, the Black Sheep became separated.

Back at Vella Lavella, we expected the flight back before noon but long before that time the ready room was full of people wanting to know if Pappy had broken the record.

At 10 o'clock the first planes were back at Bougainville.

At 11:30, Matheson landed at Vella Lavella and brought the first word. He'd seen Pappy and Ashmun attack 15 Zeros and Pappy had brought one down. We cheered. Were there any more? Matheson didn't know. He and Chatham had had their hands full with another 15 Zeros; he'd shot one down and then Chatham's electrical system had gone bad and they'd had to return to Bougainville. Our squadron bag was now 90.

As time dragged on, other pilots came in. I talked to all of them. No, they hadn't seen either Boyington or Ashmun. I asked Operations to check all the other airfields: Munda, Ondonga, Treasury, to see if they'd possibly landed there. They had to be down somewhere, their fuel was long gone.

And then, gradually, it began to dawn on us.

Fred Hampson's report described it:

"The Skipper didn't get back!

"The news spread like a chill from revetment, to the ready room, to the tent camp on the hill. The war stood still for a hundred pilots and 500 ground crewmen.

"It couldn't be true. The Japs didn't have a man who could stay on the Skipper's tail."

But as the minutes rolled into hours and negative answers to our queries came in from all fields, we began to comprehend that Pappy and Ashmun were really missing.

The Black Sheep raged like wild men up and down the coasts of New Ireland and New Britain for the remaining three days of our combat tour. They shot up barges, gun positions, bivouac areas; strafed airfields, killed Japanese troops, cut up supply dumps, trucks, small boats. Every rumor of a sighting brought a horde of Black Sheep whistling down so close to the sea that their prop wash left white wakes in the water.

Aerial combat was incidental; they wanted to get down to look for the Skipper and George. Nevertheless, they shot down four more Zeros to bring the squadron total to 94* Japanese planes shot down in aerial combat, 35 probably destroyed, 50 damaged; and 21 destroyed on the ground. But it was a sad day for us when we returned to Espiritu Santo minus twelve of the pilots who had been with us such a short time earlier when we'd dubbed ourselves the Black Sheep.

Note: Boyington DID show up for that post-war party. At the end of the war he was released from the Japanese prison camp where he'd spent 20 months, flew to San Francisco and joined his squadron mates for the celebration he'd told us he would be there for, no matter what.

* Upon his release, Boyington reported that he had actually shot down three Zeros and that Ashmun had shot down one, thus raising the Black Sheep Squadron total to 97 planes.

The ones on the wrong side of the war
the story of mr. Kuhn, who turned traitor twice, first on the dutch and allied cause, then on the german LW:

JOHANNES ANTONIUS KUHN
Johannes Antonius Kuhn. Born in Amsterdam on 15th November 1908 was destined to survive WW2. Having obtained his pilot’s brevet in 1932, he was applied in 1937 for a six-year posting to the KNIL. He was accepted on August 14th. In the colony the reserve NCO flew Martin 139 bombers, but in 1938 he was repatriated due to health problems related to the tropical climate. En 1939 he re-engaged for service in the ML. He started with the unit I-2 LvR (equipped with Fokker C-V & Koolhoven FK-51) before progressing at the end of 1939 to V-2 LvR (a fighter unit) to re-train as a fighter pilot. At the start of 1940 he was the pilot of a Douglas DB-8A. The Netherlands had 28 of these aircraft. It is amazing that they were in service as fighters as they were designed as two-seat bombers. A shortage of fighter aircraft had forced the Dutch to take this drastic measure. Kuhn’s (nicknamed ‘Bulletje’ by his colleagues on account of his short stature) involvement in the May 1940 actions was to be brief. On the 1oth May his DB-8A N° 392 was shot down near Pijnacker (probably by a Bf 110 of II./ZG1) Kuhn and his radio-operator NCO Staal were able to leave the machine but Kuhn suffered serious injury to a knee as a result of the crash landing. This meant long months of recuperation in hospital which then followed. In 1942 he was regarded as fully recovered and discharged on 15th October, having been declared as unsuitable for flying duties. That same year he applied to join the Luftwaffe. What was his motivation? In 1944 during interrogation by the British he stated that his German fiancée pushed him into making this choice. One suspects that this was purely an excuse.

Anyhow, in view of his prolonged absence from flying, the Luftwaffe were not going to let him escape the need for re-training! From October 1942 through to April 1943 he was at Flieger-Ausbildung-Regiment 63 at Toul (F) before moving on to the Flugzeugführerüberprüfungschule at Prenzlau. Subsequently at the start of January 1944 he moved to Schlachtgeschwader 101 (a ground-attack unit equipped with Fw 190 and some Hs 129s) based at Orly (F) After an interlude training at Quedlinburg, the Dutchman was transferred to Überführungsgruppe West, a ferry unit formed in mid-1943to fly new or repaired aircraft from factories to front-line units.

Überführungsgruppe West comprised 4 Geschwader. Kuhn belonged to the third. It Willie recognised that Kuhn had arrived at a bad moment. In the weeks preceding June 6th 1944 the ferry pilots had to accept the risk of allied intruder fighters spoiling for a fight. Many pilots were shot down due to this cause. When the ferried aircraft finally reached the airfields, they were then likely to become targets for allied bombers. After the invasion on D-Day 6th June, Überführungsgruppe West abandoned their advance bases and retreated to within the Reich borders. The quality of the pilots declined rapidly as a result of losses reaching 35/40%! Kuhn was particularly depressed as, being based at Langendiebach, he regularly had to take-off in He IIIs of TG 30 participating in supply flights for the German pockets of resistance on the Atlantic coast.

He decided to desert. To do so he had to wait for a favourable moment, which presented itself on 30th August 1944. On that day he was flying one of fourteen FW 190A8s being sent to reinforce JG 26 at Brussels-Melbroek. Kuhn was flying Werknummer 171747. Time was getting short. At 11:30 he took off for Belgium. He passed Aachen & Ostend and then headed west. Close to the many ships at sea he crossed the North Sea. So as not to run the risk of being shot down by British flak, he did not head for a known aerodrome, but managed to put his aircraft down in open country near Monkton in Kent. It was a good landing and his aircraft suffered only minor damage. It would receive the serial AM230 and would be displayed to the public many times; at Farnborough in 1945 , then going to the Science Museum in London in 1946. It was later scrapped.

As for Kuhn he remained a POW in Great Britain until 1949. In the 1980s he was given a friendly welcome by Dutch military aviation veterans. His peers managed to sponge over his ‘intermezzo’ in the Luftwaffe.

Mosquito vs V! Story

ever wonder how the paint got scorched off the Mosquito?

BY DAVE MCINTOSH

The following excerpt is from Dave Macintosh's book, "Terror in the Starboard Seat, "published by General Publishing Co. Ltd., Don Mills, Ont. It is Mclntosh's personal account of his experiences as a 418 Sqn observer/navigator on Mosquitos and of his sometimes strained relationship with his pilot, Sid Seid. Seid was a Jewish-American in the RCAF whose main aim in life was to single-handedly win the war against Hitler. The story picks up on their 1944 encounter with German V-l buzz bombs.
Ihere was nothing very complicated about the V-l. It was a small glider with an engine in it and it was loaded with explosive. Jerry put enough gas in the engine to make it go to London. \Vhen the gas ran out. the bomb fell down on whatever — or whomever — was underneath. The thing understandably made the Brits very jittery. It did me too.
The launching pads were near the French coast from Le Havre to Boulogne. You'd think they would be easy to find and bomb, but they weren't. The only alternative was to shoot them down, preferably over the Channel where they could do no damage. There was little point in shooting them down over England because they were going to fall out of the sky anyway.
So away we went looking for flying bombs. Better than stooging around France, I thought, until I found out we'd be stooging around at 10,000 feet over France waiting for the bombs to appear.
SEARCHLIGHTS
The first night we set out for Beachy Head, from where we were going to make track for France. Near Brighton, a couple of searchlights snapped on. They picked us up right away. It was blinding in the cockpit.
"Jesus, tell them we're on their side." Sid said, crouching as far down as he could so he could see the instrument panel. This was old hat. I reached around and casually fired die Very pistol. A beautiful green flare shot out- But the searchlights didn't go off as : posed to do. Two more stung
i .'si deadly accuracy. Zap!
"For Christ's sake, vou must have the
wrong color," Sid barked. He started to take the airplane into contortions to get out of the lights but then resumed straight and level flight. "They'll think we're Jerries if we try to get away," he said.
Meanwhile. I was scrambling around looking for the code color chart. I had left the green flare in from our last trip and had forgotten to check the chart.
"C'mon. for Christ's sake." Sid said. This made me doubly nervous. I located the color key in the map box. Then I began searching for my flashlight.
Sid exploded. ""What in hell do you want a flashlight for? You can read a ten-cent pulp novel in here."
The chart said red and yellow for 10 P.M. to midnight. I was so unnerved that I looked at my watch to check the time.
Sid could read me like a book. "It's after ten o'clock and it's before midnight." he roared. Then he added: "If you don't get those lights off. I'm going to go blind." He was really alarmed.
I looked along the rack and couldn't find the right flare. I thought I was going to be sick. I started over. This time I found one. pinching my fingers getting the old one out, thrust in the new one and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. My God. was there another red and yellow flare? I thought not. I pulled the breach open, slammed it again, fired. There was a sound like a fist in a pillow. Two beautiful red and yellow lights soared out aft. The searchlights went out like a basement light clicking off.
"Sorry." I said. It didn't seem adequate.
Mercifully. Sid didn't say anything. I think he didn't want to betray that he had been scared too.

SUPERSTITIONS
The trip was a washout. We couldn't concentrate on anything after that, though it was really a very minor incident. We carried out a two hour patrol but didn't see anything.
The next night started out the same. I wore the same shoes as I had the first trip. I also peed under the port wing before takeoff. I stuck with these superstitions, though my feet got damn cold sometimes and the ground crew complained now and then about having to tramp around in my wet spots. A superstition is not a good one unless you stick with it through thick and thin.
I think I had always been impressed by the film in which Clark Gable got in flying trouble the moment Spencer Tracy forgot his habit of sticking his wad of gum on the cockpit before takeoff. I was not particularly superstitious before the war but I have been since. More than the ordinary orx^-. a black cat crossing your path, breaking a mirror, walking under a ladder. When I struggle out of my high-back rocker. I have to make sure it stops rocking before I leave the room. Never a hat on the bed. Happy is the corpse that is rained on. You name it — I've got it.
We took off, crossed the English Channel and took up station inside France
east of Le Havre. We were at about 2,000 feet. "Look out the back." Sid said.
I stayed like that for an hour. There was a real danger, sitting up in the open, that we would draw a Jem' night fighter. "Jesus, there's one," Sid said suddenly. He jammed the throttles forward.
I looked down. Sure enough, there was the red glow, the exhaust of a V-l. It seemed to be moving fairly slowly, poor judgement on my part. We went into a dive to get more speed. The Y-l was ahead of us. In the blackness, of course, all we could see was that small burning sun in front of us. Because the V-l was smaller than a plane, you had to get fairly close to get in a telling shot.
We were doing more than 350 mph by this time but we weren't gaining. In fact, we were dropping back a bit. In a minute or so, we had to face the truth that the damn thing was running away from us.

We had been warned about this too. Jerry mixed 'em up. He'd send one over at 500 miles an hour, which we couldn't catch, and then poop one off at 200 miles an hour. Whether this was deliberate or not we didn't know, of course, but it drove us crazy. We climbed back up to 10,000 feet: Sid was sore as hell. He took the two misfires as an affront to his flying ability.
Another hour went by and we were thinking of doing one more stooge before heading home, when we spotted a third doodlebug. "By God. this time." Sid said.
The speed went up as we went down. I looked at the clock. It read 350 mph. I looked out along the wing. It was flapping like a seagull working in a hurricane. My stomach gave another wrench. Christ, the wings will come off and we'll go straight in. I didn't take any comfort from what had happened to Tony Barker and Gord Frederick, his navigator. They hit the drink

was thrown hard against my straps because the cannons going off cut down the speed suddenly.
When the explosion came I thought I was going to be dead. The goddam thing went off right in our faces. I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of things whirling around outside the window. Black things and blobs of smoke.
"I can't see," Sid said.
"OK boy,"I said. "Just keep her like that. You can cut your speed though." He throttled back. After those hours of darkness, he had been blinded for a few seconds by the flash. Why we hadn't been smashed up from all that flying debris. I don't know. We had flown right through it.
" I got too close," Sid said.
"I noticed," I said. Now that I found myself in one piece and the props still going around, I wanted to laugh and natter and be Jesus H.(for Hannah) Christ in a blue bottle sitting on the mantlepiece. "Boy, I bet we saved the life of some limey in London reading his paper about how all the doodlebugs are being shot down by ack-ack guns," I babbled.
"Yes. you're quite a little savior," Sid said. But he didn't fool me. He was pleased he had finally made a score, no matter how small, in his Jewish war against the Germans.

"Russ said to go to 10,000." I said. Russ Bannock, our new flight commander, and Don MacFadyen, had worked out some tactics for the V-l. One of Russ's pieces of advice was to climb to 10.000 feet and wait there for the V-l launching. The height would enable us to gain our maximum speed of about 400 in a dive. "Look out the back." said Sid. We climbed to 10.000 feet and stooged around, my neck getting sorer by the minute.
"There's another bastard." Sid said. He banged the throttles forward and stuck the nose down. The sudden dive lifted me up hard against the straps and my guts came up with a thud against my heart. Down we went like a bat out of hell. We wouldn't be too slow this time. We weren't. We went screaming by the bloody thing before Sid could get set for a shot.

so hard the cannons pulled them through the floorboards of the cockpit and clear of the Mosquito. They got into their dinghies and a rescue plane picked them out of the Channel two miles off the Dieppe beaches. It takes all kinds.
Down, down, down. We were gaining some because the fire coming out the ass end of the V-l was getting bigger. The Mosquito was screaming in every joint. Sid had both big, hairy hands on the stick. When he began to pull back. I thought the wings would never stand it. But we began to level out and the clock said 400 mph. Sid pulled and pulled and she kept coming out of the dive. I tore my eyes away from the shaking wing and looked ahead. It was just like looking into a blast furnace.
"We're too close," I screamed. I shut my eyes as the cannons began banging away. I

we got one." was all he said. •: -:k the pistol," Sid said. I did, then turned on the Gee box and got a fix on our position. We were nearly home. That stretch at 400 miles an hour had helped speed things up.
I gave Sid a course: "Three-four-eight." Then I checked the IFF and the gas gauges.
"I bet we're all blistered." Sid said. He was talking about the Mosquito.
We drifted in over the coast and pretty soon our circle of lights showed up. He did a circuit and landed and parked. A flashlight bobbed around under my wing, the door opened, a ladder came up and with it a blurred face.
"Where in hell have you been?" ; -.-.-Hal.
"We got a doodlebug."
"From pretty close."
"That's been mentioned." Sid said.
I climbed down the ladder. Sid followed and took Hal's flashlight and played it on the wings and nose. There wasn't an inch of paint anywhere. The Mosquito was black. No roundel, no number, no letters, nothing.
What did you do, fly right up its ass?" asked Hal.
"Looks like," Sid said.
The truck with its little dim lights arrived and we rode back to the ops room. Sid reported to the IO.
A few minutes later, Pete came in smoking an enormous cigar. "One ceegar," he shouted, waving his smoke. He meant he had shot down a V-l.
"The son of a bitch," Sid said to me. "What'll he do if he ever shoots down a plane?" He was really annoyed.
The next afternoon, all the crews went around to have a look at our scorched plane and the CO said in the mess, "Don't get too close to 'em." I could have said that.
Sid didn't talk about shooting down a V-l. He talked about mistakes. "Jesus Christ. There we were going down like a stone in a well and my alligator sitting there with his balls in his mouth he's so scared and I'm fingering the old tit to get ready for a shot when we go tearing by as if that goddam thing had stopped to let somebody off. Then my alligator lectures me on tactics."
The bar laughed and roared. "Back up we go. with my alligator twitching like a dry leaf on the end of a dry twig in a dry wind because he's afraid a Jerry is going to come up our ass while we're trying to get up the doodlebug's ass. Well, we spot another, though my alligator here pretends he doesn't see it and says we should go home another way, like the three wise men. Well, down we go again. I don't know how you're supposed to tell how far away you are. I thought we were about 300 yards away when I fired. Jesus, we weren't three yards away. I'm going to wear dark glasses at night after this."
More laughter.
No other pilot talked like Sid did. The

others never admitted mistakes. They'd rather die than admit they had, for instance, overtaken a V-l without getting a shot in. Oh, they had heard of that happening to somebody over in 605 Sqn (our RAF equivalent). But that was all.
Except when describing a kill, most crews kept to themselves what went on in the cockpit. I was always interested in how the other navigators got along with their pilots and once in a while I found out.
One said his pilot gave him **** all die time in the air — a constant stream of instructions, complaints, invective about his navigation. But he didn't feel like retaliating because his pilot was so damn good he didn't make mistakes — he knew exactly what he was doing and what his plane could do every second the plane was in the air. It was uncanny. He added that he didn't speak to his pilot except in the ops room and in the plane. This must have taken some doing because, like the rest of us, they bunked in the same room.
Bill told me about his pilot: "Look, the guy makes mistakes. He puts us on the
wrong course sometimes. He's not one of your wonder pilots we have around here, with years of instruction. He made the course and he tries hard and he really flies pretty well. Do you think I'm going to hold him up to ridicule in front of the mess?"
I didn't consider that Sid was ridiculing himself or me. He was simply entertaining the Squadron. Besides, he was telling the truth while he did it, with a pinch of exaggeration here and there. I won't say he was the only one who told the truth. But he was the only one who broadcast it.

Operation Airthief

By the beginning of 1942 it was clear that the capture of an airworthy Fw 190 would be of inestimable value to RAF Fighter Command. Yet in wrtime the aquisition of an example of the latest enemy fighter in an undamaged condition was a requirement far easier to state than to achieve. Nevertheless Captain Philip Pinckney, a Commando officer who was undeterred by the many obvious difficulties, put forward a proposal for 2 men to attempt to achieve by stealth what a battalion would not achieve by force: to steal one of the new German fighters and fly it back to England. For sheer effrontery the plan, which is reproduced in full below, can have few equals in military history. And it might just have succeeded.


MOST SECRET AND URGENT
To: Officer Commanding No 12 Commando
From: Captain Pinckney, E Troop, No 12 Commando

Sir,
I understand that as a matter of great urgency and importance a specimen Focke Wulf 190 is required in this country. I attach a proposal for procuring one of these aircraft.
....I have the honour to request that this, my application to be allowed to undertake the operation described, may be forwarded as rapidly as possible through the correct channels to the Chief of Combined Operations I further propose that the pilot to accompany me should be Mr. Jeffery Quill who is a close friend of mine, and as a well known test pilot of fighter aircraft is well qualified to bring back the plane. He is also young, active, a yachtsman, and a man in every way suitable to carry out the preliminary approach by land and sea.
....If Mr. Quill cannot be allowed to undertake this operation, perhaps a substitute could be made available from the Free French Forces. I am most anxious to be allowed to volunteer for this operation.

I have the honour to be
Sir
Your obedient servant
(signed) P. H. Pinckney

23.6.42

1) Object: to bring back to this country undamaged a Focke Wulf 190
2) Forces Required:
One MGB (motor gunboat) equipped with DF (direction-finding radio) apparatus, to carry a folbot (collaspable canoe) to within 2 miles of the coast of France.
One folbot equipped with wireless transmitter.
One officer of a Commando.
One specially selected pilot.

Method
3) Day 1
a) On the night of D1, the MGB, carrying the officers and folbot, will leave England after dark and proceed at best speed to within 2 miles of the French coast off a selected beach.
b) On reaching the beach the folbot will be carried inland and hidden in a wood or buried in the dunes. The officers will lie up during the following day.

4) Day 2
After laying up all day the officers will move inland until they are within observation range of a fighter aerodrome.

5) Day 3
a) On D3, the officers will keep the aerodrome under observation and plan the attack for the start of nautical twilight (ie, just before sunrise) on D4.
b) During the night of D3, the officers will penetrate the aerodrome defenses by stealth and will conceal themselves as near as possible to a selected Focke Wulf aircraft.

6) Day 4
a) At the start of nautical twilight on D4, when the aircraft are warmed up by the ground mechanics, the two officers will take the first opportunity to shoot the ground mechanics of the selected plane as soon as it has been started up. The pilot officer will take off in the machine and return to England. The commando officer will first ensure the safe departure of the aircraft and will then withdraw to a previously reconnoitred hideup. Should no opportunity to seize the aircraft have presented itself, the officers will withdraw to a hideup and make another attempt the next morning.
b) During the night of D4, the commando officer will return to the concealed folbot.

7) Day 5
a) After nautical twilight of D5 ot during the succeeding night, this officer will launch the folbot and be picked up by an MGB.
b) The MGB should be off the coast for two hours before nautical twilight on D5, D6 or D7 providing the weather is calm. If the weather is unsuitable, the Mgb should come on the first suitable morning. The ooficer after launching the folbot will paddle to a pre-arranged bearing. the MGB, making due allowance for the day and consquent set of the tide, will proceed on a course to intercept the folbot. In addition the officer will make wireless signals, which will be picked up by the MGB using DF gear.

Notes
Selected Aerodrome:
a) The selection of an aerodrome will be dependant on intelligence not at present available to me. The requirements are:
1)Within 20 miles of a landing beach which is not too strongly defended, and which has a hinterland of dunes or woods offering a hiding place for the folbot.
2) Within observation range or a few miles of a covered approach or a wood or place of concealment.

b) It is thought that possibly Abbeville aerodrome might be suitable with a landing made on the Somme Estuary. The Cherbourg peninsula, entailing a cliff-climbing onlanding, might give a good chance of making an undiscovered landing, providing a suitable aerodrome is nearby.

9) Return of the Plane:
Arrangments must be made with Fighter Command to ensure that the pilot officer is not shot down by our fighters on returning with the aptured aircraft. It is suggested that these arrangments should not be dependant upon wireless or on the officers taking distinctive markings or signalling aparatus with them. Possibly Fighter Command could be instructed not to shoot down any enemy Focke Wulf 190 appearing over the coast during specified times on selected days. In addition the undercarriage could be lowered for identification. If a Focke Wulf 190 after all is unprocurable on the aerodrome, a Messerschmitt 109F could be brought back instead. I understand that its aquisition would also be valuable.

10) Date:
The landing should be made on a rising tide to cover footprints and also on a dark night to achieve surprise.

11) Alternative Return of Commando Officer:
If it is considered an unacceptable naval risk to bring back an MGB to pick up the Commando officer, this officer could either paddle on a course pre-arranged by Fighter Command and eventually be picked up by an RAF rescue launch or, as a third alternative method of withdrawl, he could be instructed to make his way back through occupied France.

12) Other Considerations:
a) Food. the officers will be equipped with 10 day's compressed rations.
b) Preparation. The officers should have ample time to train together for a period which need not exceed 10 days. Training should also be carried out on the MGB.
c) Security. The officers suggested in the covering letter accompanying this proposal are both at present stationed at Bursledon, where they frequently go sailing together; the Commando officer owns a double folbot which is used daily; there are MGBs stationed at Bursledon; training could therefore be started without delay without arrousing any suspicions that an operation was under rehearsal.

Pinckney's proposal was allocated the operational code-name "Airthief" and detailed planning began; the airfield at Cherbourg-Maupertus was considered suitable for such an enterprise. Yet while still in the embryo stage, "Airthief" was overtaken by a coincidence more bizarre than any fiction writer would devise. On the very evening after Pinckney submitted his paper, on 23 June 1942, a German pilot became disoriented during a fight with Spitfires over southern England and inadvertantly landed his Fw 190 at Pembrey in South Wales. So the RAF got its Focke Wulf, without having to resort to "Airthief".

Philip Pinckney did not survive the war; he was killed in action in Italy in 1944. Of the chances of success of "Airthief", Jeffery Quill recently commented, "Provided we could get to the aircraft with its engine running, get the German airman out of the cockpit dead or alive and get me into it, I thought I had a 50-50 chance of getting back to England. As to the early part of the operation I was not qualified to have a view and I was guided entirely by Philip who seemed very confident and I would just have done what he said. He ws obviously relying on stealth - and perhaps we might have got away with it. Philip was always evasive about his own plans for getting back. I had a splendid way of getting back by air, but it was a very different kettle of fish for him. But he was very resourceful and might well have made it, one way or another, provided I had got the aircraft off the airfield without too much of a hue and cry.
Anyway it was a non-event, as it turned out. Philip Pinckney was the inspiration behind the whole thing. Had it succeeded it would have been 90% due to him and the balance of danger would have been heavily against him. I think he was bitterly disappointed when it was called off and he was quite cross about the German pilot landing in Wales. I am afraid I have to confess to a certain easing of tension within my guts!"

Tuck's Luck!

Robert Stanford Tuck shot down a total of 30 officially credited enemy fighters before his luck finally run out in January 1942. From the early days of 1939 to 1942 he had become one of the living legends of the Royal Air Force, leading 92 Squadron and 257 Squadron during the Battle of Britain with often fantastic results and supernatural luck.

In 1935 Tuck was a young student trying to learn to fly and he was failing by the minute. Tuck, a strikingly handsome young man, born in 1916, saw an add in the newspaper about the RAF one day and decided to try it out. So there he was, sitting in an Avro Tutor biplane trying to learn to be fighter pilot.

He was about to be dumped off the programme, simply because he seemed not to learn even the basic ideas of flying. October 1935 was quite frankly his last chance to prove himself as a pilot in the RAF. And Tuck knew it himself.

But suddenly on that day in October it all came to him. Flying an aeroplane was not about calculating and predicting every move the plane made. It was not about trying to work out the pure mathematics of a turn or a roll in his head before doing them, it was about instinct and handling the plane as apart of himself. When he realized this, right there on his last chance to be apart of the RAF, it was all very easy. Robert Stanford Tuck was without doubt a natural pilot. With just a bit of bad luck and a not so understanding flight instructor, Tuck would have been on his way home a long time ago. The same day he went solo for the first time and did all exceptionally well.

By August of 36, Tuck had earned his wings and got his posting to 62 Squadron, flying Gloster Gladiators. Two years later it might have been all over when 3 Gladiators flown by Tuck, Gaskell and Hope-Boyd ran into turbulence. Gaskell’s plane struck the turbulence and then caught Hope-Boyd’s slipstream. Gaskell then crashed into Tuck’s plane, who was flying as number three. Gaskell died in the crash while Tuck managed by shear luck to get out of the plane and into his chute. He badly injured his cheek and from this day he would be known for his long scar on his right cheek. Tuck knew that skill did not save him that day, but pure luck and he discovered that he had become quite the cheeky pilot and had to be careful in the future. His nerve remained steady, his judgment good and his enthusiasm high, but he no longer took needless risks in flying.

Flying was Tuck’s life. His life was up in the air, in the cockpit of whatever plane he was flying and he did not care for much else. He was quite the beer drinker and could drink an awful lot of pints during a night out with his flying buddies, but flying was above all his main interest. In these early years women did not really appeal to him. He was not a monk by all means, he simply did not have the time or the energy of the company of women.

By May 1940 Tuck was transferred to 92 Squadron, flying Spitfires out of Hornchurch. Tuck scored his first victory in those dark days of spring 1940 when the British army seemed beaten and lost at the beaches of Dunkirk. A Me-110 fell to Tuck’s 8 Browning machine guns and he saw it spiral down and slam into a field near St. Omer, France. Just minutes earlier, Tuck had seen Pat Learmond’s Spitfire go down in a ball of fire. 92 squadron went up 2 more times that particular day and by the last sortie, Tuck had scored 3 victories, but not without a dose of “Tuck’s luck”.

Tuck circled the wrecked Me-110 as the German pilot climbed out of the cockpit. He slid open his canopy and waved at the downed German pilot. The German seemed to be waving back, but suddenly a large crack was heard and his canopy suddenly had a hole in it, just inches from Tuck’s face! The German wasn’t waving, he was holding a Mausser machine gun and firing at him!

Angered, Tuck pushed the stick of his Spitfire downwards, swung it around, came in low and pressed the firing button. The German became engulfed in smoke, and lethal Spitfire machine gun fire and that was the end of him.

Within the next couple of days, 92 Squadron lost their CO, Roger Bushell and Tuck was handed the squadron shortly thereafter.

The first thing he did was to order his pilots to make more space between them. That way they could pay more attention to enemy fighters and not the stupidity of perfect formation flying in a combat zone. Tuck shot down 2 Dornier bombers that day. Ignoring several hits on his Spitfire, Tuck didn’t stop attacking one of the bombers before it hopelessly fell down from the sky. When taking over the squadron, Tuck had his friend Brian Kingcome posted to 92 squadron, later one of the best pilots during the Battle of Britain.

During the last days of May 1940 Tuck got the chance to fly a Me109 which they had rebuilt from its crashed landing in Britain. Tuck found out that the Me109 was a wonderful little plane, it was slightly faster than the Spit, but lacked the Spits amazing manoeuvrability. By taking part in this testing, Tuck could put himself inside the Me109 when fighting them, knowing its weak and strong points, which obviously must have helped him a great deal later on.

At a ceremony at Hornchurch on June 28, 1940, Tuck was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC) by King George VI for his "initiative" and "personal example" over Dunkirk.
While 92 Squadron being drawn back from the front line and to Wales during July and August 1940 something remarkable happened. Tuck was chasing a lone German bomber and shot it down. Later he found out that the German plane had crashed close to a military camp, killing one soldier there. This soldier was, as amazing as it sounds, his sisters husband John Spark. This was by all means, Tuck's Luck in reverse.

While visiting friends at Northolt in August, he came right in the middle a major bombing raid. He refused to take cover and took off in a Spitfire, catching up with 2 Ju88 bombers.

Far below him the two 88's passed him, Tuck put his Spit in a shallow dive going head on with the bombers. Tuck fired his guns on the port side enemy bomber. He struck the fuselage of the plane so hard to seemed to bend backwards, like the body of a leaping fish. Then one of the wings tipped and the bomber went into the ocean in a gigantic explosion. He pulled sharply up getting pressed violently down in his side. He half rolled his Spitfire on top and dived down after the second bomber. He passed it overhead, turned his Spitfire round and went in for another head-on attack. Tuck got an instant feeling that this was different than the others and very dangerous. Ignoring his feelings, he continued straight towards the bomber, trying to avoid the bullets coming in from the German front gunner. He pulled off just fractions before impact to the German bomber. He had been hit several times and Tuck's engine gave up. He knew it wouldn’t make it and got out, pulling the ripcord as fast as possible. The doomed German bomber continued towards France probably crashing down in the channel.

During September of 1940, Tuck was transferred to 257 squadron flying Hurricanes. 257 squadron was quite possibly the only squadron in the RAF at that time that had lost more fighters than they had shot down. It was a dismal situation when Tuck took over the squadron. However with only a couple of days rest and practice, Tuck managed to turn this squadron around. When meeting the 257 pilots for the first time, always the beer loving young man, Tuck strolled right to the bar, downed half a pint of beer in one gigantic gulp and started talking to his new pilots.

On September 15, Tuck lead 257 squadron and two other Hurricane squadrons towards the armada of German planes coming in over England. Not having time to gain altitude or a tactical advantage, Tuck took his squadrons in for an attack, coming from below the Germans. Ignoring the attacking Me109's coming in from the sun they attacked the bombers. While attacking a He111 slightly out of formation, Tuck was jumped by a Me109. He sent his wingman after the attacking Me109 and continued shooting at the He111.

This day would later in history be known as "Battle of Britain day".

Tuck was awarded a bar to his DFC for his bravery during those daring attacks on the German formations. Surprised by this honour, he replied only "I've just been bloody lucky, that’s all".

He was later awarded the Distinguished Service Order (DSO), a decoration second only to the Victoria Cross. The award was for leading 257 Squadron with "great success. Tuck had transformed 257 squadron from zeroes to heroes in just a couple of weeks and just in time for the very crucial September battles during the Battle of Britain.

I mid March of 1941 275 squadron started to operate also at night attacking the German bomber raids. A second bar to his DFC was awarded later the same month, for "conspicuous gallantry and initiative in searching for and attacking enemy raiders, often in adverse weather conditions."

Tuck was flying alone over the east coast of England when he was jumped by 3 Me109's. The first Me109 fired at Tuck and and passed him so he suddenly had the 109 straight in front of him. Ignoring the other two 109's he fired at the 109 in front him. Deadly accurate, the first 109 hopelessly fell into the sea below. He then banked sharply and found another 109. Letting it pass beneath him first he dived after him. After a quick burst, the second 109 went down. He had gotten very low by now and pulled straight up trying to gain height before the last 109 would attack. Too late. The 109 hit his Hurricane several times shooting the throttle out of his hand, his canopy got shot to bits and pieces along with the gunsight of the doomed Hurricane. Tuck did not jump out, but turned his Hurricane around, firing with everything he had against the last 109. He managed to damage it severely before he had to jump out himself. He was later picked up from the sea and treated for minor injuries.

In mid July 1941 Tuck was relieved as a wing commander for 257, certainly earning all the praise he got from both his pilots and the ground crew. They had all just wonderful things to say about this extraordinary man at only 25 years of age.

Tuck was then given orders to take command of the Duxford wing, flying Airacobras, Spitfires and Typhoons. Besides his beloved Spitfire, Tuck took a liking to the Typhoon.

Another incident of Tuck's Luck happened when he and some pilots were partying in a pub not far from Norwich. Being with his girlfriend, Joyce, Tuck suddenly got a feeling he had to get out of the pub in a hurry. He told his pilot friends he wanted to go into Norwich to hit the pubs there. They declined to his offer because they would never be able to make it there before closing time. Tuck knew this but still wanted to go. Driving back from the pub Joyce confronted him with his and Tuck told her that he felt he had to leave in a hurry and didn’t really want to go to Norwich after all. The next day he was given the news that a lone German bomber had dropped its cargo straight on the pub killing most of the people inside. Another close shave. Tuck's Luck once more.

The Germans finally nailed Tuck in January of 1942. Doing a low “Rhubarb” sweep over France, he and his wingman got into massive flak from both sides of a shallow valley when trying to hit a distillery and some trains. Tuck managed to crash land his Spitfire right in front of a squad of German soldiers standing beside a cannon. Tuck's Luck was with him once more when one of his last shots from the Spitfire had entered the German cannon, peeling it like a banana. Seeing this, the Germans couldn’t stop laughing, which probably saved Tuck's life. Even when picking up the dead German soldiers Tuck had just shoot up with his Spitfire, they didn’t stop laughing.

Tuck was transferred to Stallag Luft 3 where he met many of his old friends, including the legendary Douglas Bader and his old CO, Roger Bushell. Bushell was later shot by the Germans after over 70 pilots escaped thru a tunnel. Tuck was supposed to be apart of this escape plan but was transferred from the camp just days before it was put into action. Lucky once more. Only three pilots managed to escape to safety, two of these were Norwegians.

Tuck managed to escape in 1945 when the whole camp was moved due to the Russians coming a bit too close for the Germans liking. Tuck and a Polish captain managed to get to the Russian lines. While in a Polish city, Tuck's Luck came into action yet another time when Tuck was recognized by a friend of his brother. A one in a million chance of meeting someone like that in a Polish city in 1945! With the help of this man, they soon managed to get themselves back to safety and the green fields of England.

Robert Stanford Tuck settled in Kent with his wife Joyce after the war. He died in 1987.

Rolf Arne Berg - One of the Few

Rolf Arne Berg was probably the best Norwegian fighter pilot during world war two. He might still be the best fighter pilot Norway has ever had. Spitfirepilots.com presents the story of this magnificent fighter pilot, and perhaps even previously unknown information to many about this fascinating man from Norway.

The Norwegian pilots during the war spoke seldom about individuals in their group of people. They were all of the same team. Even though, if one individual should be pointed out, it has to be Rolf Arne Berg.

Rolf Arne Berg was born in Trøndelag in Norway and joined the air force shortly before the war, and continued his war efforts from England and Europe alongside his fellow pilots in 331 and 332 squadron. Rolf Arne was the kind of person that is very seldom noticed in peace-time. Shy, quiet but extremely intelligent. An expert in handling a Spitfire, maybe the best Norway had.

He was an officer but not a snobby one. Rolf Arne was an individual everyone liked, Englishmen and Norwegians all the same. He was an expert at handling dangerous situations. Calm and steady on the stick in most situations normal people would wet themselves in horror.

To fly was his life. Once a mission was completed, he was ready for the next. There’s more than a slight possibility that Rolf Arne had more missions than anyone else in the whole 2nd Tactical Air Force.

He often talked about what he wanted to do after the war. Sometimes he wanted to continue flying, sometimes he wanted to buy a fishing boat or maybe just travel the world.

Fighter pilots were considered as something very glamorous during the war. Glamorous and popular. Almost celebrity like. Some of them were widely known in the media. Rolf Arne however was no big tease among girls as many others were. According to Svein Heglund, Rolf Arne had someone special. Somewhere.

One story about Rolf Arne that may not be widely known is the story told in Duncan Smith’s book “Spitfire into battle”. After a mission Smith and Berg landed at an American bomber base in England after running low on fuel. Most of the Americans had never seen a Spitfire up close before and giggled at the site of the small Spitfire compared to their Flying Fortresses. To escort B-17 bombers to Germany had probably never crossed Mitchell’s thought when he designed the wonder that is a Spitfire.

The Americans more than willingly filled up their Spitfires with fuel and even wanted to give Rolf Arne and Smith a few dollars as thanks for escorting their bombers into France and back. Rolf Arne, quite embarrassed said: “I’m a Norwegian Officer; I cannot take your money”. The Americans thanked for all the help and waved goodbye to the departing Spitfires on their way back home to North Weald.

Rolf Arne stayed with 331 squadron all the way to the end. Promoted to Wing Commander Flying he was the only one in the squadrons with a specially painted Spitfire. His own initials instead of the regular squadron codes. Parts of the tail and the wings were painted in Norwegian flag colours. He had the respect and admiration of both squadrons.


Rolf Arne Berg died in February 1945 in a tragic crash. Not only was it so tragic that he died in a crash but he was also tour-expired. He went along for an extra mission out of pure stubbornness and willingness to go up again one more time to fight the enemy. He convinced his friend Zulu Morris to add him to the mission. There had been reports about a Dutch airfield full of German airplanes parked around it. After getting “no” from Helge Mehre, he went further up the command and got his “yes” after all.

Even his bags were packed. He was supposed to go to Chamonix to ski. He wasn’t supposed to go over Holland in a Spitfire another time. But, the German airplanes were a too good of a chance to miss. A great opportunity to get in a few easy ground kills. It was supposed to be the encore for Norway’s best overall fighter pilot.

Flak was a fighter pilots worst enemy. No experience or 10 German airplanes shot down can help you deal with flak. Flak is about luck. Lots of experienced allied pilots lost their lives to flak when the war in reality had already been won. A German pilot could probably never have gotten close to shooting Rolf Arne down. He was that good and that experienced. Flak was something else. It was game of dice where the looser died.

When the Norwegian Spitfires attacked the airfield in Holland the flak opened up on them. Rolf Arne’s Spitfire was hit massively in one of the wings. Probably hit while gaining height after the attack. The Spitfire lost one of its wings and dived without control straight into a barn without exploding. He was found inside the cockpit by locals and buried nearby.

It may sound weird that Rolf Arne pulled up after such an attack. Famous fighter pilot Pierre Clostermann writes in his book “The big show” that pulling up from such an attack is asking to be shot down. The flak batteries are able to aim better if you’re higher up and not 10 meters from the ground. Rolf Arne pulled up but he probably had his reasons.

There were no real German airplanes on this airfield. They were dummy planes. It makes the entire event even sadder.

Rolf Arne Berg, with his capability and experience as leader and as a fighter pilot would have been as good as gold for Norway after the war. The loss of him can still be felt in Norway and the air force. What Rolf Arne would have done for the air force and for his country after the war nobody knows for sure, but it would have been a huge presence from a great man.

Norwegian fighter pilots and friends of Rolf Arne visited the church yard were Rolf Arne was buried after the war. On his grave someone had put flowers. Someone cared.

Rolf Arne's body was later transferred back to Norway and he's buried in Trøndelag.

Hans-Guido Mutke on the morning of 25 April 1945

"I made contact with 20 to 25 Marauders north of the Bodensee, then I noticed that I was running very low on fuel while flying over French-occupied territory. I had two choices - to land in Zurich or bale out and use my parachute at 2000 metres. I chose to land in Switzerland as I wanted to avoid being captured by the French, and came down at Zurich's Dubendorf military airfield with only enough fuel left for a further two minutes flying. The Swiss surrounded the plane with roughly 60 soldiers, all with guns aimed at me - something which struck me as being rather belligerent in neutral Switzerland, particularily since I was 'over the moon' at having escaped being taken prisoner by the French and had no intention whatsoever of somehow opening fire on the Swiss with my aircraft's weapons."

Obituaries
Hans Guido Mutke
Aviator who believed he broke the sound barrier in 1945


Flying a Messerschmitt 262 jet fighter, on 9 April 1945 Hans Guido Mutke may have become the first person to travel faster than the speed of sound as he flew over Austria.


Hans Guido Mutke, pilot and gynaecologist: born Neisse, Germany 25 March 1921; married (two children); died Munich 8 April 2004.

Flying a Messerschmitt 262 jet fighter, on 9 April 1945 Hans Guido Mutke may have become the first person to travel faster than the speed of sound as he flew over Austria.

In an attempt to assist a fellow pilot under Allied fire he went into a sharp dive and lost control of his Me-262 as it started to vibrate violently and the controls ceased to function. When he regained control, the speedometer was stuck at 1,100km an hour. On his return to base, considerable damage was revealed. Although he saved his comrade, this could have cost him his place in the squadron, as pilots had been ordered not to exceed 950km/h. If Mutke's account is true, and there are doubters, the story means that the German Luftwaffe pilot broke the sound barrier two years before the US pilot Colonel Chuck Yeager, who achieved this during a 1947 flight over California.

Mutke, called up when he was a medical student, spent three years as a night fighter reconnaissance pilot searching for, and tracking, Allied bombers over Germany. The war was already lost, and the Americans and British effectively controlled the skies over Hitler's Reich when, because of his flying skills, Mutke was posted to train as a jet pilot flying the Messerschmitt 262, the first jet plane produced in quantity for combat. On his last combat mission, running out of fuel, Mutke crossed into neutral Switzerland, to avoid falling into enemy hands. He was interned with American flyers who had also landed in Switzerland.

After the Second World War, released from Swiss internment, Mutke completed his medical training, in Berne and Zurich, but then spent some years flying DC-3 Dakotas for airlines in Argentina and Bolivia. On his return to Germany, he worked as a gynaecologist until his retirement. He did, however, keep his ties with military aviation by serving as a reserve medical officer in the German air force. His Me-262 was handed over by the Swiss, in 1957, to the Deutsches Museum in Munich, where it is still on display.

It was only in 1989 that Mutke became convinced that he had broken the sound barrier. This was after discussing his flight with experts at a conference in Munich celebrating the 50th anniversary of jet-powered flight. He died during a heart operation in Munich, and donated his body to Gunther von Hagens, the controversial artist who uses human bodies in his "Body Worlds" exhibitions.

Retired aviator cited for WWII bravery

He was a waist gunner in a B-17 aircraft that made the first daylight raid on Berlin.

Edward L. Cardenas / The Detroit News

SHELBY TOWNSHIP -- Retired U.S. Air Force Technical Sgt. James Marbry was among the first members of the Army Air Force to see Berlin as his B-17 swooped in for a bombing raid of the German capital in March 1944.

Nearly 64 years later, he's finally received recognition for that harrowing mission to push deep into German territory during daylight.

The 84-year-old Shelby Township veteran received his Distinguished Flying Cross Sunday Selfridge Air National Guard Base for his efforts as a ball turret gunner aboard the B-17 bomber named "Dreambaby."

The honor came about when a grandson of a crewmate began asking his grandfather about his service medals in 2004. Soon, an effort was started to get the entire crew the Distinguished Flying Cross, a medal given to those who "exhibit heroism or extraordinary achievement while participating in an aerial flight," according to the Air Force.

Marbry received his medal before a contingent that included his grandson, Air Force Master Sgt. Michael Marbry, who flew home from Ramstein Air Base in Germany.

"It's important that we recognize this passing generation and their sacrifices before they are gone. Their sacrifices enable us to enjoy the freedoms we have today," said Col. David Miller, Selfridge vice-commander.

Shortly after the Berlin mission for which he was honored, he was transferred to another bomber that was sent on a Memorial Day raid in 1944 just days before the D-Day invasion.

His job on that raid was to bomb a fighter plane factory deep in Germany. But a Luftwaffe fighter hit his B-17 with a 20 mm machine gun fire between the third and fourth engine. The bullet tore into the wing and started a fire on the bomber, which was flying at an altitude of 26,500 feet.

Marbry, who was a radio operator on that flight, knew he had 90 seconds to get out.

He deployed his parachute and landed just before pieces of the plane came raining down around him. He learned that four members of the crew died in the crash, and a few hours later he was taken prisoner by the Germans. After 11 months, was finally liberated by a unit attached to Gen. George Patton's Third Army.

"It was a quite an experience," he said. "I wish I could give you all the feelings I have about the men that didn't come back."

“Icky and Me”
By Jack Payne

This story is true - the names of the people have been changed but not enough so that any of them reading this would not know themselves. The dates, times, places and action were taken directly from notes made by the pilot who flew the mission and from the briefing slip and maps for this mission. As for the other details which were recorded only in the pilots memory, they, too, are real, I know. I was the pilot.

It was August, the 9th, 1945. I had just been awakened by the O.D. and was trying to pull myself out of the musty, but warm, sleeping bag which had been dragged all over the South Pacific. It was dark on Ie Shima, not yet 04:30. Briefing was at 06:00. I sat on the edge of my cot now, looking for my socks. "Oh yeah," I thought, "I washed them last night, they're out on the tent rope." Slipping the wooden shower clogs on my feet I stepped out of the tent. The morning was clear, each star as bright and shiny as a speck of blue white diamond. Off to the north I could see the "Witches Tit" silhouetted against the starlit sky. Up there on the rise of ground behind our tent area were the runways, Birch and Plum, and the revetments, where now I could hear the deep-throated rumble of the big Pratt and Whitney R-2800C Wasp engines being started and warmed up by the ground crews. Now the crews would be climbing all over each "Jug", poking their heads in inspection openings and preflighting each plane for its day's work. The ordnance men would be carefully laying about 3,300 rounds of .50 caliber ammo in the eight feed bins and hooking ten five-inch rockets under the wings of two Jugs in each squadron. My old “Bucket of Bolts,” 02, more affectionately called "Icky & Me", which was painted on the cowl, would be getting ten rockets hung under her wings plus external tanks or bombs, depending on the mission we would be partners on today. I found my socks and groped my way back to my cot. As I was pulling on my socks, boots and flying suit my thoughts wandered back to the many other mornings in the past year, I had followed this same routine - always, it seemed, it was dark; always, even in the Pacific, it was cool. Then there were always the same noises - the rumble of the engines being warmed up, or sometimes, a while back, it would be a different sounding engine, maybe a Packard or Allison in a P-40 or P-38, but it always meant the same thing, the fighters were being made ready for their day's business.

I zipped up my flying suit, put a pen and pencil in the breast pocket, and slipped the belt through my hunting knife sheath and buckled it. I picked up the .45 in its shoulder holster from the tent floor, where it laid every night within easy reach from my cot, slipped it on and snapped it fast. As I picked up my helmet and goggles, I looked around at my stuff. It was all there, handy in case one of my buddies had to pack my bags this time.

"Hell, nobody's gonna pack my stuff. I'll carry it home with me when I go!" I thought, as I went outside and turned toward the mess tent. I went into the mess tent and picked up my tray, got two eggs over light and a pile of bacon, some toast and butter, went over to a table and put the tray down. Lt. Brummer put his down next to mine, and we went over to get coffee, took it back to the table and ate.

"I wonder where in hell we're going today," Brummer said, not looking at anyone in particular.

"I don't know," someone replied, "But I bet we get our ass shot off again."

"Yeah, they aren't putting up many fighters these days but they're sure throwing the flak around."

"Well, with none of their own pea shooters in the air they can shoot like hell without aimin'."

"Yeah, well, if we don't get more Jugs in the air today than we did yesterday, they'll have to aim damn good, cause there won't be but only a couple of targets to shoot at!"

"Crap!" exclaimed Brummer, "I ain't goin' up there alone! All them guns will be shootin' at me then, an' my luck's gettin' pretty thin!" So went the conversations around the table at breakfast. When I finished I went over and filled my canteen with water, then put salt in it and shook it up. That salt water tastes like sugar water after a few hours in the air. The temperature in the cockpit gets up to around 120°, and you sweat out a lot of salt.

We all walked over to the briefing tent and sat down. The C.O. with his trailing assortment of aides and intelligence people walked in and, we all popped to, at the first sound of ten-hut!

"As you were," the Colonel said, "We've got a bitch today boys. we're running a little late, so let's get at it. Captain, you give 'em the 'poop'!"

"Your target is Matsuyama West," said the Captain, "it's a large airfield off the northwest side of Shikoku, reported as being a medium bomber base."

Someone handed me a mimeographed mission sheet with a map of Japan on it and places for all the specific information required for this mission. As the Captain read the information, his voice became a monotone in this now silent tent. Every pilot was getting this information on his sheet. A slip here could mean your neck! As the words came, I wrote - Target - Matsuyama West; Man Planes - 07:50; Start Engines - 07:55; Takeoff - 08:13; call signs are: Group Leader - Tycoon; Squadron Leader - Vampire One; Communications are; Primary - A; Secondary - B; Air-Sea rescue - D; IFF - 6; Recognition Lights – Red and amber. The squadron will assemble over Oboe at 08:35; the group over Yoke, at 08:45; route out 25°; weather CAVU.

"Your air-sea rescue units will be at these points," the Captain said. "Playmate 16 and Sub 593 off the southern tip of Kyushu at Cape Sata — their code name today is ‘Blowhole.’ Playmate 15, Jukebox 33 and Sub 539 will be here off the Tozaki Point. This is where you'll need them if you get clobbered. Their code name for today is 'Giltedge'."

"One or two last items you may like to Know before you guys strap on your airplanes," the Captain went on. "Our intelligence reports this field is protected by 83 automatic weapons and six heavies. We expect you'll run into a lot or fighters, your going in pretty deep, and there's a railroad down the west shore and a small refinery just southwest of the airfield, that's it men - good luck and good hunting!"

We checked our watches and piled outside. The jeeps and weapons carriers were waiting to take us up to the parachute room and then to the flight line. The stars had faded now and the sky was getting light. Dawn came fast here in the Ryukyus, so by the time I had put on my "Mae West" and slipped into my chute harness, it was quite light. I tucked my chute pack up over my butt and went over to the jeep that had three other pilots from the 333rd in it, and we bounced off to the line. Lt. Brummer was flight leader with Lt. Holly on his wing. I was number 3 with Lt. Dombray on my wing. Capt. Cary, our squadron commanding officer, was leading the squadron today. If everytning went right tne 333rd would put twelve planes in the air, the 73rd and the 19th squadron the same. This meant tne 318tn group would have 36 P47Ns over the target today.

The jeep dropped Brummer off by "Miss Vivian", Holly by "760" and I jumped off by "02" - "Icky and Me". "02" was a veteran of forty-one missions and an uncounted number of sorties, she was a good airplane, not always flown by me, as I shared her with other pilots on the days I wasn’t assigned to missions. "02" flew every day she wasn't "Red A'd" and that wasn't too often. Icky's crew was a good one; they hovered over her like a hen over her chick.

I started my preflight inspection; this I made a habit of. The crew knew "Icky" better than I, but it was my ass that would be sittin' in this beast for the next few hours, and I wanted to be sure it was all there. As I ran my hand along the leading edge of the stabilizer I remembered my first meeting with "02" back at Hickam Field on Oahu. Several pilots from the 3l8th were flown back to Hawaii to pick up new planes and fly them back here to Ie Shima.

I picked "02". She was brand new, shiny and clean, but was parked right smack in the middle of a big mud puddle at the edge of the taxi strip.

"What a mess this thing's going to be when I give her enough power to move out of this mud," I said to the crewman who was helping me up on the wing.

"Yeah," he replied, "My nice pollish job will be all icky with mud."

And icky she still was when I sat her down on Ie Shima, some 14 flying hours later, and "Icky" she still is. She couldn't fly alone however, and I felt that she belonged to me, so her full name became "Icky and Me".

The people at Republic Avaition, way back on Long Island, U.S.A., had built her. She sailed to the island of Oahu on a Victory Ship and put in combat readiness at Hickam Field. Now I was going to take her into the deep blue Pacific sky and fly her straight into war; that is what this P47N was made for. The "N" was bigger than the old "D" which we had all through the Marshalls and Marianas and the boys in Europe were using. The "N" was built specifically for our war over the vast, trackless waters of the Pacific, it was a VLR (Very Long Range) fighter. Longer wings with squared off tips, a bigger engine, more internal fuel capacity, tail warning radar, auto pilot and many other innovations and improvements just for our type of war. And how well it did it is a matter of record. The first five days of the Ryukyus-Kyushu Campaign the 318th's Thunderbolts had knocked down 54 enemy planes and lost not one of its own and against 17 to 1 odds.

"This is an airplane to fight with," I thought as I continued my inspection. The holes that "Icky" picked up from ground fire yesterday were neatly patched, and a new bottom section was on the engine cowl, She looked good to me, so I climbed the wing and lowered myself into the cockpit.

Everything looked good; the form A and 1A were good. There was a red mark on the generator, "I'll watch that," I thought. I settled my chute in the bucket and reached for the safety belt, the crewman laid the shoulder straps over my shoulders and handed the ends to me as I slipped them through the belt and locked it.

My airplane was strapped on!

I ran through the cockpit check, automatically unlocking the controls, setting the fuel selector on "Main" tank for starting and take off. As I went over the cockpit's controls and instruments from left to right, I plugged in my mike, earphones and oxygen mask, turned on the master switch and pushed the "A" channel on the VHF transceiver. The radio came on just as "Vampire 1" was calling for a radio check. I held the mike button on the throttle handle down, and called, "hello, Vampire one, this is Vampire three, over."

"Roger, Vampire three, I read you, R5-S5 out," came the reply. Then it was time to start the engines. I cracked the throttle, shoved the prop pitch full forward, all switches on, mags on both, and leaned on the energizer. As the pitch of the starter reached its peak, I threw it to engage. The Pratt and Whitney turned over, each prop blade came over the top, then it fired, rumbled and took hold. Smoke poured out the short stacks and out around the cowl flaps as I pushed the mixture to "auto rich", the jug rocked gently, now, as I brought the engine to 800 RPM's. The crewmen were out on the wings. "Icky and Me" were ready.

Brummer went taxing by, then "760". I saw my wing man in "Por-Lil-Fuzzy" coming, slowing down to let me in. I released the brakes and kicked "Icky" around to take my place in the line of taxing fighters.

The tension was building up in me now. The take-off was the first obstacle to overcome, and most any take-off is a bit tense. It is a very critical point,—the airplane is heavy, the engine untried under full load, and the runway is too short. An engine failure on take-off is no bed of roses anywhere, in any airplane, but on Plum strip, with a fully loaded P-47N, every take-off is Hairy! Plum strip was only 4,820 feet long, one third the length of any stateside runway, and here the air temperature was around 80°, so there was less lift and less air for the prop to bite into.

Take-off's on Plum were life or death! One of Republic's test pilots was killed taking off on Plum. His wheels never left the ground till he was at the very end of the runway, and then the "N" tried to fly. God, how it tried! We all watched as, with its nose up and 2,800 horses screaming, it sank slowly toward the rocks on the edge of the cliff. It looked for a moment as if he were going to make it. Then the tail of the fuselage hit, with a sickening grinding noise. Eleven tons of airplane went down over the edge of the coral to eternity - a loud puff as it blew into flames and put a smoky period to it's pilot's life.

Brummer was going down the runway now; I could see him leaning into his shoulder harness as though he were trying to help "Miss Vivian" get rolling faster. His tail was up, the runway was running out—he was off — mushing along — his gear was up — he disappeared below the edge of the runway. I watched and waited. I thought he was out of sight too long — I waited for the smoke, but no — "he made it," I yelled. There, out over the China Sea was "Miss Vivian" - low, but flying.

Lt. Holly rolled out on the runway; I moved up and slewed "Icky's" tail around so that, as I ran the engine up to check mags and prop, I wouldn't blow coral all over Dombray, who was behind me.

Being busy with cockpit and mag checks, I didn't see Holly go off; but I knew he made it all right, my wing men would have let me know if he hadn't. By wing men in this case I refer to the ground crewmen who ride laying on each wing with their toes on the aileron. While taxiing, the pilot cannot see over the nose of a Thunderbolt so the crewmen signal him by kicking the aileron, which the pilot can feel in the stick. Everything checked okay, and I was signalled out onto the runway. I rolled around as close to the end as I dared, held my right brake, and eased the Jug around till it pointed straight down the runway. I then let it roll a few feet, locked the tail wheel and then the brakes. The wing man on the right wing came to the cockpit and I throttled the Wasp back to idle. He told me that my right tire was soft. "Christ no! not now," I thought. "That will keep me on the ground for this mission. "I know," I yelled at him, "it was soft yesterday, too. why in hell didn't you guys put air in it." He shook his head. The Sergeant knew damn well that tire wasn't soft when we started to taxi out this morning, and he knew full well it wasn't soft yesterday either. He hit me on the shoulder and yelled, "Give 'em hell for us, Lieutenant," and jumped down.

The signal officer was winding me up. We took off of this island just as though it was a carrier. With brakes locked we would wind up our engines, then the signal officer would give the go signal. I eased the throttle all the way up—prop pitch full forward. The engine came to full roaring life, twenty five hundred RPM — 50 inches of mercury on the manifold pressure gauge. I cut in the turbo super charger, and the manifold pressure went up to 55, 60, 65 inches of mercury. I flipped on the water injection switch on the throttle - 72 inches of marcury! The Wasp had it all now! "Icky" was screaming; the stick was hard to hold back against the pressure, the noise with my canopy open was a violent ear-splitting thing. The tires were dragging on the white coral surface of the runway. "Jesus, let us go! Before this bucket blows up!", I screamed into the blast of air. The signal officer's hand dropped, and I kicked off the brakes and shoved the stick up to the panel to get my tail up as fast as I could and get rid of the drag of the tail wheel. I, too, leaned into my shoulder harness. "Come on, Baby, let's go," I said aloud. I had to put in left rudder to hold it straight. "That damn right tire," I though, "it's slowing me down." I released the landing gear lock with my left hand, then pushed a little harder on the throttle—the runway was being used up fast now - I could see the end! There was a blur of a red cross as I careened by the meat wagon. There was the end of the runway! "Now, Baby, now!", I yelled, as if it might help. I pulled the gear out from under me and at the same time put back pressure on the stick. I was sinking. I could feel this lousy hunk of iron sinking. "She won't fly," I thought. "This pile of tin will never fly. Come on Icky, up! up!" We sank, belly first, nose up just a little, toward those lousey rocks on the end of the cliff. "Why in hell hadn't the engineers or the Seabees gotten rid of them? I'll move then myself, when I get back," I thought. My hand wanted to bring the stick back more, to pull the ship up a little higher. "No! You'll hang it on the prop, then she'll drop right out from under you," flashed through my mind. I was pushing up against the belt as if to lift her that extra inch or two by myself. "Come on Baby, up! Maybe a little more air speed will do it," I thought. I eased the nose down just a little, now those rocks were in my sights, but the Jug was starting to feel a bit lighter in my hand now! I added a little back pressure on the stick, the nose came up, and so did "Icky", not much but the rocks went under her belly and we were over the water, she was still mushing, but if that Pratt and Whitney just holds on a few seconds more we'll have it made—and hold on it did. Then, with 180 MPH on the clock and climbing, I took back all the bad things I had called "Icky". She was still the best in the air for my money.

The 333rd rendezvoused over Oboe. My wing man had to abort with a generator failure and some of the other planes didn't make the rendezvous for one reason or another. The squadron, instead of 12 planes had 8 - our flight had 3 planes. We picked up the rest of the group at Yoke and picked up our heading. Every so often a plane would slide out of formation and test its guns. I took my turn, slid out and away, flipped the switch to guns only, and squeezed off a short burst. I could feel the eight .50s recoil in the wings as the tracers arced out over the China Sea.

The flight up was routine, each pilot busy with his own thoughts and airplane.

Amami-0-Shima passed 10,000 feet beneath us, then Yaku-Shima came in view on the left, ahead of us. Tycoon leader signaled for combat formation — there was Kyushu. We flew east of the Island over the Hyuga Sea. Right below us, under the ocean's surface lay Sub 539, one of the Air-sea Rescue team today. Playmate and Jukebox would be here soon. They would stay around until all the aircraft were accounted for and all the pilots were safe or beyond their help. The group flew on, everyone on the alert, watching for enemy aircraft. As we bored through the clear morning skies over the very shores of the Land of The Rising Sun, Bungo Channel was slipping by way under "Icky's" belly now. There was the long finger of land with Sada-Misaki Light House on its tip. The group swung around to the east more now, out over the lyn-Nada - we were at 14,000 feet - Tycoon leader let his belly tank go, and I watched it tumble, end over end, down, down, till it went out of sight, I held onto mine because I wanted every drop of gas I could get for that big engine. I'd let my tank go just before I started my target run, and then I'd have plenty of reserve. Tycoon leader with the two other squadrons had moved up and were starting to turn to the southwest now. There they go, looking like silver fish in a clear blue ocean. First Tycoon leader nosed over, ever so slowly, then his wing man, then Number 3, then 4, and as the leader picked up speed in the long dive the spacing grew between him and his wing man, between the wing man and Number 3, and so on. It was a long line of airplanes, spaced evenly all the way down. I watched Vampire One — I saw he was going to take us in short — A different angle than the rest of the flight went. "Good boy," I thought. "All the ground fire will be firing at the wrong angle when we come in."

Brummer gave the peel-off signal. We were going down the chute. Over went "Miss Vivian", the sun glistened on her silver belly for a moment, then the black and yellow zebra stripes of her tail slipped behind Holly's Jug as Holly went up and over. "He's too close!", I said into my oxygen mask, but I was alone at 14,000 feet now, no time to worry about Holly and Brummer. I checked the 360° of sky above me and pulled "Icky's" nose up a little as I rolled her to the left and over, a little back pressure and the nose came through, then we were in the chute. Way down ahead of me I could see airplanes, smoke and tracers. "Icky" was really going down now. "The Belly tank" I yelled at myself. I released it and reset my switches for the rockets, flicked the gun switch to "Guns and Camera" and looked for a target. "There", I thought, "There is a row of 'Zekes' parked along the edge of the field." My mind was racing now. Reality was in slow motion. The tracers floated up toward us, the bursts of flak opened slowly like sooty puff balls in the azure sky. The air speed showed 550 MPH, yet we seemed to close on the first Zero at but a snail's pace! I eased the Jug over, brought my optical sight dead on the first plane, and waited for the range to close. Now! I squeezed the trigger and the eight .50s started spitting steel - I brought the Pipper up through the line of parked fighters. The eight fifties barked their song of destruction. I could see pieces fly off the Zeros as my slugs tore them apart. A lot of automatic weapon fire was coming my way. I could see the tracers knifing through the air past the ship, a huge orange ball appeared right in front of my face, then the world seemed to blow up — I ducked to the side instinctively, and hit my head, hard, on the side of the bubble. I was dizzy and I couldn't see, everything a white haze. Just then my engine died. "This is it, 'Icky'," I said. "You and I are going to part company now." I pulled the nose up to use my excess speed to gain altitude, so I could bail out, then changed my mind and pointed the nose out to the sea. I reached down and switched the gas tank selector to main and hit the emergency full boost switch, more routinely than hopefully. The engine caught. "Hey, chalk one up for you, 'Icky', I gleefully yelled. My head was clearing now and I could see what had happened. A 20 MM had hit square on the thick wind screen, and the heavy 2-inch glass had taken the full impact and explosion of that shell. It was in real bad shape, but still there. I turned in toward shore. There was a small refinery of some type there, the cracking tower was my target. I couldn't use my gun sight because of the shattered windshield, so I leaned to the left and watched my tracers until they started hitting, then the tower blew up in my face! I pulled up and slammed the Jug over on one wing. The blast hurled us up to fifteen hundred feet like a stick, but we were still flyin'. I looked around for a target, out on the Iyn-Nada. I saw two or three airplanes buzzing around a Jap destroyer. I still had my rockets, and here was a worthy target for those ten 5" warheads. I banked around and let "Icky" down to the wave tops, set my nose on the stern of the DD, and opened the throttle to the stop. As we closed on the ship, I could feel "Icky" buck and stagger. We were being clobbered! I started firing at the destroyer, the tracers arched into the water, still out of range, but closing fast. I set the panel to salvo the rockets — Now! I hit the button on top of the stick with my thumb, ten rockets went streaking for their target. I raised the nose and held the trigger down, the tracers whipped into the gun- positions until I roared up and over the DD. I saw the rockets hit the stern, low, near the water line, before I pulled over the ship and as I went over I saw the gun crews lying twisted, by their guns, dead.

"Icky" was hit—and hit bad! That big faithful Wasp was only giving out with 27 inches of mercury, the oil pressure was down and oil capacity was down from 40 gallons to 20, the engine was running very rough. I could see holes in the leading edge of the wings and there were some in the bubble over my head.

I started a long shallow climb as I looked for the rest of the squadron, but there was not a plane to be seen. "Oh boy 'Icky', it's you and I alone again," I said, "and baby, you're hurt." I moved in close to shore and flew southwest toward the Hohyo Strait trying to get some altitude, by the time I reached Hasedo-Hana I had 600 feet under us, so I turned south and crossed the point of land and headed out toward the Bungo Channel. "Icky" was clawing for each foot of altitude she put under her oil-smeared belly now, she had managed to get 800 feet under her, "Boy, what a piece of machinery this gal is, she's shot to hell and still flying — and climbing at that!" Coming in from my right was an airplane, "Oh no! not now," I said, "I don't even dare turn this Bucket of Bolts, let alone fire those eight guns." I only had 160 MPH on the clock. That's practically over the fence speed for landing. The distant plane became a B-24 as it grew closer, I saw we were flying courses that would bring us together in a short while, so I saved "Icky" the trouble of turning to intercept my Mother Hen, for surely that is just what that B-24 was going to be. I would tuck "Icky and Me" right under her big wing and we would fly home together.

As the B-24 and "Icky" came close together I could see the waist Gunner’s grinning face at the port, he waved and I waved, we were like happy little kids who just met outside the dentist office, after the tooth was out!

"Icky and Me" tucked in under the wing and away we went for home. I studied this big bomber next to me with new interest now. She was shot-up pretty bad, the waist gunner's head and arm were wrapped in red-stained bandage, he would go from one side of the Liberator to the other scanning the sky. I dropped a little, in order to see the cockpit, there was only one pilot sitting there. For the first time I noticed the left outboard engine was hanging in its mounts at a crazy angle with feathered prop, these boys were in bad shape too. My Mother Hen was hurt real bad!

"What a set-up for an enemy aircraft," I thought, "A real turkey shoot for any pilot, all the bastard would need to do would be to come up under us from my side of the 24, I would blank out the waist gun’s fire and the Jap could pour all he had into us both."

We were over air-sea rescue "Giltedge" now, "This is it! Should I call 'May Day' and sit 'Icky and Me' in the water now?" I thought. If I ditched here and now my chances of survival were good, "Giltedge" was right under me, "Icky" was still flying, I still had power to set her down right where I wanted her. I could set her so close to Sub 539 that I could walk out on the wing and step over to the sub, but that would be the end of "Icky".

We'd been through a lot together and she was trying, so why condemn her to the ocean to sink? The people at Republic built her to fly and fight and this she was doing! Oil streaked the canopy now and wisps of smoke were coming out around the cowling. That beautiful big Wasp up front was vibrating badly and making odd noises, but it was still running.

My attention was attracted by the waist gunners waving. I turned and looked up in the direction he pointed, and there, about 4 o'clock high were Bogies, not one or two, but at least 30. They were Japs all right, not "Zeros", but a mixed flight of "Tonys", "Jacks", "Tojos", "Vals", and others. "There goes my nice landing alongside Sub 539," I said to myself. "I'd never survive on the water now, because those Jap fighters would blast ‘Icky and Me’ to hell the moment we touched the sea, and if 539 surfaced for me the fighters woul clobber her too. No, we'll stay and fight in our own element."

A sleek "Jack" with a big red meat ball on its side slid out of the formation and started down the chute toward us. I saw the waist gun on the B-24 following the fighter down. I dropped "Icky" down a little and fired a short burst from her eight .50s to give the Jap the impression I was ready and just testing my guns. The "Jack" wasn't pushing us. He turned to fly parallel with us. I started to roll "Icky" toward him when off in the west there was a bright flash. The whole world seemed to light up, then there was a column of smoke rushing skyward. The Jap fighters all swung to the west toward the flash and the smoke which was perhaps one hundred and forty miles away. I watched the fighters disappear to the west as the large cloud of smoke climbed to 40,000 feet and boiled out into a huge mushroom shape at the top — "Nagasaki," I said, "Now I know why we were told not to approach within 100 miles of that city today." I looked at my watch, it was jujt 10:40 A.M., August 8, 1945. "I'll remember this," I thought.

My attention was yanked back to the B-24 above me as the other left engine burst violently into flame. I saw the prop slow down and feather as the pilot tried to keep the big ship on an even keel. The B-24 was losing altitude fast now, and I could do nothing to help. I watched as the pilot turned into his two good engines and let down toward "Giltedge's" position. For the first time I noticed there was no voice on the radio! Was my radio out too? I punched the buttom for "Dog" channel on my VHF transceiver, and there was no sound, I called into my oxygen mask mike, "Hello Giltedge, hello Giltedge, this is Vampire 3 - over." I pressed the earphone against my ear, but no reply came from air-sea rescue. "Hello Giltedge, hello Giltedge, this is Vampire 3 - over," I called again. Then, loud and clear, like a voice from heaven came the reply.

"Vampire 3 this is Giltedge - over."

"Giltedge from Vampire 3, I’m following a B-24 down toward you from the south, he's in bad shape, wounded aboard-over."

"Roger, Vampire 3, we see you, turn west 5 degrees - over."

"Roger, Wilco, Giltedge, Vampire 3 standing by - out."

I eased up along side the B-24 cockpit and signaled the pilot to

bear left a little and tapped my ear phones, he shook his head, indicating his radio was out. The big bomber went around to the heading I had indicated and there directly ahead of us I saw Sub 539. The B-24 let down now, the pilot gave me the high sign with the thumb and first finger forming a circle the other fingers sticking up straight, the universal sign of O.K., thanks, everythings under control, we've got it made.

I watched as the Liberator hit the water, splashed along for a way then settled, yellow life rafts appeared along side the fuselage and the sub came over, they were alright now.

"Vampire 3, this is Giltedge - over."

"Giltedge, this is Vampire 3 - over."

"Vampire 3, aren't you going to ditch that thing? - over"

"Negative, Giltedge, negative," I replied.

"Vampite 3, you're pulling a lot of smoke and your bottom cowl is hanging loose, you don't sound too good - over."

"Roger Giltedge, but she flies and I'm not losing any more power, we'll go home. Well done Giltedge - out."

I turned "Icky" to the south again and started the long climb for Ie Shima.

My oil capacity had dropped to fifteen gallons, fuel was down to about one hundred and seventy five gallons. We had four hundred feet under us now and at least holding it.

My butt was sore. I couldn't sit very comfortably. The sores on my can, from sitting in my own sweat, we're raw again. I loosened my safety belt and chute harness and did a few "in flight" exercises to loosen up my stiff arms and legs, then took a long pull from the canteen of salt water. The water was hot now, but boy, was it good! I cracked the canopy a little to suck out some of the hot air and fumes in the cockpit, took out a cigarette and lit up, then settled back as comfortably as possible.

I couldn't trust "Icky" to the auto pilot, not in the near stalled position we had to maintain to stay in the air. "Icky" had to be gently hand flown, by feel, all the way back to le-Shima.

I bent my course around the southern tip of Kyushu and out over Osumi, the Pratt and Whitney raggedly ran on, why I don't know, no engine ever should have to keep running in that condition. The fuel was getting lower fast, there would be no safety factor today!

Amami-0-Shima appeared on the sea ahead of me, so we were two thirds of the way home now. "Icky" was vibrating bad. We were holding 800 feet of altitude, now we weren't gaining any more. The engine was only giving me 26 inches of mercury, I had the turbo in and the throttle through the war emergency stop, the Wasp had everything I could give her but it didn't have enough left to use it!

Amami-0-Shima slipped by under our belly as the other islands in the Ryukyu chain came into view, we were losing some of our hard won altitude now, the rate of climb showed below the "0" on the dial, not much, but then we didn't have much to waist! I fastened my chute harness and safety belt again. Iheya-Mae-Shima came over the horizon, next one would be le-Shima, home! When "Icky and Me" were over Iheya-Mae, I called the tower on Plum strip.

"Hello Plum tower, hello Plum tower, this is Vampire 3. One duckbill, requesting emergency landing instructions please - over." Duckbill was the code word for P47Ns in the area.

"Vampire 3" came the reply, "Land to the northwest, if possible, on Plum strip, you are clear all the way to pancake - over."

"Roger Plum, I'm in sight of Ie now. I don't have enough altitude to go around to land to the northwest, will have to land southwest - over."

"Roger Vampire 3, wind is ten from 310 degrees. We have you in sight, good luck - over."

"Roger Plum, wind is ten from 310 degrees, I'm coming straight in - out." Plum was right in from of me. "Icky" was smoking badly now and air speed was off to one hundred and fifty five MPH. Oil capacity was almost empty, I was afraid to put my gear down because of the drag, but I didn't want to belly in with all that oil on the Jug's belly either. I pulled the lock on the gear handle, put down a few degrees of flaps, "Icky" staggered in the air, she was near stalling. The runway was rushing up to meet us, I pulled the nose up a little, still full throttle, "Icky" started to sink faster now, I knocked the gear leaver to down position, then the bottom fell out. "Icky" stalled out! I pulled the throttle closed, brought the stick back in my lap and waited, "That tire! That God damn right tire! Was it flat? Was that tire going to pull 'Icky' around in an uncontrolled ground loop after all this?"

Whump! The gear hit the runway, bounced and came to earth again, "Icky" tried to slew around to the right, I put left rudder in hard, then a little left brake, blue smoke curled from the tortured tires as the full force of the violent landing shook the whole plane. We rolled straight, the Curtiss blades ticked over the top a few times then with a weak flump! the Wasp billowed out a cloud of smoke and quit. I rode "Icky" to a stop near the center of the runway, fire trucks, jeeps and the meat wagon were screaming out to meet us. I switched off all of "Icky's" power, "we made it baby!" I said to my airplane. "Thanks to your guts, you and I will always come Home!!!"

a bunch of short stories..

operation manna

With all the destruction the bombing caused, in the Netherlands the heavies are still remembered as live savers. This is because of operation manna, which started on April 29th 1945.

The fact that the northern part of the Netherlands was not liberated after the failure of Market Garden had severe consequences for the big cities in Western Netherlands. As revenge for the rail road strike in 1944, German authorities prevented all food transport to western Holland. The cites entered the worst winter of the war, called the Hunger winter. Hardly any food or fuel was available. Trees were cut down, to be burned for heat and many people, mainly women travelled hundred of kilometres on bike to get some food from the farmers in the eastern part of the country.

After months of negotiations, the german authorities allowed te alles to help these people by dropping supplies from the air. On april 29th, 1945, hundreds of Lancaster bombers dropped 535 tonns of food and supplies, later joined by the B17's of the USAAF. The Germans agreed not to fire on the a/c, although some minor incidents occured, mainly with light weapons. In total 11000 tonns of supplies were dropped during 8 days by 30 RAF and 11 USAAF squadrons. After those 8 days, the German army had surrendered and supplies could be transported in other ways to the hungry dutch.


remarkable kill

The Netherlands, may 1940:
Sergeant pilot J. Roos was flying the Fokker D-21, reg.nr. 225. With two others he had escorted a flight of T-5's, bombing the Maas bridges at Rotterdam. On their way back they were attacked by 12 Me's from Waalhaven. Three of them chased Roos. He was driven in a corner that way that he decided to bail out. As he threw off his cockpit cover to jump off his aircraft he saw the canopy struck the propeller of the following Me, so it was knocked out.
chased D-21
He didn't jump but escaped in the clouds.
Coming out of the clouds he was surprised to be on the tail of another Me. An ideal position to open fire, so he shot down the Messerschmitt.
The moment Roos thought he was safe, his plane was hit by a projectile, obviously from Dutch anti aircraft fire from the ground, and he was thrown out of his open cockpit. Just before reaching the ground he succeeded in opening his parachute and landed, seriously wounded, in the surroundings of Leiden.


more on dutch af

May 10, 1940: After the landing of German transport planes at Waalhaven airport from Schipol airport, an attempt was made by the Dutch defenders to destroy the invaders. Three T-5 bombers escorted by 7 D-21 fighters performed a successful raid and destroyed several Junkers on the ground. The aircrew of II(J)./TrGr 186 had a busy day, shooting down 8 Fokker D-21s - one by Ofw. Kurt Ubben and 2 by Uffz. Herbert Kaiser of 5(J)./TrGr 186 - but lost one Bf 109 near Den Helder and a Bf 109 to ground fire near Borkum. Oblt. Dieter Robitzsch, staffelkapitaen of 5(J)./TrGr 186 was shot down by a D-21, flown by Lt. Jan van Overest and crash landed on De Koy airfield where he was taken prisoner. D-21s from Ja V.A. from De Koy gave the Luftwaffe trouble as they were able to shoot down 4 Bf 109s and harrassed most of the airbourne operations over the Dutch airfields.

a funny story

A Heinkel He 111P was forced to land, with smoke streaming from its port engine, at East Coldingham near St Abbs Head, Berwickshire at 12.30 hours. The enemy aircraft landed in a field in a very remote spot, and as Squadron Leader Douglas Farquhar of No.602 Squadron (whose kill it was) wanted the authorities to examine the Heinkel, he decided to land his Spitfire beside it, to prevent the Germans from destroying their plane, he landed his plane alongside at high speed, the bombers crew looked on in disbelief as it trundled on down the hill and cartwheeled into a bog. They first hauled out their injured rear gunner and set fire to their plane, then ran down the hill to rescue the gallant Squadron Leader, who was suspended upside down by his safety harness, the bomber's crew all took part in this rescue.

By then, the Heinkel was well alight so they all rushed up the hill (Sq Ldr Farquhar included) to pull the German rear gunner further from the flames. The comedy of errors was not quite over, the LDV arrived on the scene over the crest of a nearby hill and because they hadn't seen the Spitfire at the bottom of the hill, assumed that the Squadron Leader was part of the Heinkel's crew, so they arrested him too. It was only when he produced an OHMS envelope bearing his latest income tax demand that they transferred him to the side of the 'goodies'. One of the Heinkel's crew, Fw Sprigarth, was mentioned in Parliament for his part in the rescue.

Squadron Leader Farquhar also took the first British gun-camera film of the war, while attacking and destroying the Heinkel He111 over Coldingham in Berwickshire on that day.


a note to remember

In England monitors heard the German pilots gathering from all over France and Germany to ambush our homeward flight ... All across Germany, Holland and Belgium the terrible landscape of burning planes unrolled beneath us. It seemed that we were littering Europe with our dead. We endured this awesome spectacle while we suffered a desparate chill. The cartridge cases ere filling our nose compartments up to our ankles....

But then we come to the interesting bit at the end:-
The professorial Captain of Intelligence confirmed the story. Eleven unexploded 20 mm shelss were in fact found in Tondelayo's tanks. No he ... could not say why.
Eventually (he) broke down. Perhaps it was difficult to refuse ... the evidence of a highly personal miracle ... Or perhaps ... the truth ... was too delicious to keep to himself. He swore (the crew) to secrecy.
The armourers who opened each of those shells had found no explosive charge. They were as clean as a whistle and as harmless. Empty? Not quite, said the Captain ....
One was not empty. It contained a carefully rolled piece of paper. On it was a scrawl in Czech ... Translated, the note read:
'This is all we can do for you now'.

"what ever you do..DONT FLUSH!"

We were to fly to England to look at this new type artillery shell. They called it a proximity fuse shell. It was a different kind of artillery shell, which exploded above 15 feet from contact of anything. It automatically exploded. This allowed them to shoot down more planes and blow up more open-end trenches that the Germans were hiding in. The Colonel took us with him because they had extra room on the plane.

We got to London and he went to the Cumberland Hotel and we went to the Red Cross. Well, while we were there a Buzz bomb come over and hit the hotel. So we had to go back and get his luggage which was still there. As we entered the building we were told that his room was on the fifth or sixth floor. The bomb had really made a mess of the place and there were some Englishmen laying there wounded on the stretchers and we asked if we could be of any help and they said, "Yeah, sure, mates, you can help carry some of the wounded out."

So when I was getting ready to carry this one guy out he opened his eyes and he looked up and he said, "Hi Yank, how you doing?" I said, "Well we are doing all right." I said, "You are going to be all right." I offered him a cigarette which he said sure. "We are going to take you out of here in a little while." I said, "What happened?" He said, "Tell you the truth Yank, I don't rightly know. I was in the pisser, he said, and I just finished and he said, I was shaking my wicky wacky. I reached up to flush it, pulled the chain and the whole "focking" building came down!

Now this was because in England, they had water closets. There is a pipe and the tank is over the toilet. When he pulled the chain on the toilet to flush it, the place blew up at that instant! He thought he was responsible for it blowing up. We convinced him he wasn't.

lawrence thompson meets a legend...

( sounds a little far fetched to me but interesting reading...)

"this was my first major dogfight I had in the war, in January 1945. I was flying a P-51D and we were supposed to meet with bombers over Romania. Well, the bombers never showed up! And we kept circling and wasting our fuel. When we were low on fuel the squadron leader orders us back to base, with the top group at 24,000 feet and the four bait Mustangs ordered to 15,000 feet. Now you might not really think about it, but the difference in altitude, 9,000 feet, is almost two miles, and assuming that the top flight could dive and rescue the 'bait' airplanes, it might take a full sixty seconds or more for the top group to come to the rescue. A heck of alot can happen in sixty seconds. Earlier, I requested to fly in the bait section believing that I'd have a better chance to get some scores (at that time I had no victories either) and this was my seventh mission. I have to say now that I grew up in Kansas City, Kansas, and my older brother flew a Jenny biplane in the late 1930s, so I learned the basics of flying even before joining the Army.

So we're all heading back to Italy when, all of a sudden, a dozen or so Me109's bounce us. From one moment it's a clear blue sky, next moment there are dozens' of tracers passing my cockpit. I'm hit several times and I roll over to the right, and below me is an P-51, heading for the deck, with an Me109 chasing him. I begin to chase the Me109. All this time I believe there was another Me109 chasing me! It was a racetrack, all four of us were racing for the finish line! Eventually I caught up with the first Me109 and I fired a long burst at about 1,000 yards, to no effect. Then I waited until about 600 yards, I fired two very long bursts, probably five seconds each (P-51 has ammo for about 18 seconds of continuous bursts for four machine guns, the remaining two machine guns will shoot for about 24 seconds). I noticed that part of his engine cowling flew off and he immediately broke off his attack on the lead P-51. I check my rear view mirrors and there's nothing behind me now; somehow, I have managed to lose the Me109 following me, probably because the diving speed of the P-51 is sixty mph faster than the Me109. So I pull up on the yoke and level out; suddenly a Me109 loomes about as large as a barn door right in front of me! And he fires his guns at me, and he rolls to the right, in a Lufberry circle. I peel off, following this Me109. I can see silver P-51s and black nosed camouflaged painted Me109s everywhere I look, there's Me109 or P-51 everywhere! At this time I cannot get on the transmitter and talk, everyone else in the squadron is yelling and talking, and there's nothing but yelling, screaming, and incoherent interference as everyone presses their mike buttons at the same time. I can smell something in the cockpit. Hydraulic fluid! I knew I got hit earlier.

.... I'm still following this Me109. I just got my first confirmed kill of my tour, and now I'm really hot. I believe that I am the hottest pilot in the USAAF! And now I'm thinking to myself: am I going to shoot this Me109 down too?! He rolls and we turn, and turn; somehow, I cannot catch up with him in the Lufberry circle, we just keep circling. About the third 360 degree turn he and I must have spotted two Mustangs flying below us, about 2,000 feet below, and he dives for the two P-51s.

Now I'm about 150 yards from him, and I get my gunsight on his tail, but I cannot shoot, because if I shoot wide, or my bullets pass through him, I might shoot down one or both P-51s, so I get a front seat, watching, fearful that this guy will shoot down a P-51 we're approaching at about 390 mph. There's so much interference on the R/T I cannot warn the two Mustangs, I fire one very long burst of about seven or eight seconds purposely wide, so it misses the Mustangs, and the Me109 pilot can see the tracers. None of the Mustang pilots see the tracers either! I was half hoping expecting that they'd see my tracers and turn out of the way of the diving Me109. But no such luck. I quit firing. The Me109 still dives, and as he approaches the two P-51s he holds his fire, and as the gap closes, two hundred yards, one hundred yards, fifty yards the Hun does not fire a shot. No tracers, nothing! At less than ten yards, it looks like he's going to ram the lead P-51 and the Hun fires one single shot from his 20mm cannon! And Bang! Engine parts, white smoke, glycol, whatnot from the lead P-51 is everywhere, and that unfortunate Mustang begins a gentle roll to the right.

I try to watch the Mustang down, but cannot, Now my full attention is on the Hun! Zoom. We fly through the two Mustangs (he was taken POW). Now the advantage of the P-51 is really apparent, as in a dive I am catching up to the Me109 faster than a runaway freight train. I press the trigger for only a second then I let up on the trigger, I believe at that time I was about 250 yards distant, but the Hun was really pulling lots' of negative and positive g's and pulling up to the horizon. He levels out and then does a vertical tail stand! And next thing I know, he's using his built up velocity from the dive to make a vertical ninety degree climb. This guy is really an experienced pilot. I'm in a vertical climb, and my P-51 begins to roll clockwise violently, only by pushing my left rudder almost through the floor can I stop my P-51 from turning. We climb for altitude; in the straight climb that Me109 begins to out distance me, though my built up diving speed makes us about equal in the climb. We climb one thousand fifteen hundred feet, and at eighteen hundred feet, the hun levels his aircraft out. A vertical climb of 1,800 feet! I've never heard of a piston aircraft climbing more than 1,000 feet in a tail stand. At this time we're both down to stall speed, and he levels out. My airspeed indicator reads less than 90 mph! So we level out. I'm really close now to the Me109, less than twenty five yards! Now if I can get my guns on him.........

At this range, the gunsight is more of nuisance than a help. Next thing, he dumps his flaps fast and I begin to overshoot him! That's not what I want to do, because then he can bear his guns on me. The P-51 has good armor, but not good enough to stop 20mm cannon hits. This Luftwaffe pilot must be one heck of a marksman, I just witnessed him shooting down a P-51 with a single 20mm cannon shot! So I do the same thing, I dump my flaps, and as I start to overshoot him, I pull my nose up, this really slows me down; S-T-A-L-L warning comes on! and I can't see anything ahead of me nor in the rear view mirror. Now I'm sweating everywhere. My eyes are burning because salty sweat keeps blinding me: 'Where is He!?!' I shout to myself. I level out to prevent from stalling. And there he is. Flying on my right side. We are flying side to side, less than twenty feet separates our wingtips. He's smiling and laughing at himself. I notice that he has a red heart painted on his aircraft, just below the cockpit. The nose and spinner are painted black. It's my guess that he's a very experienced ace from the Russian front. His tail has a number painted on it: "200". I wonder: what the "two hundred" means!? Now I began to examine his airplane for any bullet hits, afterall, I estimate that I just fired 1,600 rounds at the hun. I cannot see a single bullet hole in his aircraft! I could swear that I must have gotten at least a dozen hits! I keep inspecting his aircraft for any damage. One time, he even lifts his left wing about 15 degrees, to let me see the underside, still no hits! That's impossible I tell myself. Totally impossible. Then I turn my attention back to the "200" which is painted on the tail rudder. German aces normally paint a marker for each victory on their tail. It dawns on me that quick: TWO HUNDRED KILLS !! We fly side by side for five minutes. Those five minutes take centuries to pass. Less than twenty five feet away from me is a Luftwaffe ace, with over two hundred kills. We had been in a slow gradual dive now, my altitude indicates 8,000 feet. I'm panicking now, even my socks are soaked in sweat. The German pilot points at his tail, obviously meaning the "200" victories, and then very slowly and dramatically makes a knife-cutting motion across his throat, and points at me. He's telling me in sign language that I'm going to be his 201 kill! Panic! I'm breathing so hard, it sounds like a wind tunnel with my mask on. My heart rate must have doubled to 170 beats per minute; I can feel my chest, thump-thump and so.

This goes on for centuries, and centuries. The two of us flying at stall speed, wingtip to wingtip. I think more than once of simply ramming him. He keeps watching my ailerons, maybe that's what he expects me to do. We had heard of desperate pilots who, after running out of ammunition, would commit suicide by ramming an enemy plane. Then I decide that I can Immelmann out of the situation, and I began to climb, but because my flaps are down, my Mustang only climbs about one hundred feet, pitches over violently to the right and stalls. The next instant I'm dangerously spinning, heading ninety degrees vertically down! And the IAS reads 300 mph! My P-51 just falls like a rock to the earth! I hold the yoke in the lower left corner and sit on the left rudder, flaps up, and apply FULL POWER! I pull out of the dive at about 500 feet, level out, (I began to black out so with my left hand I pinch my veins in my neck to stop blackout). I scan the sky for anything! There's not a plane in the sky, I dive to about fifty feet elevation, heading towards Italy. I fly at maximum power for about ten minutes, and then reduce my rpm (to save gasoline), otherwise the P-51 has very limited range at full power. I fly like this for maybe an hour, no planes in the vicinity; all the time I scan the sky, check my rear view mirrors.

I never saw the Me109 with the red heart again. At the mess I mention the Me109 with the red heart and "200" written on the tail. That's when the whole room, I mean everybody, gets instantly quiet. Like you could hear a pin drop. Two weeks later the base commander shows me a telex: "....according to intelligence, the German pilot with a red heart is Eric Hartmann who has downed 250 aircraft and there is a reward of fifty thousand dollars offered by Stalin for shooting him down. I've never before heard of a cash reward for shooting down an enemy ace ... "

The florist remembers the call. Make a silk arrangement suitable for a grave. Deliver it to the
country cemetery south of Arnold on Nov. 11. So Lisa Geiser, owner of Pretty Petals Floral, set
it on the grave of Lt. Roland C. Potter, an American pilot who died in combat Jan. 14, 1945.
The arrangement was ordered by a former German fighter pilot named Theo Nau. Six decades
ago in the skies over Germany, Nau and Potter met briefly as enemies.
He’s not sure if the memory is his, or if the story was told to him. Either way, what happened
feels like a memory to him now.
It was 1948, and Roland K. Potter was 5. The boy everyone called by his middle name, Kerry,
was dressed up, standing with his mother and other adults. The boy asked why everyone was
crying.
“She said, ‘When you get a little older, I’ll explain it to you.’”
Over the years, he would understand they were crying at the funeral of his father, Roland
Potter. After his P-47 Thunderbolt went down, the remains of the 23-year-old were buried in
Germany. Then they were moved to France. Finally, three years after his death, the pilot’s
father brought them back to the Sandhills.
Roland C. Potter was born Sept. 4, 1921, and grew up on a farm outside of Arnold, but he
knew he didn’t want to spend his life tethered to the ground. In the early 1940s, he took flying
lessons in Chadron while he was a student at the local college.
His life moved quickly after the United States entered the war. He enlisted in the Army in May
1942 and was assigned to the Air Corps. He married Betty in November and, a month later,
was assigned to active duty.
Their son was born Sept. 1, 1943, while the pilot was learning to fly P-47s in Texas. The
mother waited to name him until her husband made it home on leave, so for a time, relatives
called him P-47.
When he returned to Arnold, Betty snapped a photo of her husband holding their son. Family
legend says the name Kerry came from a character in a comic strip, a pilot.
By November 1943, the father was flying combat missions in the European Theater.
Theo Nau learned to fly when he was 14. After he joined the German Luftwaffe, he eventually
was put behind the controls of one of their primary fighter planes, the Messerschmitt 109.
On Jan. 14, 1945, Nau was flying with a squadron of German fighters who had a lone P-47 in
their sights. The 19-year-old pilot engaged in the battle and hit the American plane above
Heltersberg, Germany.
The Thunderbolt trailed smoke and appeared to be attempting a crash landing. Nau wanted to
follow, to learn the pilot’s fate, but he only had time to note the plane’s tail number before
realizing another American plane was firing behind him.
Bullets struck the tail of Nau’s plane, then just behind the cockpit. Nau pulled into a turn but
couldn’t lose the Thunderbolt, which stayed about 50 yards behind. After about five minutes,
one of the American pilot’s machine gun bursts struck the Messerschmitt’s engine.
Smoke poured out of the plane. Nau bailed, but not before he saw the numbers on his adversary’s plane.
He severely broke his arm and was hospitalized for three months. Later, he was taken prisoner
by Americans, who turned him over to the Russians. He escaped from a POW camp and when
he made it back to his hometown, he found bombs had destroyed his family’s home and killed
his father.
The war was over, but the pain was just beginning.
Back in the Nebraska Sandhills, Betty Potter worked at the bank in Arnold to support her son.
She rarely spoke of her dead husband but made sure her son knew Roland Potter was a good
man who died for his country.
In 1950, she married John Nelson. Together, they had two daughters, Sandra Jespersen, who
now lives in Lincoln, and Susan Nelson, who lives in Arnold. John Nelson raised Kerry like his
own and today they share a father-son relationship.
As a kid, Kerry Potter built plastic models of P-47s and collected books about the Thunderbolt.
He attended the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, where he studied geology and enrolled in the
ROTC program. After college, he joined the Air Force and trained as a pilot.
He married his sweetheart, Elizabeth VanSickle of Lincoln. In May 1969, he left behind his wife,
pregnant with their first child, to serve in Vietnam. He flew more than 200 missions in F-4
Phantoms and returned about a year later to his wife and daughter.
He made the Air Force his career and was stationed all over the world, including Germany. He
retired as a colonel and lives with his wife in Wasilla, Alaska.
For a period in the Air Force, he was assigned to pilot an A-10 jet, also called the Thunderbolt
II.
Nau spent his working life running his family’s wine and brandy distillery in Germany. Now
retired, he and his wife live in Bacharach, on the Rhine River.
For decades, he wondered about the fates of the Americans he met Jan. 14.
Over time, he made friends with former American pilots who helped him track down U.S.
military records of the dogfights that occurred that day. Using the plane numbers and times and
locations of the fights, they eventually came up with the identities.
He learned the pilot who shot him down was an ace fighter named Capt. Joe Cordner, a Native
from North Dakota who died in 1965.
Just months ago, he learned the pilot he shot down was another ace who had survived 80
missions and brought down three enemy aircraft.
His name was Lt. Roland C. Potter of Arnold, Neb.
So Nau contacted a friend, Carl Kahn of Lincoln, who flew American planes in World War II. At
his friend’s request, Kahn made the arrangements to have flowers placed on Potter’s grave.
“I was a very young kid then and Lt. Potter was a young kid then,” Nau said, explaining his
gesture. “We loved to fly. We did not love war.
“The war was terrible ... it was terrible and I hope we have no war in the future.”
When Kerry Potter heard about the flowers from a friend in Arnold, he was shocked. Then he
felt touched by Nau’s gesture.
Fighter pilots, regardless of uniform, share an unwritten code of respect. They know what
happens in the skies is duty.
Nothing personal.
“This particular pilot did not set out that day to kill Roland Potter,” he said. “I think it was nice of
him and an honorable thing to do.”
Still, Potter said, he has no plans to talk to the old German pilot.
Not because he harbors hard feelings, but because he’s concerned it would be difficult for Nau
to hear what the war forced him to take away 61 years ago.

Thanks for posting bobby. I really appreciate these stories.

brazilian airforce in ww2

The First Brazilian Fighter Group consisting of four squadrons arrived at the Italian port of Livorno on the 6th October 1944. The Brazilian pilots started taking part in war missions, flying their new P-47 Thunderbolts on the 31st October 1944, and along with the US 350th Fighter Group were part of the Tactical Air Force of the Mediterranean which supported the US Fifth and British Eighth Armies.

On the 6th November the Brazilians suffered their first loss in action when: 2nd Lieutenant Cordeiro e Silva was killed by anti-aircraft fire in the region of Bologna. Then on the 11th November, the group began operations in squadrons formed exclusively by their own pilots and picking their own targets.

A month later, on the 4th December 1944, the Brazilians, together with the 350th Fighter Group, moved to Pisa airfield, 124 miles to the North and very near the front, which allowed the group to take better advantage of the range of their aircraft.

The Brazilians operated in Italy in the role of fighter-bombers, attacking rail and road bridges, railway stations and tracks, airfields, artillery positions, barracks and troop concentrations, and ammunition and petrol depots, Occasion the Brazilian airmen had the opportunity of supporting the Brazilian Expeditionary Force directly; such as on the 20th February 1945, the day before the BEF took Monte Castelo.

On the 4th February 1945, 2-Lt Danilo. were shot down in flames whilst attacking trains to the Southwest of Treviso. Baling out. Lieutenant Danilo walked for twenty-four days, across enemy territory before joining the partisans and finally getting through the front lines to rejoin his comrades.

Of the 48 pilots of the Brazilian Unit who carried out war missions, there was a total of 22 losses; five being killed by anti-aircraft fire, eight had their planes shot down and baled out over enemy territory, and six had to give up flying operations on medical orders. Three others died in flying accidents.

The 1st Brazilian Fighter Group accomplished 445 missions, making 2,546 flights and 5,465 hours flight on active service. It destroyed 1,304 motor vehicles, 13 railway wagons, 8 armoured cars, 25 railway and highway bridges and 31 fuel and munitions depots.

footnotes:

Brazil was the only Latin American country to send troops to the European Theatre. Brazil declared war on the Axis powers in July of 1942 and a force of 25,000 was prepared to be sent to Italy.

The arrival of the Brazilians in the winter of 1944-45 had caused a near panic in finding Portuguese speaking interpreters. In addition the Brazilians arrived wearing light clothing which was completely inappropriate for Appennine blizzards. Re-equipped with American uniforms it was found that the Brazilians had much smaller feet than the average American or British Soldier and finding sufficient footwear became a Quartermasters' nightmare.

The First Brazilian Infantry Division consisting of the 1st, 6th and 11th Brazilian Infantry Regiments, served in the IV (US) Corps of the Fifth (United States) Army in the Italian Campaign during 1945.

Brazil was one of only two Latin American countries to actually commit military forces during World War II, the other being Mexico.

THE BADGE OF THE 1ºGAVCA

The badge of 1ºGAVCA was designed while the Squadron was travelling to Italy aboard the transport ship UST Colombie by a group of its pilots, Ten.-Av. Rui Moreira Lima, Ten.-Av. José Rebelo Meira de Vasconcelos, Ten.-Av. Lima Mendes and Cap.-Av. Fortunato C. de Oliveira.
Drawn by the latter, it can be described as follows, according to its author:

- The green-yellow surrounding represents Brazil;
- The red field behind the fighting ostrich represents the war skies;
- The bottom field - white clouds - represents the ground to a pilot;
- The blue shield charged with the Southern Cross is the common symbol for the Brazilian Armed Forces;
- The ostrich represents the Brazilian fighter pilot, whose face is inspired in that of Ten.-Av. Lima Mendes, and also the stomach of the veterans of 1ºGAVCA;
- The white cap was part of the FAB uniform at the time and distinguished the Brazilian pilots from the other Allied pilots;
- The gun being hold by the ostrich represents the firepower of the P-47, with its eight .50in machine-guns;
- The motto "Senta a Pua!" is the war cry of 1ºGAVCA;
- The white streak, at the right, ending on a flak burst, was added later, and represents the danger brought by the German anti-aircraft artillery to the pilots (this device appeared only on replacement aircraft).

The use of an ostrich to represent the Brazilian fighter pilots comes from the fact that, during the early Forties, several Brazilian aircrew went to the USA to fly back to Brazil the aircraft then being bought in large numbers by the Brazilian authorities, not only training but also combat aircraft. During their stay in that country, they got acquainted to American food: baked beans, powder eggs and powder milk, among other items. The then Cel.-Av. Geraldo Guia de Aquino dubbed the pilots "ostrichs" and the nickname caught.

The war cry "Senta a Pua!" was a suggestion from Ten.-Av. Rui who had heard it several times from Cap.-Av. Firmino Alves de Araujo while serving at Salvador Air Base; it was used by the latter on his subordinates, inviting them to do their tasks at once and quickly. It became the Brazilian equivalent of the British Tally-Ho and the French "A la Chasse!".

IN ACTION!
The Brazilian pilots initially flew from 31 October 1944 as individual elements of flights of the 350th FG US squadrons, at first in affiliation flights and progressively taking part in more dangerous missions.

Less than two weeks later, on 11 November, the Group started its own operations, flying from its base at Tarquinia, using its call-sign Jambock.

The Group was divided into four flights, Vermelha (Red), Amarela (Yellow), Azul (Blue) and Verde (Green).Each flight had a complement of roughly 12 pilots, these having been flying together since their training spell in Panama. A pilot customarily wore an echarpe in the colours of his flight. The CO of the Group and some officers were not attached to any specific flight.

The Thunderbolt colour scheme
Initially the P-47s were finished in standard US fighter colours, olive-drab (top surfaces) and neutral grey (undersurfaces) (except those aircraft of the commander and operations officer which were finished in natural metal and olive-drab anti-glare panels). The badge of the Group was painted just after the engine cowling, and the aircraft code (flight letter-aircraft number) was in white letters over the cowling.

National insignia was in four positions, this being the US star-and-bar, with the white star replaced by the Brazilian star. Later, replacement aircraft were in natural metal, with olive-drab anti-glare panels, the codes being in black .

what goes around comes around....

This is one of the amazing but true stories of WWII
The Evaders
By Roman Turski

I was born in Poland, where before the last war religious intolerance was not uncommon. In spite of my father’s objection to my participation in anti-Semitic demonstrations in Warsaw, I often heaved stones at windows of stores owned by Jews. I had no qualms about my actions, and later it took months of hardship and persecution-and a Jew- to show me how to abide by the Biblical injunction: “Love thy neighbor as thyself”.
When Hitler annexed Austria and war seemed imminent, I quit my job as instructor of a flying club in Lyons, France, and started for home. My plane developed engine trouble and I had to land at Vienna and stay there overnight to have it repaired.
The following morning, just as I stepped out of my hotel to buy a few souvenirs before checking out, a man who came running past the door bumped into me and sent me reeling. Outraged, I grabbed him and was about to give him a piece of my mind when I saw his face was white with fear. Panting heavily, he tried to wrench himself from my grip and said, “Gestapo—Gestapo!” I know only a little German but understood he was running from the dreaded German secret police.
I rushed him into the lobby and upstairs to my room, pointed to the foot of my bed and motioned him to lie down. I covered his slender, jackknifed body with artfully draped blankets so that the tousled bed looked empty. Then I pulled off my jacket, tie and collar so I could pretend I’d just got up if the Gestapo men came. In a few minutes, they did. They examined my passport, returned it and shouted questions, to which I replied: “Ich verstehe es nicht-I don’t understand it,” a phrase I knew by heart. They left without searching the room.
As soon as they had gone I lifted the blankets. The poor man let out a stream of rapid German. It was not necessary to understand a word to comprehend his gratitude.
I got out my flight chart and, by gesturing and drawing pictures on the margin of the map, explained that I had a plane and could take him out of Austria. He pointed to Warsaw, and his expressive hands asked: “Would you take me there?” I shook my head and made him understand that I had to land for fuel in Cracow. I drew pictures of police and prison bars to illustrate that he would be arrested upon arrival at any airport, and made it clear that we would land in some meadow just over the Polish border and he would get off. He nodded with satisfaction, and his narrow face and dark eyes again conveyed deep thanks.
The customs and immigration men at the airport waved us through when I told them my friend wanted to see me off. My plane was warmed up and ready for flight. We quickly climbed into it and took off. We crossed Czechoslovakia and soon saw the thin ribbon of the Vistula River and the city of Cracow. Landing in a large field by a wood near a country railroad station, I showed my companion where we were on the map, gave him most of my money and wished him luck. He took my hand and looked at me wordlessly, then walked rapidly into the woods.
When I arrived at Cracow airport there was a detachment of police waiting beside the immigration inspector. One of the police said, “We have a warrant to search your plane—you have helped a man escape from Vienna.”
“Go ahead and search it. Incidentally, what was the man wanted for?”
“He was a Jew.”
They searched my plane, and of course had to let me go for lack of evidence.
The war came, and after Poland’s short and bloody struggle against the Germans, in which I served as a fighter pilot in the Polish Air Force, I joined the thousands of my countrymen who wanted to carry on the fight for freedom. We crossed the border into Rumania and were promptly caught and sent to concentration camps. I finally managed to escape and joined the French Air Force. After France collapsed I went to England and fought in the Battle of Britain. The following June I was wounded while on a fighter sweep across the English Channel, when the Luftwaffe hit us over Boulogne. In those early offensive missions we were always outnumbered and outperformed by the Luftwaffe, and our only superiority was morale.
As we started for home I rammed an Me-109 and was hit by a piece of it’s sheared off tail. I was half blinded with blood. My squadron covered my withdrawal across the channel, but I was unconscious when my Spitfire crash-landed in England. (I later learned that my skull had been fractured, and that I was so near death that the head surgeon of the hospital to which I was taken believed it would be almost useless to operate on me.)
When I returned to consciousness, I gradually realized that a narrow face with large brown eyes was looking down at me. “Remember me?” their owner said. “You saved my life in Vienna.” He spoke with a trace of a German accent.
His words ended my confusion. I recalled a sensitive face and managed to say, “How did you find me?” I noticed his white smock. “Do you work here?”
“It’s a long story,” he replied. “After you dropped me off I made my way to Warsaw, where an old friend aided me. Just before the war I escaped and reached safety in Scotland. When one of your Polish squadrons distinguished itself in the Battle of Britain, I thought you might be in it, so I wrote to the Air Ministry and found you were.”
“How did you know my name?”
“It was written on the margin of your map. I remembered it.” His long fingers felt cool on my wrist. “Yesterday I read a story in the newspapers about a Polish hero shooting down five enemy planes in one day and then crash-landing near this hospital. It said your condition was considered hopeless. I immediately asked the Royal Air Force at Edinburgh to fly me here.”
“Why?”
“I thought that at last I could do something to show my gratitude. You see, I am a brain surgeon—I operated on you this morning.”

shot down over dunkirk...SQNLDR K.B. McGlashan AFC

"...As the battle developed beneath me, two fighters, Messerschmitt Bf109s, slipped by 3,000 feet below emerging ahead and to my right at a great rate of knots. They were obviously seeking out the tails of my leading sections and had positioned themselves in the classic six o’clock position. I flicked my gun switch to ‘live’ and readied to roll my machine over to initiate a diving attack on the diving fighters. A screech came over my ineffectual TR9D radio, filling my helmet with deafening, squawking static. I later learned it was Geoff Howitt warning me of the five 109s diving on us, attacking from our port quarter. Howitt broke hard left and crossed in front of me, yet I was still none the wiser. Amidst this melee, I was concentrating on my attack and had totally neglected to look behind. The first indication I had of anything going wrong was when the armour plate behind my head began ringing like an alarm clock. Before I could draw breath, bright red tracers started bombarding my cockpit, whistling between my legs and ravaging the panels of Perspex and fabric to my left. The incendiary-tipped tracers assist the pilot in seeing where his shots are landing and from my perspective I could see them landing very well. As my instrument panel began disintegrating before my eyes, my thoughts leapt suddenly to the vapour-rich petrol tank that sat just behind the instruments. Momentary horror turned to short relief when I recalled that the tank was self-sealing.

The attack had been lightning quick. I slammed the control stick forward and to the right, entering a downward roll and sending the world spinning around. The back of my legs stung as metal splinters spat from the maze of piping fragmenting beneath my feet. Engine coolant, oil and all variety of hot fluids showered me as the scent of smoke began to fill the air. Foolishly I had been flying with my goggles atop my helmet and now the mix of smoke and oils that were bringing down my aeroplane were also serving to partially blind me. My cockpit had become a scene of absolute chaos. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the attack abated. Gathering my thoughts, I pulled the aircraft out of the dive and assessed my situation; not good. Bleeding oil and coolant, I knew my Hurricane was done for and I began readying myself to bail out. With the threat of fire growing, I cut the engine, switched off the fuel and set about sliding back the hood. My vision was getting worse and I fumbled to get the canopy back. Three times I tried and three times it slid closed. In my enthusiasm to get out, I was failing to lock the canopy open and a sense of incarceration came across me. Being trapped in a fiery cockpit was the dread of every fighter pilot and for a moment I began to wonder if this is how my war was to end. A moment after that, the second attack started.

The left hand side of my canopy exploded again as the red tracer ravaged what remained of my aircraft’s port side. With the engine shutdown, I was literally powerless. Again I slammed the stick forward, though this time to the left. I combined inertia with gravity, accelerating my wounded machine downwards. I felt a wallop and then a trickling sensation down the back of my leg and thought that I’d copped a hit in the backside. [It turned out to be a direct hit on an Agfa cartridge in my pocket, allowing the film to unfurl in my trousers.] Headlong, vertical and hurtling towards Terra Firma, I had a moment of unexpected clarity and recalled banter at the bar that formed a consensus that 109s were poor at recovering from dives. With the earth looming large in the windscreen and absolutely nothing left to lose, I decided to apply this theory. At the last possible moment I hauled back on the control column with all of my remaining might. As the blood drained from my head, my world faded to ‘black and white’ and then just black........."

another blurb about SQNLDR K.B. McGlashan AFC
from the book DOWN TO EARTH: A Fighter Pilot's Experiences of Surviving Dunkirk, The Battle of Britain, Dieppe and D-Day

…as the Squadron’s only “single engined” pilot, I was to be sent to Abbotsinch to collect the sole dual control Battle in the country. On its return, the aircraft would be used to convert our “”twin engined” pilots to its ways with a minimum of pain. Well, that was the plan anyway…

…having familiarised myself with the type, I readied to take my new steed to its new home. The weather surrounding the airfield was bleak and foggy as I lifted off and started into the climb. Previously unaware of their presence, I found myself flying through a section of tethered barrage balloons over Glasgow. Through sheer good fortune I escaped harm at the hands of the helium-filled defence system. A few years later I would witness the lethal potential of Barrage Balloons as they dotted the skies over Crewe. One of our own, a Shorts Stirling, flew into the cables, exploding into a fireball before falling to earth and killing the entire crew. I could only reflect about my earlier escape.

With the near-miss behind me, I set course for Leconfield. Passing Thornton Hill, I had no sooner settled in for the flight when my engine stopped, leaving things very quiet. This was particularly embarrassing as I was not at a great height at the time and confronted with extremely limited options. It had been a very hard winter and the small rolling foothills were snow coated with a deeply frozen core of soil beneath. Without further ado I chose a field ahead. My selected area was divided by a small track crossing it and terminated with a house and garage at the far end. Not ideal, but it would have to do. Setting my speed and lining up on the field, I experienced a very uncomfortable feeling. The Battle was the first aircraft I had flown with retractable undercarriage and the proximity of the ground without my wheels lowered was rather unnerving. My next action seemed logical at that moment, but with the benefit of hindsight and experience, it was a basic error. I lowered the undercarriage.

I impacted the frozen earth well into the chosen landing site and bounced high above the snow. Floating over the track that I had noted on approach, my eyes caught those of a woman pushing a pram with a baby in it. I touched down again and stuck this time. Surmounting the crest of the hill, I started down at a great rate before striking a hedge which served to shear off my main wheels. The aircraft fell to its belly with little loss in speed initially and was now effectively a Royal Air Force toboggan heading straight for the residence’s garage. I tried to gain some directional control by kicking the rudders, though this proved very ineffective other than to slew the aircraft slightly from side to side. Throughout, the Battle’s course remained true. As I contemplated whether I would stop in time, one of the double doors opened and a head protruded to take in proceedings. The head was then rapidly withdrawn and reappeared through a side door, at speed, with body firmly attached.

clobber kain and his hurricane...

Cobber' Kain was born in Hastings on 27 June 1918. Following school, he worked as a clerk in his father's warehousing business in Wellington.

In 1936 he obtained his private pilot's licence with the Wellington Aero Club before leaving New Zealand in November for London to join the RAF. Kain began his flying training in January 1937 and in late November was posted to 73 Squadron. Re-equipped with Hurricanes in 1938, the squadron was fully operational by March 1939 and on 24 August was ordered to mobilise for war.

Four days after war was declared 73's sixteen Hurricanes flew across the Channel to France. On 10 September 1939 Kain flew his first operational patrols, but saw no enemy activity. On a defensive patrol on 8 November Kain spotted a Do 17 reconnaissance aircraft ahead and above him. It began to climb and Kain followed, making two attacks but seeing no results. At 27,000 feet, with his Hurricane showing signs of strain, he attacked again and the Dornier dived steeply. Kain followed but pulled out when he saw fabric peeling off his wings. The Dornier crashed into a village, exploding on impact and killing the crew.

On 23 November he shot down another Do 17. Due to bad weather there was little flying in December, January and February. On 1 March 1940 Kain fought an action with two Bf 109's. His Hurricane was already damaged when he shot the first one down in flames. The second fighter attacked him, stopping the Hurricane's engine with a cannon shell but then flew off, leaving Kain to glide thirty miles from 20,000 feet to reach French territory. When his engine caught fire Kain prepared to bale out but got back in his seat when he saw his parachute strap was not in position. Fortunately the flames went out and Kain glided on to a forced-landing on Metz aerodrome.

On 23 February Kain received a Mention in Dispatches and in mid-March he was awarded the DFC. He was by now the centre of a blaze of publicity and his was a household name. On March 26 Kain destroyed a BF 109 and probably a second but then with his own engine on fire he baled out, with shell splinters to his left leg, a bullet-grazed left hand and burns to the face.

Kain went on leave to England on 2 April and before he returned his engagement was announced. Back with the squadron he damaged a Bf 110 on the 23rd. German air activity now intensified and on 10 May 1940 the blitzkrieg was launched. In the next ten days Kain destroyed five more enemy aircraft and probably destroyed or damaged another five.

On 22 May he was posted back to England. With other pilots he left early on the 23rd but on arrival Kain and another pilot were ordered to report back to 73 Squadron at once. They were put on administrative duties and Kain did not fly again until the 25th, when he destroyed a Do 17 but had to make an emergency landing in his damaged Hurricane. He destroyed an HS 126 on the 26th and another DO 17 on the 27th.

Kain continued to fly as his unit retreated from one airfield to the next and on 5 June he shot down a Bf 109. On the 7th he was ordered to return to England immediately. The following morning a group gathered to bid him farewell as he took off in his Hurricane to fly to Le Mans to collect his kit. Whether he felt that those watching below expected him to put on a last show will never be known but he performed a series of low level aerobatics before crashing into the ground. The Hurricane broke up and Kain, fatally injured, was thrown clear.

Kain's official score is fourteen confirmed victories but was more likely to be between fifteen and twenty. Whatever the true facts may be, 'Cobber' Kain - as the first Allied ace of the war - had ensured his place in history.

Vladimir Markov

I was attracted to flying whilst still a young child. As a young lad I was active in a modellers' group and in an aeroclub. The instructors at the aeroclub were just like fathers to us. Their relationship with us was warm and friendly too. At the aeroclub we were kitted out with overalls and boots. We even got the 'Voroshilov' food allowance. We'd get up early in the morning, the dew still lying on the grass, the aeroplane standing ready for you. Do a flight and then off to the station - train to Moscow. That's how we learned to fly.

As I finished at the aeroclub at the end of 1939, a decision was taken to send me to the Serpukhov Flying School. I disagreed with the decision to study there. Why? My sister's husband (later to die near Smolensk) was a fighter pilot who had graduated from the Kachinskiy flying school. He told me, "It's great that you've gone into flying, but I don't advise you going into the naval air service."

I went to work at the 'Red Proletarian' factory, but was soon called up. We ended up at Klyuchevsitsy aerodrome just outside Novgorod. To begin with we remained separated from the rest, but by the end of a month we had completed basic military training. After that the 36 of us were summoned to the commanding officer to discuss our progress. We went in and were told: "You've now become part of a splendid aviation division and your duties will be guarding air-force equipment." At that point one of us stood up and said, "Excuse me, but I graduated from my aeroclub and have a certificate to prove it". Of the 36 of us, 34 had a passing-out certificate, yet we were being sent on sentry duty!

In the spring of 1941 we were called before a medical board, and on the 19th June I found myself enrolled in Moscow Military Pilots' School №2, located at Izmailovo aerodrome. Our tents were already erected, headquarters was on sight and there was even a pilots' mess room.

On the 21st June we went to bed, but next morning we were surprised that there was no reveille. We went down to the mess for a bite to eat but learnt that war had broken out. There was no panic, we were already morally prepared for such eventualities. They started splitting us up into appropriate groups. I don't wish to boast, but I'd had a pretty good induction to flying. I was attached to the group transferred to Chertanovo aerodrome. I was promoted to flight leader, and our instructor, Lilya, was a pretty young lady with a strict code of conduct.

Within a month the first air raids on Moscow had begun but our training continued. One day I was sitting in the cockpit and Lilya approached me saying, "Volodya, what would you like to serve in?" "Fighters." "OK." It was the end of our training and postings were in sight. I was sent off to Pavletskii station to travel on to Krasnodar. It was there we began to fly Polikarpov I-16s.

When Rostov-on-Don surrendered in the summer of 1942, anyone who was a poor flier was transferred to ground forces and sent the front. Later on we were to see a column of wounded amongst whom were those who had been on our course.

Any remaining trainees were withdrawn from Krasnodar to just outside Saratov. There we were re-trained on 'Yaks' and sent to the 8th Reserve Air Regiment at Bagai-Baranovka. It was there that I had to prove the regiment's good name before an Air Force Committee. I had to fly a circuit, fly cross-country, fly blind and demonstrate flying expertise in the combat zone. There followed firing at a drogue, ground targets, and individual aerial combat. My drogue score was 9 out of 60. Pretty good. My flying skills were scrutinised and I was told, "The Chairman of the Committee will now lead take off. You are to fly into the operations' zone and demonstrate your reconnaissance abilities and carry out a search. Engage in a dogfight and we shall assess your fighting capabilities." We both took off in Yak-1s. I spotted his plane and moved up in formation with him. He began spinning this way and that. I closed up right behind him and wouldn't be shaken off. With some annoyance he said, " Right, keep up, and land with me."

After this I left for the front. I went to the 91st Regiment of the 256th Division. The Divisional Commander was Hero of the Soviet Union Gerasimov, a Spaniard and friend of Kamanin - a decent bloke. Our regiment had been formed even before the war. He had taken part in operations in Bessarabia. The war caught up with him in Shepetovka and it was there that the regiment suffered its first bombing raid. Hero of the Soviet Union Major Romanenko was appointed Regimental Commander. We were stationed on an airfield between Kozelets and Borispol'. Experienced pilots accompanied us, the reinforcements, over the whole of the front line, pointing out everything. So we began to provide air cover for our ground troops. I became wingman to the Squadron Commander Borkov, from Leningrad. When I reported to him, he was sitting there reading a map. "Reporting for duty, sir," I said. He looked up: "You'll be flying with me, and if you lose touch with me, you're for it..!" But since I was a competent pilot, he had no opportunity of carrying out his threat.

Soon afterwards the Kiev operation began, and real fighting followed. On the 6th there was a particularly tense situation. First away on operations was Romanenko with his group. With him flew my friend Reptsev. Both went missing. Flight commander Misha Shilov did not return from the next sortie. Two-three hours passed and at 7 o'clock that evening we were sitting in the mess when up came a rider on a horse, Shilov to all appearances, swathed in bandages. It turned out he'd shot down a Heinkel-111 but had been hit in the process. After he'd done a belly landing, some kids had come running up to him saying in Ukrainian, "Mister Pilot, get away from here, there's Germans all about". He was secreted to some woman who gave him a dress. He'd scarcely had time to get a bite to eat when there was a thump at the door. He instantly leapt up onto the stove and just sat still. In came some Germans. Shilov had decided that if anything happened he would start shooting and jump through the window. The Germans spread out across the room, giving it a thorough looking over. They saw Misha sitting on the stove with his back to them. But his hair was so long, just like a woman's. "Who's that?" they demanded. The houseowner said that it was a woman staying there on her own, going to see her sister and just passing through. The Germans calmed down and asked in broken Russian, "Got any eggs or milk?" They had something to eat and left.

Soon after the loss of Romanenko, Kovalev was promoted to Regimental Commander - a real pilot. What followed? On one occasion we flew out from Kopaigoraya on a reconnaissance mission and discovered some strange-looking haystacks. They were arranged in chessboard fashion, not like they are in the countryside. We descended a little and then even lower. We discovered that they were camouflaged tanks. Back at base we reported all that we had seen. The Germans, it seemed, were preparing a counter-attack. Soon after this reconnaissance flight our commander told Neokov, " You and Tsygankov fly over to Zhulyany, top up with antifreeze and get kitted out with your winter uniforms." This was at the end of November. We took off, arrived at Zhulyany, and had just dispersed for landing when we got the message: "As you were. Reform at such and such a coordinate. You'll be covering a group of 'Ilyushins'." Tsygan and I set off, he flying to my right. I lost touch with him in the clouds and began to search around. It was then that I saw my time was running out, fuel was low, and it was time to land. So I did. Tsygan was already down. I asked,

"Where were you?"

"Right there with you. So you didn't notice anything then? They almost got you. A 'Focke Wulf' came right up on your tail. Another few metres and he'd have got you."

"Thank you, Vanyusha," was all I could say. I hadn't seen anything in those clouds.

There were battles of all kinds at that time. We flew a lot of missions escorting 'Ils'. On the 23rd February I chased a "Peshka (Pawn)". It was one of our planes, but the Germans were flying it unmarked and without its stars. But I couldn't catch up with it - the oil temperature was already 120 degrees and the front line was nearby. I decided to break off and return.

In the spring we were dispatched to Kharkov to collect some new planes, Yak-9Ts. We didn't have long to fly them because by summer at Bagai-Baranovka we'd already got Yak-3's. I was given the first production model to test fly. Yes, a good machine, but the engine was sluggish. What was the matter? A test pilot was called in from the factory. He said to me, "You don't know how to fly it." "Well, you fly it then." He climbed in, took off and disappeared somewhere. Then we saw him coming towards us with smoke trailing behind. He said, "There's something wrong here. You're right, the engine 's not firing properly."

Then came a telegram that Golovatyi had bought the plane for Yeremin. We sent this "one off" to him. No doubt a new engine would be fitted and he would get it in perfect working order. We received the new machines on Monday, June 13th. The general staff and Yakovlev's deputy turned up. They wanted to take our photo. We all turned our backs, saying that it was Monday, and, whatsmore, it was the 13th - unlucky and a bad sign. Our photos weren't taken.

During the first two days of the Lvov operation the weather was bad and we were grounded. We were scrambled on the third day. Regimental Commander Kovalev led the flight. The ensuing battle was no joke: 22 of ours against 85 of theirs, all at an altitude of 1500 to 1700 metres. The fight went on for some 40 minutes then stopped unexpectedly. At the time I was already a senior pilot. I looked around trying to find Shilov, my flight leader. I'd only just seen his plane with number 69 on it. He was flying support to the regimental navigator. Borkov and I put down at a neighbouring airfield - our own was too far away. Even after we'd been refuelled Shilov still wasn't back. I said, "He's got to come back. I saw him." But we couldn't wait any longer for him. We got back to our airfield about 90 minutes later. There was still no sign of Shilov. A fitter suggested, "Happen he's had to make a forced landing." We found out later that he'd crossed the front line and come under anti-aircraft fire. He got a direct hit and his engine packed up. He thought that he was in a front line area so decided to land. He dropped his undercarriage, set his plane down and ran on until it came to a halt. He leapt out, but all around were Germans. He was captured. This was a great source of worry for us. I became flight leader in Shilov's place. Then the Lvov operation came to an end and we transferred to Trostyanets. There I shot down a '109'. Initially we had approached each other head on, but I did a 180? turn behind him and brought him down.

Just at that time our regiment was awarded the Order of Bogdan Khmelnitskii. For a whole month we tested out our Yak-3s under frontline conditions. For each sortie we wrote a report on how the machine behaved. And it turned out there was a range of designer flaws. Particularly serious were problems with lowering and retracting the undercarriage.

Our squadron was based at Dembitsy, just to the west of the Vistula. One day we were sitting around playing dominoes, and it was drizzling. A young woman came up to me and said, "I know you." "Where from?" "I'm Shilov's sister" -he had two sisters at the front- "You know, I'd like to collect his things so that they're not sent back to mum and upset her." All the lads fell silent. I said, "Come on then." I explained to her how only yesterday we had received a letter from a certain woman doctor. She wrote that, in a former prisoner of war camp in Przemysl where her medical unit was stationed, she had seen an inscription on the wall of one of the barracks. "I, Shilov Stepan Mikhailovich, eternally devoted to the Party of Lenin and Stalin, was shot down in a fierce dogfight over Ternopol on 16th July 1944. Whosoever reads this, please inform..." That was how we found out that he was a prisoner.

I remember flying one time with the deputy squadron leader to a neighbouring fighter group situated just 1? km from the front line. For that reason we had to come in at hedge-top height to avoid revealing its position. No sooner had we landed than we saw the Divisional Commander, Gerasimov, coming towards us. Cursing, he said,

"So, you figured on flying over in weather like this! Stay here till the morning. Today's the anniversary of the division's formation. There'll be medals, a concert and a supper. And that's for your efforts," he said passing out some spirits and we found some beer to go with it. What were we supposed to do with it? I said to the deputy Squadron Leader,

" Tol', let's take off our tunic tops, wrap it up and stow it behind the armour-plated seat. The main thing is to avoid getting into a dogfight en route."

"Right. Let's do it."

The next day a breeze sprang up. We set off at treetop height. Looking up we saw Germans above and squeezed right down to ground level, but there was a herd of something there and I picked up a bit of wool on my tail. We landed back at Zheshov (Strzyow). I set down but Tolya said,

"I can't land, my instrument are all haywire." He went round for a second approach, and made it this time. The commander saw this.

" Smarten yourselves up!" he barked - he was so angry. We immediately buttoned up our tunics. He went on:

" Why didn't you come back yesterday?"

"Gerasimov wouldn't let us fly in such weather."

"Well, you've brought something back with you, I hope?"

"Of course."

"Off you go, fall out."

In January 1945 we were part of the air cover provision for the troops fighting for Krakow. On the 20th we completed 5-6 sorties in a day, and as evening approached we arrived at Krakow airfield. The aerodrome had been mined and we had to land to the right of the landing strip. 'Lavochkins' were coming into land head on. Everyone just got down as best they could. The town was ablaze. We were billeted to a five-storey building and at about 10-11 o'clock we went back to the aerodrome for an evening meal. The commander was not there, he had remained behind at the previous base. His deputy had us sit down round a П-shaped table for de-briefing. We all had a drink, but realised something was wrong with it. The mess sergeant said, "Comrade pilots, don't worry, it's special rations, it's all above board, and thank you for your efforts." Next morning I got up feeling awful, but three others were still laid out and unable to get up. You felt hungry but the moment you ate anything your guts knotted up. We were baffled as to what had happened. No one went for lunch. That evening a girl suddenly came running in: "Comrade pilots, anyone who's been poisoned must get themselves to the first-aid post immediately." Off we ran and got checked over. It turned out one of our blokes had collapsed and the girl had gone blind. 26 pilots - the whole of the regiment had been poisoned! I've no idea how or to where we were then taken. We were lain two to a bunk. Nuns looked after us. A navigator and two other pilots died and several went blind. True, the mess sergeant died too - the stupid sod had served us methyl alcohol. I was laid up for ten days and only on 2nd February could I fly with my wingman, Vanya Kudenchuk, on a mission.

Spring was in the air, it was already warm and everything was thawing out. We set course for the allotted zone - south-east towards the small town of Gorlitz. Our task was to provide air cover for our tanks. The patrol zone was overcast, the broken cloud suggesting that it wasn't all that solid and thick. There were small breaks in it, at a height of about 1200-1300 metres. For some 35-40 minutes we patrolled giving cover in the target zone. When our operation time was up we turned about face and flew off in the direction of our aerodrome, hoping on our way to root out some enemy ground target and assault it. We flew on at a pretty good 500-550 km/hr. All quiet, it seemed. So I said to my wingman, "Vasya, let's find something to hit, it's not on returning to base with all weapons unused. At that very moment I happened to turn my head to the left and saw eight Me-109's coming up behind out of the cloud at high speed. Instantly I shouted to my wingman, " Vaska, eight of them coming up on our tail." The thought flashed through my mind - low on fuel, they'd obviously been stalking us.

To avoid being hit I had to veer steeply to the left and get into the clouds to gain the advantage. It's a good job we had the speed. I didn't climb, but Vasya, behind and drifting wide on the outside of his turn, picked up speed and plunged through the cloud. From the other side of the cloud cover he shouted that there were eight FW-190s. Their plan was clear: with our fuel about to run out, force us to climb high then shoot us down or at least force us to crash for lack of fuel. I did a U-turn in the clouds, flew a little further on then dived below the clouds. I saw, flying in line astern, two pairs of Me-109s. The leader of one of the pairs spotted me - he side-slipped into the cloud, but I managed to head off the leader of the second pair with a burst of fire from the clouds, then get him in my sights and loosed several more bursts at him. He rolled over onto one wing and went down. I too immediately dived into the clouds - almost out of fuel and no longer able to continue the fight. I reported in to an observer. Ground control told me, " No Soviet losses. Execute a 555 (return to base)." There was no way of finding my wingman. About five minutes later, breaking out from the cloud I saw a Me-109 ahead flying a parallel course. I ducked back into the clouds and when I emerged a few minutes later he had disappeared. I returned to base. At the very point of landing my propeller stopped. So I landed without power. The Yak-3 flies fine for 1? hours, but then you have to get down. Clearly we'd been flying all this time on petrol fumes! I crawled out of the cockpit and walked about in a daze. No wingman. They told me, though, that none of ours had gone missing. A couple or so hours passed. Then I heard the sound of an engine. Yes, it was № 75, Kudenchuk! As soon as he touched down his undercarriage gave way. "All right," I thought, "we can fix that, no problem." It turned out that he'd landed at Pokryshkino, had been refuelled but nobody had noticed that he'd been holed. We were lucky on this occasion, very lucky!

On March 31st we flew out to attack Ratibor (Raciborz) airfield. The group was lead by Regimental Commander Kovalev. We got into a dogfight. I suddenly found myself on the tail of a pair of FW-190s. My wingman Gena Smirnov repulsed an attack on me from another pair and gave me the chance to attack the FW-190s. I shot down one, but as I chased after my wingman, German flak began to cut me off. I sensed that I'd been hit, the plane began to vibrate. It was cloudy with mist about. In such circumstances it was impossible to look for my group. Gena and I withdrew from the action, swung round onto course "0" reckoning on finding a main road. Before us in the haze a pair of Me-109s were following a parallel course to their own airfield. I could not overtake them because my machine was vibrating and I could not put on speed. I said to Gena, "Attack if you can, I'm right behind you." The Germans appeared not to spot us. Gena turned slightly to the right and attacked. I followed, a little distance behind. He got one but the second 109 quickly went into the clouds when he saw the attack. Like it or not, though, we had to return home. The cloud ceiling kept us down to 300-400 metres. I just could not recognise the locality although previously I had lead groups into this area several times already. We kept to our compass bearing "0" but in reality the course was quite different. Fuel was running low. The plane was shaking, so I decided to find a landing strip and set down. All around appeared quiet and I spotted a suitable landing site below me. I informed Gennadii, " Cover me, I'm going down". I landed, ran on a little, but the wheels began to dig in. The plane threw its tail up into the air and came to a halt. I leaped from the plane and noticed a chap driving a cart. I dashed over to him, drawing my pistol. Seeing me, he said in broken Russian, " I'm a Pole." I asked him whose territory was I in and where was the nearest airfield. He replied that it was Polish territory, now in Russian hands but that the front line was some 10-15 km away (waving his arm in it's direction). He added that there was an airfield at such and such locality. The aerodrome was quite close by in the event. I dashed to the plane and told Gena over the radio where to fly. I said, "Land there and come and get me." He flew away but returned 7-10 minutes later explaining over the radio, "I couldn't get down, the airfield's like a sponge, waterlogged and it's too dangerous to land." Following my suggestion he too landed alongside me as his fuel was about to run out.

It subsequently transpired that that there was magnetic distortion in this region. That's why the compass bearing was incorrect. Once we'd entrusted our aircraft to the local Polish authorities for safekeeping, we picked up our parachutes and with the help of the Poles made our way to a station. As it happened, we used to fly in overalls, and sometimes in sports clothes so that we wouldn't be taken for officers. That followed stories that officers were given rough treatment or shot when captured by the Germans.

From the station we travelled two stops and then got back to the airfield late at night on lorries from a motorised battalion that delivered ammunition and fuel to our troops. It was later revealed that six pilots, including we two, had not returned from the combat sortie. The Regimental Commander was pleased about our return especially since our aircraft were still intact. A team of fitters flew out to the site of our forced landing, they fixed my plane, refuelled it and flew it back to the aerodrome.

On 8th April our regiment was stationed at Grotkau. That morning the weather was fair, high cloud and a slight haze. My friend Misha Pyatak and I got orders to do a reconnaissance of the town's railway station and aerodrome located to the east of the town. Bypassing the airfield and the town itself, we approached from the west. At the station there were three fuel-tanker trains facing towards the front line. You got the impression that they had just arrived, although from the air there was no sign of them being unloaded. We reported our findings back to ground base. We immediately got orders to do two "dummy" runs to ascertain whether the Germans had any flak batteries. We did as commanded and reported that we had not been fired on. As it turned out the Germans had clearly not wished to give themselves away. We skirted the town and, setting a course towards the north-east, flew off in the direction of our airfield. We applied the 'scissors' manoeuvre as we flew, gaining speed to keep as low as possible and avoid ground fire. As we skimmed over an airfield we spotted a couple of airborne Me-109s which had just taken off. We were in a favourable position to attack with no need to deploy. We dived down to attack both. Lesha lead the attack, but after the first salvo his guns jammed. He shouted over the radio, "You continue the attack," which I did. One went down. We overshot the wingman, veered left and departed at hedge-top height for our airfield. We reported back to the commander who decided to send Tolya Malyshev and Vit'ka Alfonskii to attack the fuel train. We told them all we had seen. Malyshev approached his plane behaving in a somewhat unusual manner. I said,

"Tolya, what's the matter?"

"I've got a funny feeling. You know, it's stuck in my memory, being on fire whilst over the Kursk salient."

"Cut it out, Tolya! Good luck!" I retorted.

They flew out in their Yak-3s. An hour passed. The weather was getting steadily worse. A little while later there was the roar of an engine. One Yak came into land. It was Alfonskii.

He told us that they had flown off along our route towards the railway junction. They knew from us that there was no anti-aircraft fire. They had made their first approach on the trains at an angle to remain over the target as long as possible. But as they began to pull away, everything on the ground that could shoot opened up on them. A round hit Malyshev in the feeder tank. Alfonskii said he saw white, then black plumes of smoke coming from Malyshev's plane. Tolya began to be overcome by fumes and so he opened the cockpit canopy. (We flew with the canopy closed. We had been trained to. Incidentally, we also had to be trained in radio skills because initially radios weren't used. Only when the ranks of radio-operator 3rd, 2nd, 1st class and master radio-operator were introduced - and attracted extra pay - did we start using them.) So Tolya opened the canopy. I ought to say that we were flying in German gauze flying helmets. We had got our hands on them just outside Brzeg. Of course, when wearing flying helmets with integral headsets your head starts to sweat and your hair falls out. Even silk skullcaps were no salvation. Flames engulfed Malyshev's head. Alfonskii called out, " Tol'ka, hold on!!!" It was still about 15 km to the front line, but had only some 900 metres of altitude. Clearly he couldn't hold out any longer. He flipped the plane over on its back and ejected. He was captured but returned to the regiment on 13th May.

Breslau (Wroclaw) was taken on 7th May. We remained on combat roster as whole flights. The planes were kept supported on trestles alongside the landing strip. On duty with me were Lesha Pyatak, Yura Danilov and Gena Smirnov. It was approaching lunchtime. The weather was clear and sunny, real spring conditions. Suddenly we saw half a dozen Me-109s brazenly flying towards us along the landing strip at a height of 1500 metres. We were up into the air instantly as the alarm sounded. Following us up were two or three pairs of aircraft from another regiment based here alongside us at the airfield. A dogfight ensued. The group of German planes split apart. One Me-109 was attacking a Yak from a different regiment. It so happened that I was the nearest and best placed to attack the Messerschmitt. I gave one burst, then a second. I saw puffs of smoke from his engine, his flailing propeller halting, the face and expression of the German pilot - looking back over his left shoulder at me, the big white crosses on the wings of his plane. This image is burned into my memory. One more burst of fire, he flipped the plane over onto its wing and limped off towards the front line, trailing smoke.

As evening approached a group of Petlyakov Pe-2s supported by Yaks arrived, having carried out their mission. All the bombers landed and almost all the accompanying fighters. Just one Yak was on its third approach and dropped its undercarriage textbook fashion. Just at that moment a Me-109 attacked it at high speed, coming straight out of the sun at low level. We shouted, as if the pilot could hear, "Look out, there's a Me-109 on your tail!" He had been forewarned over the radio, it seemed. He banked sharply to the left and the Messerschmitt overshot at high speed. The attack failed. But that was not the only incidence of the Fascists coming to get their own back for their compatriots.

On May 8th we transferred to just outside Berlin. The weather was clear. The Regimental Commander ordered me up into the air: "Fly to area such and such..." I flew on and reported, "Prince, this is Swallow -8, carrying out a 204 (i.e. one of a foursome of planes), a mission, please." Came the reply, "Swallow-8, Markov, thanks very much for your work, execute a 555." That was the only number that signified return to base. I said, "Prince, you've made a mistake, other groups have been here, I've just arrived." I got a repeat message: "No mistake, execute 555, thank you for your work." As I was approaching the aerodrome, the regimental commander Kovalev chided me, " I'm serious about this, why has Swallow-8 returned?" I said I'd give a report after I'd landed. The fact of the matter was that our unit's anniversary was designated for the 5th May, but it had been rearranged for the 8th. Six pilots were ordered to remain on duty, the rest get ready for the party. I, though, had a sort of feeling deep inside about this, with everyone sprucing themselves up, so I didn't. And I was proved right, I heard the alarm going off. It was around two o'clock in the afternoon. The whole regiment dashed to the airfield and took off en masse in the direction of Prague. I brought back two holes in my plane - one bullet had hit the feeder pipe, a second had lodged in a wing spar. And with that the war ended. In all I had flown 139 combat missions and had brought down six enemy aircraft.

I, Khukhrikov, Iurii Mikhailovich, am a native Muscovite, in the fourth or even fifth generation. My ancestors were Dorogomilovo coachmen. My great grandfather, Stepan Khukhrikov, was a foreman of the Dorogomilovo coachmen. He drove cargo and passengers in the area of the Kiev Station. There used to be a Khukhrikov Lane, End, and Market in that area. The Khukhrikov Market was before the Borodino Bridge if you walked from the MID (the Ministry of Foreign Affairs), when descending toward the Moskva River. I was born in a military family. My father and uncle were military specialists. They had fought starting from 1914, and after the revolution worked in the Main Engineering Directorate of the General Staff starting in 1921. Father had the rank of a colonel, and uncle -- a lieutenant general. I was born in 1924 and lived and went to school at Chistye Prudy, opposite the Coliseum, now it is the Sovremennik Theater.

From 1930 to 1941 I went to School No.311 on Lobkovskii Lane, now it's called Makarenko Lane. I went to school with Iurii Nagibin [a well-known Soviet writer] (that's his mother's last name, back then he was Frumkin). Also with Zhenia Rudneva [Evgeniia Rudneva -- future female night bomber pilot]. She was older than me, and was already in the Aviation Institute before the war. Such were the people with whom I got to go to school.

In 1940, by fair means or foul, I joined an aviation club. They had turned me away from everywhere -- said I was too young. But I finally got what I wanted, and they let me in on the condition that I would bring a note from my parents saying they were not opposed. For the first time I took off into the air on a U-2 in September 1940, at the Kraskovo Airfield near Moscow.

In 1941 I was already 17. We had already flown from Kraskovo to Scherbinka, near Podolsk. There was a very flat field there. We organized an airfield, set up tents, and continued flying. On 1 May 1941 I, as the aviation club student, participated in the last peacetime parade on the Red Square.

In July 1941 I graduated from the club. They gave me a certificate of completion. It would help me out a lot later. All aviation clubs sent their students on to aviation academies. We were supposed to go to Tbilisi. But because the war started, all 1941 graduates were sent to Saratov, where we started flying SBs. They called it a "candle". It was completely unprotected, and besides that, made of duralumin -- any bullet or shell fragment caused a fire. I started flying it, and then an order came from the Defense Ministry: "Transfer the Saratov academy to the Airborne Forces". Soon they brought in gliders: US-4, US-5, Sh-10, G-9, "Stakhanovets". These were all sports models. There were also ones for airborne troops -- "RotFront-8" and "RotFront-11". Experienced instructors also came -- Iudin, Anokhin, and others. We immediately started flying gliders. We would be towed by U-2, R-5, SB, Douglas, and others. This way we gained experience. The plane would make a circle and at the height of 500-600 meters we would detach. We circled and were supposed to land near a landing sign. You couldn't afford to make a mistake in these gliders. For example, after making the last turn, if you miscalculated, you could fall before the landing signs, there was nothing to pull you up -- no engine! So you would fall. That's why we made our approach aiming to overshoot. And in order to descend, we banked and dived, which allowed us to lose altitude, and then landed with a minor deviation. We flew not in Saratov, but about 30 kilometers from the city, German villages were there. The residents had been deported. Villages remained unoccupied. That was where we lived and flew. Wide Volga steppe. A nice place to fly a glider.

Besides that I went through training as a diversionary group commander: explosives, hand to hand combat, fought dogs. Yes! Yes! We put on gloves, coats, and fought dogs. Like everyone, in October 1941, I submitted a request to be transferred to fighter aviation. It worked! On December 31 I was transferred to a fighter aviation academy. There we immediately began flying UT-1, UT-2, I-16. Our Belyi Kliuch Airfield was located 18 kilometers from Ul'ianovsk, not far from the Volga. Excellent airfield, good approaches.

Yes, I forgot to mention that in October I and my comrade Boria Bezrukov, with whom we had gone to school and the aviation club, and later found ourselves at the Saratov academy, had to deliver some things to Moscow. They were bales, boxes -- we came, signed, turned over the cargo. Then Boria and I decided, as patriots, to go to the front.

We infiltrated to the forward positions. Found rifles, fired them. 45mm guns were deployed next to us, real soldiers were there. Already experienced people. The Special Department worked well in that area. They found us out, that we were strangers:

"Who are you? Where from?" We told them everything that happened.

"What do you have?" That's where the certificates from the aviation club and the papers about our trip to Moscow helped us out.

"Get out and don't come back!" We picked up and ran. We got lucky with transport -- came to Saratov and no one found out about it. All of that took no more than a week, at least it went unnoticed. But I did get the "For the Defense of Moscow" medal. After I left for Ul'ianovsk from Saratov, Boria was killed. When we would fly gliders at night, 8 men sat in each glider as passengers. He happened to fly as a passenger. The glider caught up with the plane, the cable caught on a wing and tore it off. Everyone was killed.

We started to train in Ul'ianovsk -- and then an order came to retrain for IL-2.

A.D. The aircraft were delivered?

Yes. They brought in more than 30 from Kuibyshev.

I graduated from the Ul'ianovsk academy in 1943. Why so long? I was lucky! Many graduated after the war ended! They picked out only the most gifted, so they would teach us as little as possible -- there was no fuel.
So they sent us to a reserve airfield at Diad'kov, which was 18 kilometers north of Dmitrov. That's where pilots learned combat skills -- bombing, shooting. All of that took literally several hours. Possibilities were limited. A buyer from the front would come -- and we would go with him. Zhora Parshin came for us -- he was an ace! A ground attack pilot! He shot down ten aircraft in an IL! He fought from the first day of the war and to the end. Excellent man. I met him often later in Leningrad on the Liteinyi Avenue. It was 1944 when he took us. We found ourselves in the 566th Ground Attack Aviation Regiment. This regiment was the first to get its own honorary name -- Solnechnogorsk. It fought there, at Moscow. Everyone died, to a man. From 1941 only Afonia Machnyi remained, and even he lost his mind after half a hundred sorties, from 1942 -- only Leva Korchagin remained, from 1943 -- a little more, and so on. During the war the regiment lost 105 pilots and 50 gunners. 28 of us came to the division -- 15 were killed. Such were the losses.

I was put into the 1st Squadron of the 566th Regiment. Mykhlik was the squadron commander. Future Twice the Hero of the Soviet Union. We were lucky -- it was a period between operations, there was an opportunity to train, fly in formation, go into the zone. War began, and we started working at full steam in the Baltics. The regiment mostly fought in the Central and Leningrad fronts.

We fought in IL-2. It was an excellent aircraft for those times! Carried 600 kilograms of bombs, 8 rockets, 300 23mm shells for VIa cannon (150 per gun), and 1800 rounds for each machine gun -- 3600 rounds. The gunner had a 12.7mm Berezin machine gun, 10 DAG-10 distance aviation grenades for the protection of the lower rear hemisphere. If a German appeared, you would press a switch, and a grenade would fall on a parachute and explode 150 meters away. Besides that, an infantry submachine gun and grenades.

A.D. They say IL-2 was difficult to handle?

No. Not at all. I-16 -- yes. Especially when landing.

A.D. How useful do you think the rear gunner was?

The gunner was necessary. His usefulness is beyond question.

A.D. Did you already have all metal IL-2?

Yes. All aircraft were already equipped with radios. The only thing was that we sat on gasoline: a tank under me, a tank in front, a tank between me and the gunner. We were all in gasoline.

We started in the Baltics, went through Prussia, and finished in Wittenberg, from where we flew sorties to Koenigsberg and even Danzig.

We got hit a couple of times. A shell hit a wing on the twenty-eighth sortie. We made it back miraculously -- the hole was about a meter in size. If a bullet hits, the smell of burned metal can be felt. I smelled it. Turned my head -- there it was, a hole. But I was lucky -- the shock wave and fragments went to the gunner. His legs were mangled. Communications were disrupted. We landed in Wittenberg. I taxied, turned off the engine, jumped out onto the wing -- the gunner, Viktor Shakhaev, Siberian, born in 1926, was just lying there. Guys ran to us, pulled him out. Barely saved his legs. But it turned out that I was also hit. A fragment scratched the back of my head. Where did it manage to penetrate? They wanted to put me in a hospital, but I refused. War ended for me in Wittenberg. I had flown 84 sorties.

In the end of May 1945 men were selected from the regiments of our division for the Victory Parade. They picked out men about 1 meter 80 centimeters tall and sent them to Koenigsberg to drill. Our sergeant was a brilliant drill instructor. So he drilled us. In the beginning of June we were put on a train and rode toward Moscow. There we were formed into a combined battalion of pilots of the 3rd Belorussian Front. Our commander was General Prutkov, commander of the 1st Guards Stalingrad Ground Attack Air Division. They gave us tunics, boots, caps. It was a merry, nice atmosphere. We lived in the Chernyshevskie barracks, not far from Shabolovka. Where did we walk? VDNKh, at the Crimean Bridge, some other places. Special Voroshilov rations in the mess, even white bread on plates. I must say at the front the food was also excellent. The parade was on June 24. I also went to the banquet.

A.D. Did you fly as a wingman or a leader?

Everyone was at first a wingman at the front. Vasia Mykhlik and I flew about 40 sorties. He went to Moscow to get his Star (Gold Star of the Hero of the Soviet Union - trans.) and came back only in the end of April. I was already a leader. The last two sorties I already led eight -- basically a squadron. That was May 8. The first sortie was at 10 in the morning, and the second around 2pm. To the Zemland Peninsula. We worked over its very edge. Returned. They refueled us for the third sortie. We taxied, waited for the order. The Chief of Staff Nikolai Ivanovich Borkov ran to us: "Iura, taxi back. It's over!" We turned off our engines, fired into the air in joy. The war was over! And then I flew ILs and MIGs for a long time.

A.D. They say that there were 7 killed gunners for each killed pilot, is that true?

No. Let me explain. We had 105 pilots and 50 gunners killed, why? Because the regiment fought from the beginning to the end of the war. The first half of the war in one-seater aircraft. And the second half -- in two-seaters. And most of the time, they died together. A ground attack aircraft pilot, according to the statistics, managed to fly 7-8 sorties and then died. Such were statistics.

A.D. Were you escorted by fighters?

Always. Very often during the Prussian operation we were escorted by Normandie-Niemen.

A.D. Were missions assigned to eights?

Not necessarily. Depended on the mission.

A.D. What missions did you get most often?

Usually the bombing of the forward positions. I went to reconnoiter on foot once. The infantry commander said: "You guys don't have to shoot. Fly here and show yourselves. That would be enough. And if you bomb, you'll always be welcome guests!" Sunk ships in ports, 4 times flew against airfields. That was scary business! They were well protected. Worked on armor concentrations. Well, against those targets armies -- hundreds of aircraft -- were sent, in order to wipe everything off the face of the earth.

A.D. What was more dangerous, enemy anti-aircraft artillery or fighters?

AA artillery. Of course, in the beginning of the war fighters really made the lives of ground attack pilots difficult. But by the end of the war -- AA artillery. That was scary business! Several dozen small caliber AA guns were deployed and would fire into the same spot. And all around black clouds from medium caliber AA guns. You would fly and not know which of them would... kiss you. Of course, we performed an anti-AAA maneuver.

We usually flew 50 by 30 -- 50 meter interval and 30 meter distance. When approaching the frontline we spread out -- 150 meter interval. And threw our planes side to side. Then we would get into a circle above the target and start working it. Little ones [fighters] would cover us. Those were the mechanics.

A.D. How many passes would you make?

It depended on the situation. There could be such counteraction -- Lord help us! Then it would only be one pass. You would use everything at once -- rockets, guns, bombs. If the counteraction was not that great, then several -- 4, 6 times. The leader would snake away, allowing the wingmen to catch up. We approached the target in formation, if weather allowed at the altitude of 1200-1400 meters, and departed after assembling, also in formation, at the same altitude.

A.D. What was the most vulnerable spot of IL-2?

The engine. Wings were fine, more or less. If a fuel tank was hit, that wasn't bad either, why? When approaching the target we opened carbon dioxide canisters, which filled the empty space of fuel tanks. If a bullet pierced the body and hit a fuel tank, the sealer would fill the hole, fuel would not leak out, there would be no vapor, and consequently no combustion.

A.D. How effective were rockets?

They were 82mm rockets. Of course, we fired them into the general vicinity. But at the forward positions targets were all over, so heavy was the concentration of forces and vehicles. A group would work -- one missed, another would hit the target for sure. We also carried RS-132, but only 2 of them. In that case we took less bombs -- only 200 kg. But usually we took RS-82, sometimes 16 of them.

A.D. And did you install 37mm guns?

We had 37mm guns, 40 shells per gun. I didn't fly one of those. They didn't work out.

A.D. Was the German infantry well covered?

They covered themselves in only one way -- concentration of AA defenses. Not single guns, but concentrated in quadrants. I would sometimes count up to 40 guns -- an uninterrupted stream of bullets. Small caliber AA artillery was especially dangerous.

A.D. Did you attack from a dive?

Always from a dive, 30-40 degrees. You wouldn't have time to fire everything at a steeper angle. 30-40 degrees -- that is the angle that provided the complete use of all weapons.

A.D. Did you use anti-tank bombs?

Yes. We took about 280 of them. There were also 25 kg, 50 kg, and 100 kg bombs -- 4 bomb hatches, 600 kg load. We would bomb from the altitude not lower than 1400-1500 meters. If there were low clouds, 400-600 meters, but then we put in delayed fuses.

A.D. About how many sorties did you fly per day?

Sometimes 3... but that was a lot. A lot.

If someone says it wasn't scary -- they're lying. The moment of expectation was the scariest and most unpleasant. For example they would say: "1400 such and such airfield". You sit there: 1400 -- nothing, 1430 -- nothing, 1500 -- no order! Or you sit in the cockpit, waiting for a rocket, and nothing. Legs start shaking. A real panic starts. After all, there was no guarantee that you wouldn't be shot down during the mission. When a rocket would shoot up into the air your head would start working in a different direction, panic would be turned off. Then there was an unpleasant feeling when we approached the target but would not be attacking it immediately. They would be prepared for us and fire. After the attack started -- that was it, the pilot was at work, looking for targets, pushing triggers, rockets, guns, machine guns, pulling the ASSh-41 (emergency bomb release. Bombs could be released by the buttons, or if you wanted to release them all at once, you pulled that lever).

A.D. How was the effectiveness of a sortie determined?

Everyone had a gun camera, which was working when you were firing the guns. If you set a vehicle on fire, it wold be recorded. If you worked a tank, that would also be recorded. Besides that, gunners could have wide area cameras. There would usually be a couple of them per group. It covered a large area, and after we landed the film was printed. Besides that, when approaching the front line we established communications with the observer, usually a representative of the air division. We could recognize his voice. He would literally aim us: "Guys, a little to the right. OK. Now." Gave us the permission to attack. Told us where the bombs were falling. On the second pass introduced corrections. His confirmations were taken into account.

A.D. And how did you break in new pilots?

The usual. After the school pilots were sent to a reserve air regiment. There they passed through a short combat course. Bombing and strafing ground targets with cannon and machine guns. Then a buyer would come in. We were considered to be relatively ready for combat work.

A.D. And in the regiment?

After the above procedure we were flown in to the regiment and allocated to squadrons. Squadron commander would fly with each one, taking measure of everyone's level of preparedness, and picked out his wingman. I immediately became squadron commander's partner. I flew only with him. I loved flying and was almost always first.

A.D. Were there any IL-10 in your unit?

Of course. But only after the war. Their qualities were the same. Same weight, gunner, crew commander, pilot. The structure was more compact. Wing area was a little smaller. Same armament. Two cannon and two machine guns. Slightly different range. But mainly it was the same thing.

A.D. Did you ever hit friendlies?

We had Twice the Hero [of the Soviet Union] Len'ka (Leonid) Beda, we had gone to school together. An untidy person. Although, you shouldn't say anything bad about the dead. Once a general came, we were formed up. The general noticed him:

"Last name?"

"Beda" ("Beda" means "trouble" in Russian -- trans.)

"I am asking you what your last name is!"

"Beda, comrade commander!"

Len'ka killed 118 men at the end of the war. It wasn't his fault, they told him before the mission: "Bomb that target". But he had to get there first. Maybe 30 minutes. While they were flying there, the situation changed. We captured that place, but no one reported to him. The group worked the target -- 118 of our soldiers died. He returned, they tore off his shoulder boards, but immediately investigated, returned them. Later he was the Air Force Commander of the Belorussian Military District.

A.D. Have you ever encountered enemy aircraft?

I've never had to participate in a dogfight, but the rear gunner didn't sit without work -- after pulling out from an attack he fired at ground targets.

A.D. Were there any cases of cowardice?

There were single occurrences of cowardice. There was one time, when N. was leading a large group, about 20 aircraft, he turned away before reaching the target, the entire group returned to the airfield. Court martial. Gave him seven years. But he fought well afterward -- 4 Orders of the Red Banner. There were sly people as well. A small number, but there were some. He would gain altitude. We fly, attack, but he just hangs there, then descends to 1000 meters, releases the bomb load, gets in formation. But we see everything.

A.D. Did you beat him up?

Warned him. Told him: "Sasha, you do this one more time, we'll shoot you down". He was disrupting our interaction! We flew at a distance of 600 meters, he climbed, therefore the distance became 1200. Interaction was disrupted. The warning worked.

A.D. Were there penal ground attack squadrons?

No. They would send offending officers to us, not necessarily pilots. They would fly 10 sorties as rear gunners.

A.D. What was considered a combat sortie?

Only bombing enemy targets with photo confirmation.

A.D. Did you lose aircraft for technical reasons?

Technicians worked well. If a plane didn't return for technical reasons, something happened, that was very serious. Such occurrences were investigated.

A.D. Did you have to manipulate the engine's modes of operation?

Yes, of course. It was easy to do.

A.D. Did you use any special tactics?

Yes. You would make the first pass, second one, then they would say from the ground: "Wait a little, when the infantry passes, we'll redirect you to other targets". So we work this target, stay in the air, and then we work other targets based on the commands from the observation post.

A.D. Did you fly during operational pauses?

The most intense activity was during operations. Then we flew a lot, but for that time was needed, and corresponding preparation. Crews, equipment were being prepared. During pauses between operations we flew anyway. Performed tactical missions. Of course, with smaller forces. We would be sent to support infantry or to destroy columns on the march. For example, Pokryshkin flew more than 500 sorties. Participated in 84 dogfights. Shot down 59 aircraft. I also have 84 combat sorties. But if you translate our effectiveness into money, I wouldn't be short of him. Be sure of that. Of course, ground attack pilots' hands are covered in blood up to the elbows. But it was our duty, and I think we did a first class job. Did everything we could. Well, and God didn't pass us by with "crosses".

south african friends...

August and September 1944 have poignant memories for Poles and South African airmen. By August 1, 1944, the Russians had advanced to within a few miles east of Warsaw. General "Bor" Komorowski and other leaders of the Polish underground resistance (the "Home Army") judged the time right for rebellion against Nazi occupying forces. Stalin thought otherwise, as he had his own plans for post-war Poland. He halted his troops 15 miles east of the Vistula River within 48 hours when the Home Army decided to go into action, encouraged by previous promises of Soviet's support.
In desperation, the Home Army appealed to Britain and America for much needed arms, amunition, and medical supplies. These could only be delivered by air-drops. Again Stalin said "Nyet". This time to the reasonable suggestion that aircraft might land in Russian-held territory to re-fuel. The Liberators of SAAF 2 Wing - 31 and 34 Squadrons - based at Foggia in Southern Italy, and Halifaxes, flown by the RAF, whose 148 and 178 Squadrons, as well as Polish Flight No. 1586, also took part. The proposed supply*drops meant a journey of 1600 km out over heavily defended occupied territory; roof-top height approach to the dropping zones in flames of the burning city; and another 1600 km back to base - if they were lucky.
Out of 186 sorties, 92 were considered successful. That is, the Home Army were able to retrieve some of the material dropped. Thirty-one aircraft were lost - 17 on the four terrible nights of August 13-16. 69 lives of South African pilots were lost during this operation.
The Poles have long memories for their friends. To this day, flowers are laid on the graves of the airmen who did not make it; a special memorial has been placed in St Anne's Church, Warsaw; and another built by the late Bronek Kowalski (former officer of the Polish Home Army) at Michalin where a Liberator piloted by Jack van Eyssen crashed after the supply drop, with the loss of three crew members. Those were Bob Hamilton, Leslie Mayes and Herbert Hudson.
Every year, without exemption, since 1947 a commemoration service and function is held by Polish Community in Johannesburg to honour those who fell. Initially the venue was a Cenotaph Memorial in the centre of the city. Since 1981, service is being held at the Katyn Memorial erected in memory of Polish prisoners of war who were murdered by the Soviet security forces. In 1989, monument was extended to honour South African Airmen who tookpart in the Relief Flights.
"Poland will never forget her faithful friends who went to her help in her hour of isolation and despair" - these were significant words of H.E. Stanislaw Cieniuch - first Ambassador of the truly independent Poland during the Warsaw Flights commemoration of the year 1991.
Relief Flights did not achieve its military objectives, mostly due to the political scene of post-war Europe. However, commemorations held through the years have cemented bonds of friendship between the Poles and their South African friends. SASF effort have become one of the important links in Polish struggle for independence, although it came 45 years later.
In Michalin near Warsaw there is an annual event taking place to commemorate Flights and Airmen who died there. After untimely death of Bronek Kowalski monument marking the place where they fell requires renovation. Polish artists who did visit South Africa are organising fund raising concert in the Ateneum theatre in Warsaw on the 1st of June 2001. It is entitled "Polish Artists for South African Airmen". List of the performers is compiled of the best in Poland. Polish Minister of Foreign Affairs is most likely to take patronage of this event. Support is also given by the diplomatic corps with South African Ambassador Sikose Mji heading the list. Chief of SAAF will sent his representative. Polish businessmen are also helping to collect funds. The monument will receive maintenance free finishes throughout.

a little more about poland...the warsaw airlift

Major J.L. van Eyssen, DFC:

At 17:00 on 1 August 1944, General Bor-Komorosky ordered the AK to rise against the oppressors and the die was cast. Fierce fighting erupted in most parts of Warsaw. The element of surprise aided the AK which, after five days had seventy percent of the city under its control. There was, however, no sign of the promised Russian intervention. The well-armed Germans received reinforcements and gradually stemmed, then turned, the tide, but not without heavy losses. The Poles were running low on food and ammunition, but still no assistance from the Soviets was forthcoming. The Russians, indeed, did not so much as reply to the Poles' call for help. The Polish government in London appealed to the Russians for help or simply co-operation, but Stalin flatly refused even to grant permission for aircraft based in Britain to land behind Russian lines.
Warsaw is about 910 miles (1,464 km) from Britain on the 'Great Circle Course', but in order to avoid German air defences in the Reich, a detour had to be taken which made the journey closer to 1,100 miles (1,770 km). The return journey of 2,200 miles (3,540 km) was, of course, out of the question. Churchill then ordered that relief be flown to Warsaw from Italy which is a little closer, some 815 miles (1,311 km) on the Great Circle. This route also involved flying over heavily defended points. The task was allocated to 205 Group of which I was a member.
General Durrant went to see Air Marshal Slessor and was surprised to be admitted to the presence of Winston Churchill himself who was in an adjoining office. General Durrant pointed out to Churchill that an airlift of 1,000 miles (1,609 km), most of it over enemy occupied territory, could hold no hope of military success and that the loss of airmen and aircraft would be tremendous. Although Churchill agreed with him, he nevertheless insisted that the operation be proceeded with, if only for reasons of propaganda and morale.
It is perhaps appropriate at this point to provide a brief technical description of the Consolidated B24 Liberator in which the Group's crews were to undertake the Warsaw Airlift. For the job on hand it was the best of the big allied bombers. (The enormous Boeing B29 Superfortress had not yet made its appearance.) The Avro Lancaster was fast and had a large payload but its range was shorter than that of the Liberator and, furthermore, there were none of them in Italy. The Handley Page Halifax had a smaller payload and shorter range than the Liberator although they were used in the Warsaw Airlift by the R.A.F. and the Poles. The legendary but overrated Boeing B17 Flying Fortress had neither the speed nor the payload capacity of the Liberator. In addition to ammunition, oil and crew, the Liberator could carry a further disposable load of 2,600 pounds (1,180 kg) which was made up of petrol and payload. Her maximum permitted take-off weight was 33 tons (33,530 kg). She was powered by four Pratt and Whitney double bank radial engines of the same design as those fitted to the Douglas DC3 Dakota. However, while the latter aircraft has only the engine-driven supercharger and develops 1,100 horse power (820 KW), the Liberator had an additional turbo super- charger which raised the horse-power to 1,400 (1,044 KW). Shortened engine life was, of course, of little consequence in wartime and engine performance enjoyed priority. The indicated airspeed of the Liberator was 180 m.p.h. (290 k.p.h.) which increased to 190 m.p.h. (306 k.p.h.) when the aircraft was adjusted for altitude and temperature. On return from a target, the bombs having been dropped and much of the fuel having been used up, cruising speed rose to about 210 m.p.h. (338 k.p.h.). In emergencies, on full power, the Liberator was capable of a lot more. Her defensive armament against fighter and ground attack consisted of six 0,50 inch calibre heavy machine guns. Because our aircraft operated mainly at night, the two forward firing guns and the ball turret underneath were removed.
The Liberators were fitted with, what was for those times, the most modern electronic equipment, including the GEE box and the radio altimeter. They were equipped with the Air Ministry bombsight which was, with respect to our Allies from across the Atlantic, superior to their Norden bombsight.
When it was known that we had to fly 2,000 miles (3,218 km) non stop, we had to take a new look at the question of payload versus fuel load. On conventional bombing raids we loaded sufficient fuel for the distance to be covered plus an additional twenty five percent in case of emergency. The balance was bomb load. For this operation the maximum fuel load of 2,300 gallons (13,639 t) would have to see us to the target and back with barely ten percent excess. As we had to carry the maximum payload, we exceeded the permitted take-off weight by one ton (1,016 kg).
Each aircraft carried twelve canisters in its bomb racks. The canisters were crammed with light machine guns, ammunition, hand-grenades, radio equipment, food and medical supplies and had parachutes attached to them to slow their rate of fall.
When planning commenced, two chilling prospects arose. The first was that, due to the long days in the northern hemisphere at the time, we would have to cross the enemy coast in sunlight, both going and returning. The second was that we did not have sufficient aircraft to 'saturate' enemy defences in the form of searchlights, ground-to-air fire and fighters. We had to take a 'zig-zag' course in order to miss G.C.I. (ground controlled interception) areas.
Our Liberators had to take a long run to take-off and all rose sturdily into the air without any having to resort to the emergency boost override. As the aircraft climbed, course was set across the Adriatic. The enemy coast was soon reached in summer sunshine and, although we felt too exposed for comfort, we drew consolation from the fact that fighters could not surprise us as easily as they could in the darkness. The pilot and his gunners formed a very closely knit team, particularly when the aircraft was attacked by fighters. The pilots seldom accorded the fighters the courtesy of flying straight and level and turned violently up or down at the last second to spoil their aim and at the same time to give their gunners the advantage with their heavy machine guns.
Darkness had set in and soon the Danube came into view as a thin blue ribbon. To the north lay the Carpathian mountains – and bad weather. We were tossed about in the clouds and frequently 'lit up' by lightning. At times our propeller discs created blue circles and blue flames trailed from wing tips and other projections. This frightening although harmless phenomenon is also seen on the masts of ships at night. Sailors call it St Elmo's fires.
North of the Carpathians the weather cleared and we altered course away from Cracow which we knew to be a night fighter training centre for the Luftwaffe. A further course alteration led towards Warsaw. Before long we picked up jazz music from Radio Warsaw which was just what we wanted as it meant that we were out of the range of GEE. Our radio compass needle led us directly to the city which first showed as a glow on the horison. We started to lose height and, as we drew closer to the city, were shocked by what we saw, in spite of having been told what to expect at the briefing. Rows upon rows of buildings were on fire sending clouds of smoke thousands of feet into the air. The smoke was, in turn, illuminated from below by the fires. It was obvious that a life or death struggle was taking place before us.
According to our briefing we were to fly north along the Vistula dropping to 200 feet (61 m) and then to turn left about a cathedral in the north of the city. We were then to turn south keeping the river on our left, to open bomb doors and to drop lower still to about 150 feet (45 m). By using optimum flap we could keep our large aircraft under control at only 130 m.p.h. (209 k.p.h.). A greater speed could have snapped the shroud lines on the canister parachutes. We had to continue until we saw the letter of the night flashed in morse from the ground. When we saw it we had to drop all of our canisters together and get away as fast as possible.
An aircraft is most vulnerable to anti-aircraft fire at a height of 3,000 feet (914 m) to 5,000 feet (1,524 m). Over Warsaw, our aircraft attracted fire from hand-held machine guns, rifles and even pistols! Poor visibility due to smoke was also a serious hazard.
From 4 August until early September 1944, 196 sorties took off for Warsaw of which eighty-five reached the target area and thirty-nine aircraft were lost.
The Airlift could not save the gallant Polish Army. While the Polish army was being destroyed, the Russians sat idly by a bare 20 miles (32 km) away. Stalin realized that his western allies strongly disapproved of his handling of the Warsaw Rising and for the sake of 'window dressing', he was seen to relent, but only when he knew that it was too late. He granted permission for American aircraft based in Britain which were flying supplies to Warsaw to refuel behind Russian lines. On 18 September 1944, 107 U.S.A.A.F. planes dropped supplies from so great a height that less than twenty percent of the supplies reached Polish hands.
The Russians later, for 'window dressing' purposes. did drop supplies to the AK but made sure that these would be of little use. The Russian canisters were dropped without parachutes so that much of the contents was damaged. The firearms which the Russians supplied were so inferior as to have seemed to have been factory rejects while the cartridges which they provided were of a calibre which would not fit any of the Polish arms.
The Warsaw Rising failed and General Bor-Komorosky surrendered on 2 October 1944. The spirit of the Poles that died then seems to have been inherited by the following generation which has only recently clearly demonstrated that it does not intend to accept communist domination. Some day the Poles must again be free.
The Warsaw Airlift occasioned acts of individual heroism which should not be forgotten. Second Lieutenant 'Bob' Burgess became the youngest recipient of the DSO (Distinguished Service Order) after he, as second pilot, took command of a crippled Liberator and flew it eastwards to safety. The pilot had, without a word to his crew, stepped out into the night, as it were, by parachute. Burgess, who had never before landed a Liberator did so skilfully at first light.
Major 'Bill' Senn was awarded the DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) for bringing back a badly damaged Liberator all the way from Warsaw to Foggia in spite of the fact that he had been wounded.
The Late Nick Groenewald found himself falling through the night sky, after his Liberator had blown up over Warsaw, with his parachute pack in his hand like a briefcase. He clipped it on to his harness and opened it, fortunately, in time. He did however suffer facial burns. Polish doctors performed skin grafts on his burns after which he volunteered to fight with the AK to the end.
My aircraft was also shot down. The survivors of my crew and I eventually arrived in Moscow where an amusing incident occurred. A Royal Navy admiral attached to the British Military Mission in Moscow sent a car to take me to the Kremlin. I was given to understand that I was to attend a conference and that the agenda touched upon our mining of the Danube. The admiral led me into a room where about twenty senior naval officers were already seated, all of whom were Russians. The Royal Navy admiral took the only remaining seat and I had to stand. I soon realised that this was not to be a conference at all but, rather, an interrogation. The senior Russian officer, who appeared to be an admiral of extremely high rank, sat at the head of the table and put questions to me through an interpreter. At first the atmosphere was not unfriendly, and I answered all his 'bread and butter' questions such as where had I come from, what was I doing, what was the general performance of the Liberator or like. He then warmed to his point and asked me where, when, from what height and at what speed I had dropped the mines and how many I had dropped. I answered all of these questions. Then came the question to which he had been building up and that was how the mines worked. My answer was simple. I did not know. When this answer was translated for my interrogator he flew into a frenzy while all the others glared at me as if I were the devil himself.
The interpreter's task was a difficult one indeed. Before he had translated the first of the ravings, more were added at a higher pitch and volume. The message that came through to me was that we were Allies and the Russians had borne the brunt of the war against the worst tyrant in history and there was I purposely denying them vital information. When eventually I had the opportunity to speak, I explained that the mines were top secret, even in the Royal Navy, that our squadron armourers were not allowed to see them and that they were loaded into our bomb-bays by Royal Navy armourers and the bomb-doors shut. I ended by telling them that my orders were to carry the mines and drop them, not to design, build or maintain them. At that juncture the Royal Navy admiral and I were dismissed. Once we had arrived back at the admiral's office I asked him what the interrogation had been all about. He told me that the Russians had overrun quite a stretch of the Danube and that our mines, still being active, were blowing up Russian shipping. When I exclaimed that that news was the best that I had heard in months, the admiral agreed with me but added that I should not quote him.
The Airlift failed in its purpose but it served to cement a bond between Poles and South Africans based on mutual respect and sincere friendship. Evidence of this are the annual commemoration services arranged by our local Polish community. But there is further evidence, and in this lies a wonderful story. A letter from the Director of Information Services of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, tells of a selfless and public-spirited Pole, one Bronislaw Kowalski, who has, on his own initiative, and over a period of years, erected a shrine in the woods near the village of Michalin, some thirty kilometres south-east of Warsaw. The shrine marks the exact spot where a S.A.A.F. Liberator crashed in flames at midnight on 14/15 August 1944. It was erected to the memory of three airmen who died there that night, namely, Second Lieutenant R.G. 'Bob' Hamilton and Sergeants Leslie Mayes and Herbert Hudson. In his garden Kowalski built another shrine in which a light burns day and night and has done so over a number of years.
The remains of the three airmen had long before been moved to the military cemetery near Cracow where they are buried together with the other S.A.A.F., R.A.F. and Polish Air Force casualties in perfectly tended graves.

Born in 1908, Gerben Sonderman served in the Dutch navy in 1929-1930. After that he learned to fly. He had considerable talent for that. IN 1935 he was accepted by the LVA (Dutch airforce) despite the fact that he was already 26. He became best known as chief testpilot for Fokker, where he tested all the new a/c, like the G.I, D.XXI, D.XXIII, T.V, T.IX etc. While being testpilot, he was still in the LVA, assigned to 3rd JaVA, flying G.I’s from Rotterdam Waalhaven.

On May 10th, at around 3.55h, He111’s attacked Waalhave airport. Gerben Sonderman was one of the 3 pilots “on alert”. Sonderman was already in his cockpit (G.I 311) when his gunner sgt. Holwerda arrived at the a/c. They had never met before, as Holwerda was just transferred to the 3rd Java the day before. Not knowing who the man was, Sonderman signaled Holwerda to take away the chocks. Sonderman immediately taxied away, giving Holwerda hardly the chance to climb in his seat. As soon as he had taken off, Sonderman found a Ju52 above him, which he shot down. As soon as he shot the Ju52, he got some Bf109E’s on his tail. His radio was shot to pieces, but Sonderman could maneuver out of his position and somehow managed to appear again behind the Bf109’s. One Bf109 was shot on fire, after which it fell into the Rotterdam Harbor.
Meanwhile, Holwerda in the back didn’t know what was happening. He was not used to Sonderman’s precise and brilliant way of flying. He was only able to brace himself and never fired the gun.
Sonderman was attacked again by many Bf109’s, but he managed to avoid them. One Bf109 did a head on pass on the G.I. Sonderman avoided collision and while doing so shot down this Bf109 as well.
Sonderman withdrew to save some ammunition and flew in formation with 2 other G.I’s (328 and 334). West of Rotterdam, Sonderman spotted a He111 which he attacked. The He111 made an emergency landing near Rockanje. (Sonderman never claimed this victory).
Waalhaven being occupied by German paratroopers, Sonderman had no choice then to land the G.I on the beach without fuel. There the aircraft was later destroyed by German bombing.

Sonderman didn’t fly again in may 1940. He got a special assignment to go to Belgium. Sonderman decided to stay in occupied territory and became later a major player in the Dutch resistance. of to After the war, he became Prince Bernhard’s personal pilot and also resumed his duties at Fokker. He made fame by his daring and precisely flown demo’s. While demonstrating the S.14 jet trainer for Rockwell in the USA, Gerben Sonderman died in a crash. It is speculated that he suffered from a bleeding in his brain, becoming unconscious, while performing a vrille.

Quotes:
Sonderman after the war about his flight:

"Someone took away the chocks and then stepped in…He probably was a radio operator, but he was only ballast. As the radio was broken and he didn’t fire a shot. I tried to get his attention by shaking the plane, but he stayed where he was and didn’t move. I thought he was killed and didn’t pay attention anymore. I was very surprised to see him stepping out of the plane after landing….. I still don’t know his name."

Sonderman received many awards. Amongst others:
The King’s medal for courage (GB)
Bronzen leeuw (NL)
Medal of freedom (USA)
Ridder in de order van Oranje Nassau (Knighthood, NL)

love reading these stories
 

Can you get something on Pat Pattle for next week? Seems to very little info on the greatest RAF pilot of them all.

there's not a lot on prattle but here's an exerpt from roald dahl's book

"Somebody behind a desk in Athens or Cairo had decided that for once our entire force of Hurricanes in Greece, all twelve of us, should go up together. The inhabitants of Athens, so it seemed, were getting jumpy and it was assumed that the sight of us all flying overhead would boost their morale. So on 20 April 1941, on a golden springtime morning at ten o'clock, all twelve of us took off one after the other and got into a tight formation over Elevsis airfield. Then we headed for Athens, which was no more than four minutes' flying time away.

Round and round Athens we went, and I was so busy trying to prevent my starboard wing–tip from scraping against the plane next to me that this time I was in no mood to admire the grand view of the Parthenon or any of the other famous relics below me. Our formation was being led by Flight–Lieutenant Pat Pattle. Now Pat Pattle was a legend in the RAF. At least he was a legend around Egypt and the Western Desert and in the mountains of Greece. He was far and away the greatest fighter ace the Middle East was ever to see, with an astronomical number of victories to his credit. I myself had never spoken to him and I am sure he hadn't the faintest idea who I was. I wasn't anybody. I was just a new face in a squadron whose pilots took very little notice of each other anyway. But I had observed the famous Flight–Lieutenant Pattle in the mess tent several times. He was a very small man and very soft–spoken, and he possessed the deeply wrinkled doleful face of a cat who knew that all nine of its lives had already been used up.

On that morning of 20 April, Flight–Lieutenant Pattle, the ace of aces, who was leading our formation of twelve Hurricanes over Athens, was evidently assuming that we could all fly as brilliantly as he could, and he led us one hell of a dance around the skies above the city. Suddenly the whole sky around us seemed to explode with German fighters. They came down on us from high above, not only 109s but also the twin–engined 110s. Watchers on the ground say that there cannot have been fewer than 200 of them around us that morning.

I can remember seeing our tight little formation all peeling away and disappearing among the swarms of enemy aircraft, and from then on, wherever I looked I saw an endless blur of enemy fighters whizzing towards me from every side. They came from above and they came from behind and they made frontal attacks from dead ahead, and I threw my Hurricane around as best I could and whenever a Hun came into my sights, I pressed the button. It was truly the most breathless and in a way the most exhilarating time I have ever had in my life. The sky was so full of aircraft that half my time was spent in actually avoiding collisions. I am quite sure that the German planes must have often got in each other's way because there were so many of them, and that probably saved quite a number of our skins.

I remember walking over to the little wooden Operations Room to report my return and as I made my way slowly across the grass I suddenly realized that the whole of my body and all my clothes were dripping with sweat. Then I found that my hand was shaking so much I could't put the flame to the end of the cigarette. The doctor, who was standing nearby, came up and lit it for me. I looked at my hands again. It was ridiculous the way they were shaking. It was embarrassing. I looked at the other pilots. They were all holding cigarettes and their hands were all shaking as much as mine were. But I was feeling pretty good. I had stayed up there for thirty minutes and they hadn't got me.

They got five of our twelve Hurricanes in that battle. Among the dead was the great Pat Pattle, all his lucky lives used up at last."

Sunderland vs. eight Ju 88's


There were 11 crewmen on board the Sunderland, including nine Australians and two British. The crew was on an anti-submarine patrol and also searching for remains of BOAC Flight 777, an airliner that had left Gibraltar the day before and subsequently had been shot down over the Bay of Biscay.

In the late afternoon, one of the crew spotted the eight Ju 88s. Bombs and depth charges were dumped while the pilot, Walker, "redlined" the engines. Two Ju 88s made passes at the flying boat, one from each side, scoring hits while the Sunderland went through wild "corkscrew" evasive manoeuvres. The fighters managed to knock out one engine. On the third pass of the fighters, the top-turret gunner managed to shoot one down. Another Ju 88 disabled the tail turret but the next fighter that made a pass was bracketed by the top and nose turrets and shot down as well.

Still another fighter attacked, smashing the Sunderland's radio gear, wounding most of the crew in varying degrees and mortally wounding one of the side gunners. A Ju 88 tried to attack from the rear but the tail turret gunner had managed to regain some control over the turret and shot it down. The surviving fighters pressed home their attacks despite the losses. The nose gunner damaged one of the fighters and set one of its engines on fire. Two more of the attackers were also hit and the other two finally disengaged and departed. Luftwaffe records indicate these were the only two that made it back to base.

The Sunderland was a wreck. The crew threw everything they could overboard and nursed the aircraft back to the Cornish coast where Walker managed to land and beach it. The crew waded ashore, carrying their dead comrade, while the surf broke the Sunderland up. Walker received the Distinguished Service Order and several of the other crew received medals as well. Walker went on to a ground job while the rest of the crew was given a new Sunderland. That Sunderland and its crew disappeared without a trace over the Bay of Biscay two months later after reporting by radio that they were under attack by six Ju 88s.

another dogfighting heavy

November 21, 1943 - 25 He 177s of II./KG 40 took off to attack the Allied convoy "SL139 / MKS30". 20 aircraft attacked the convoy at 17.00 hours with 40 HS 293s from between 400 and 600m. One ship, the "Delius" was hit and set on fire and another ship, the "Marsa" was sunk. During the attack, a Coastal Command Liberator from 224 Sqdn arrived from an Anti-U-Boat patrol and not only interrupted the attack but took on the bombers with its own defensive guns, forcing the bombers to flee for home. The attack was also thwarted by heavy AA fire from the ship escorts. The crew of Oblt. von Berg from 5./KG 40 were reported missing with 2 bodied later recovered, while 5 of the crew of Ofw. Freyer, belonging to 4./KG 40 were killed in a crash at St. Christoly.

on the night of 15/16 March of 1944 a Lancaster from No. 617 was on a mission to bomb Metz when it was attacked by 3 Me-110 night fighters.

The rear gunner on the Lancaster was Flight Sergent T. J. McLeans, a scot in his second tour who already had five kill to his credit at that point. He was using his favorite mix of 45% tracer and 55% armour piercing instead the regular mix whit would also contain ball and incediary. The Lancaster was hit, but not seriously, and McLeans shot down all the 3 attackers.


June 14, 1942 - In the evening Italian Fiat CR 42s were out to attack the cruiser HMS "Liverpool" from the Operation "Vigoruous" convoy sailing to Malta. The cruiser ws escorted by a Gibraltar-based Catalina from RAF No. 240 Sqdn, which had been diverted from its anti-submarine duties and ordered to escort the damaged cruiser. At 17.05 hrs, the Catalina was attacked by 4 CR 42s but F/O Riddy skillfully maneuvered his lumbering flyingboat, enabling his gunners to repel repeated attacks. Nonetheless, Sergente Renato Casalini carried out a number of determined attacks, gaining strikes on the flyingboat's hull and slightly wounding the W/T operator.


July 30, 1943 - While patrolling to the north of Corsica, a B-26 Marauder of No. 14 Sqdn RAF based in Egypt and piloted by Group Captain Dick Maydwell encountered a German Me 323, six-engined transport aircraft flying unescorted low over the sea. He maneuvered his B-26 to allow his gunners to open fire and three engines were set on fire. The massive aircraft, described by Maydwell's navigator as looking like "a block of flats", crash landed on the shore. The crew escaped unhurt and Maydwell held his fire.


over the Bay of Biscay on the 15th August 1943. A Halifax V towing a Horsa glider was intercepted by 12 Ju88C. Four climbed to give fighter protection in case of Beaufighters interupted (they were known to be around) and 8 attacked. The Horsa released the cable and ditched and the Halifax evaded for around 15 mins until it reached cloud. In that time it suffered a fair amount of damage to its right wing but damaged two of the Ju88's who had to leave the battle after being hit in the engine.
It should be remembered that the Halifax V only had one turret in the rear.


April 8, 1940: Nine He 111s of 1(F)./122 took off from Hamburg to check the area east of the Shetlands. One of these aircraft sighted the British 2nd Cruiser Squadron together with 11 destroyers heading north at high speed to intercept the suspected breakout to the Atlantic of the 'Admiral Hipper' and her escorts. Another of the 1(F)./122 Heinkels encountered a Sunderland of RAF No. 204 Sqdrn and a running fight ensued which resulted in the Sunderland crashing into the sea west of Bergen. The Heinkel returned to Hamburg undamaged.


On November 26,1943 Lt. Charles W. Spencer at the foward gun of a B=17 named "Star Dust". Shells from head on enemy attacks shattered the Plexiglass nose and killed the crews navigator Lt. Harold J Rocketto. Badly cut in the face and removed from the nose by the crews engineer Sgt.Grover C Mullins, Lt SPencer returned to man his battle station despite freezing air at a temperature of -60C blasting through the compartment at over 125 mph. Horribly injured by frostbite in these terrible conditions. Spencer was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions.

January 29, 1944

Rawlings: We popped out of the clouds now the clouds were getting to be broken. We were over a fighter field in Florenne which was a big German fighter field. The tail gunner yelled" Oh god, here they come, there taking off!" He counted more than 6 and they were FW-190's. We tried pulling up in the clouds again but the clouds were became more broken. It used to be a 1500 foot layer now it was not even 500 feet. There was lots of Flak bracketing us and the tail gunner yelled "Kick it, Kick it!" There was the constant sound of crap hitting the airplane. We were taking 20 mm shells from an Me-210 who hadnt even gotten his landing gear up yet. Now both enginers on the right side were out I was trying to use the rudder but I realized the rudder was knocked out. Then our No.4 engine went out. I made the choice and rang the alarm bell. The rest of the crew bailed out and became POW for the rest of the war

Hans J. Jabs - 110 nightfighter ace, caught in the daylight by six Spitfires, he bagged two and then made a quick landing.

On 29 April 1944 his BF 110-G night fighter was caught on a daylight air test by a flight of 6 Spitfires from No. 132 Squadron RAF, led by 15-kill ace Squadron Leader Geoffrey Page. The Spitfires came in at too high a speed and as one Spitfire overshot Jabs shot down the Spitfire flown by P/O R.B. Pullin, which went down in flames and the pilot killed. F/O J.J. Caulton then attacked Jabs head-on, though the heavy forward armament of the 110 took affect and the striken Spitfire glided around and belly-landed onto Deelen Air Base. Jabs then conducted a surprise forced landing, quickly scrambling for cover before his aircraft was destroyed by strafing.

Opening attack during Big Week, February 20, 1944:

A B-17 flown by Lt. Guy Reed and specially equipped for recon and weather reporting, took off to determine the weather conditions over Germany and the North Sea before the mission. While enroute, Lt. Reed picked up a ghost radio signal and decided to investigate. A ghost signal had been causing havoc among the bomber groups and misdirecting many bombers away from airfields until their fuel was exhausted and they ditched their B-17s. Dropping through cloud cover, the B-17 found the source of the signal; a He 177 recon plane. Coming up alongside the big bomber, the B-17 started firing at the Heinkel begining a battle across the North Sea as the lumbering giants battled each other. Lt. Reed brought the Fortress around the Heinkel and the crew fired at almost point-blank range. The Heinkel dove and then appeared to stall alongside the B-17. As the American bomber came alongside, the German gunners opened up on the B-17, killing the right waist gunner, knocking the cover off the top turret and jamming the rudder. A .50 cal. shell from the Fortress nearly killed the German pilot and he decided to break off the battle. As he banked away a volley of machine gun fire from the B-17 damaged one of the Heinkel's engines and the He 177 tumbled out of the sky, out of control. Nobody survived the crash. Lt. Reed was able to bring his damaged plane back to Scotland for a crash landing.

HABBAKUK: GEOFFREY PYKE'S ICEBERG AIRCRAFT CARRIER

In 1942, the Allied forces were losing a considerable amount of merchant shipping in the Atlantic Ocean, due to German submarine forces and the lack of adequate air cover in the mid-Atlantic. The range of operating aircraft was not sufficient to cover this area and aircraft carriers were in short supply to allow for shorter range flying. Plans for an Allied invasion of Europe were also underway and it was felt that large floating platforms were needed to assist the assault forces. The Second World War was also a time when many scientists were encouraged to develop weapon technology and other military equipment to assist the war effort. Many projects that were developed were successful, such as the bouncing bomb by Barnes Wallis, midget submarines, mulberry harbours and the Pipe Line Under The Ocean (PLUTO) project. Others were not so successful and some were even incredible.

Lord Louis Mountbatten was Chief of Combined Operations and part of the work of this department was to develop technology and equipment for offensive operations. He encouraged scientists to produce their ideas, however fantastical they might seem. Many ideas did not get past the drawing stage, but others were taken up and experimented with before being abandoned. One such idea was that of an iceberg aircraft carrier, and this project was enthusiastically endorsed by both Mountbatten and Churchill.

Habbakuk was the idea of a scientist called Geoffrey Pyke. His idea was that because ice was unsinkable, the berg ships would be insulated and impervious to bomb and torpedo attacks. They would be easy to repair as water only had to be poured into holes and frozen, thus making the ship whole. The ships would be cheap to make so that a vast number could be made. The ships could be up to 4000 feet long, 600 feet wide and 130 feet in depth. They could be used to carry aircraft to protect shipping in the mid-Atlantic, since the aircraft would be able to operate at shorter ranges and could be used for an invasion force base. He christened the idea (misspelling the name in the process) after the words from Habakkuk, the Old Testament prophet: “Behold ye among the heathen, and regard and wonder marvellously: for I will work a work in your days, which ye will not believe, though it be told to you.” Hab. 1:5

The idea was taken up by Mountbatten and in December 1942, Churchill was convinced that the idea was worth pursuing. One problem had to be overcome. Ice split too easily and Pyke suggested the addition of some kind of building material could solve the problem. In 1943, two American scientists made a compound out of paper pulp and sea water which was almost as strong as concrete. This substance was named “Pykecrete”, after Pyke. Plans were drawn up for a vessel with the dimensions of 2000 feet long with a displacement of 1,800,000 dead weight tons. For the best possible results, the ship would need to be built in Canada or Russia, where the ship could be naturally frozen. The budget for continuing with the experimental ship was limited to £5000.

In the summer, a model was built on Patricia Lake, Jaspar in Canada. It became essential that the Americans were brought into the project as they would be needed to supply large quantities of steel for the vessel. Costs were already spiralling due to technical and supply problems. Mountbatten took a block of Pykecrete to Quebec to demonstrate the idea to the Americans. He intended to show them the strength of Pykecrete as opposed to ice. He fired a revolver into a block of ice which, predictably, shattered. He then fired into a block of Pykecrete. The bullet did not penetrate the block, rather it ricocheted off the ice, and unfortunately struck the American Chief of Naval Operations in the process, but without injury.

The Americans were not convinced about the project. They felt that due to technical problems, the ice ships would not be ready until 1945, and by this time, the conventional carrier fleet would be large enough to make the need for ice aircraft carriers obsolete. Churchill also gave up on the project when he realised that the carriers would cost over £6m.

The model in Patricia Lake was “scuttled” in 1943 by removing all the machinery that had been used and leaving it to sink in place. In the 1970’s remains of the model were found and studied and in 1989, a plaque to commemorate the unusual ship was placed on the lake’s shore.

WWII veteran recalls Jericho raid

On the 65th anniversary of an audacious World War II bombing raid on a Gestapo prison, one of the few survivors has spoken of his part in the dangerous mission.

Operation Jericho was devised to give 100 French patriots the chance to escape the firing squad, scheduled for 19 February 1944, at Amiens Prison in occupied Northern France.

Mosquitos of the 2nd Tactical Air Force were detailed to fly as low as possible over the Channel and then on to Amiens.

Once there they were to to dive-bomb the high prison walls.

Pilot Officer Cecil Dunlop, 92, from Bath, was on one of the first bombers to fly over the prison and drop his payload.

The planes flew so low - below the level of the prison roof - the crews could see the prisoners running out.

"It was exciting," recalled Mr Dunlop.

The blast breached the walls of the prison and, while the explosion unfortunately killed 102 prisoners, 258 escaped, including 79 political prisoners.

Mr Dunlop's son David said: "There was snow on the ground when they flew over and they looked down and they could see the prisoners escaping - all these black dots running around."

The mission was completed with the loss of only two aircraft and Operation Jericho proved that the Mosquito was able to perform precision bombing raids.

Years later Mr Dunlop and his son met one of the prisoners the raid freed.

"He told us he'd been in solitary confinement and he'd got a rat for company," said David Dunlop.

On the way back to Britain the plane was hit by anti-aircraft guns.

"You never knew whether you were going to come back or not but you never thought that you wouldn't," said Cecil Dunlop.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VOAPx_VPi-A

Thanks for the story, I know he (Pat Pattle) was one of the highest scoring RAF aces (if not highest) whose memory was all but lost in a horrible retreat. I also believe he netted a majority of his victories in an outdated gloster gladiator. The twelve or so you mentioned likely were all they had to put in the air. My family is Greek and believe it or not the old greeks will always mention him if the war is ever brought up. Thanks again for anouther gret story!!!!!

an overture for Bonn.

...Harry Crosby was unable to sight his primary target through a thick cloudbank. Both backup targets were socked in as well, freeing the squadrons to bomb a "target of opportunity," an Air Force euphemism for anyplace that could be conveniently creamed. Sighting a large German city through a clearing in the clouds, Crosby gave the OK sign to the pilot. Just as he heard the bomb doors opening, he looked down at his map and discovered that the city was Bonn.
He immediately hit his mike button. "All positions from navigator, I have another target. We can't bomb Bonn."
"Command to navigator. Why not?"
"That is where Beethoven went to school."
Crosby happened to know this because he had read it on the cover of the phonograph record he had played in his room the night before the raid, Beethoven's 5th, a fitting musical prelude, he thought, for a mission into Germany. He had also read on the cover that Bonn was a university town, one of the most picturesque places in Europe.
After an outburst of "Oh, ****s" from the crew, the pilot went along with Crosby and sixty-three Forts passed over the city, some of them with their bomb doors open. Minutes later, they found a marshaling yard in the Ruhr and obliterated it.

more on marseille....

With the Messerschmitt's left wing tip pointed vertically toward the sea, the Hurricane fighter stood virtually motionless in front of a young German's windscreen. Viewed through the metal framed canopy of the Messerschmitt 109, a British Hurricane with its red centered cockade was starkly recognizable against the cloudless North African sky.

Pulling back on the stick, gut-wrenching turn tightening, the young German's slim body presses firmly into his seat. Underneath his leather and mesh flight helmet, beads of sweat roll down his face . . burning his eyes as they remain open and fixed on the Zeiss optical gun sight.

3 G's . . 3.5 G's . . 4 G's.

The strain increases. Tired and aching at the end of day's mission that was full of air combat, the young German's arm muscles begin to fatigue under the strain. But there are no distractions allowed. The quarry must not escape.

After a swift look inside, with a slight input of right rudder, Jochen . . as he's known by his friends . . corrects the aircraft's slight skid.

The Messerschmitt emits a tiny shudder as its airspeed rapidly bleeds off from 300 knots indicated down to 140. Physics now demands the aircraft's nose to drop as its lift falls away. In apparent defiance of this law of nature, Jochen applies judicious top rudder and the 109 hangs precariously.

Then, there's a metallic ' clang ' as the Messerschmitt's leading edge slats automatically slam into an extended position providing more lift.

Like an artist ' working' materials, the 22 year old ' works' his aircraft as if part of his own body, while sweat pours down his back . . and the shoulder harness bites into his neck . . stinging. These minor distractions, no longer affect the German ace; he's been there before. The only thing important is . . one more victory !

Looking behind him, the RAF pilot sees the Messerschmitt now perched ominously off his left hind quarter . . its propeller spinner slowly pulling lead setting up for the proper firing position. Fear grips the British pilot as he now realizes this was no rookie enemy behind him. And every evasive maneuver he'd attempted was flawlessly countered . . with the young German closing distance with each turn.

As Jochen's Messerschmitt closed in, and the Hurricane disappeared beneath its nose. Jochen cocked his head slightly to the left as he calculated where his ordinance and the enemy would coinside.

It was . . time !

The control column shook in his right hand from a quick two-second burst. The cockpit filled with the smell of cordite, as several pounds of per second of machine gun and cannon projectiles hurtle into the Hurricane. Intuitively positive his aim had been correct, the German rolled inverted, diving away.

The 7500 pound British Hurricane, a sheet of flaming metal, thundered vertically into the Mediterranean.

As the fighter ace turned for home, four oil slicks foul the sea's surface . . to be celebrated as four more victory marks on Hans-Joachim Marseille's aircraft, adding to the credibility that he was becoming the most successful of all German fighter pilots in the North Africa.

The morning of 30 September 1942 was like most other late summer mornings in the North African desert, with the weather forecasted to be hot. For the men of German Fighter Group JG-27, the anticipation of another entire day of combat flying weighed heavily. As well it should have.

For the first time, Rommel was in a position to be thoroughly tossed out of Africa by Mont-gomery's British 8th Army. Not only was JG-27 aware of Rommel's latest defeat, they were caught in their own battle with the harsh desert, lack of essential supplies, the daily strain of aerial combat, plus the threat of a British Commando attack out of the surrounding desert.


However, as difficult as the situation appeared, and despite the recent loss of two more very experienced fighter pilots, individual morale was extremely high. Because of their many victories, morale problems affecting other fighter units in the desert seemed removed from Marseille and the men located at their lonely airfield.

Captain Hans-Joachim Marseille rolled out of bed on the morning of 30 September 1942 and was, his personal batman. The strain of 1 1/2 years of almost continuous aerial combat showed in the deep wrinkles and taunt muscles of his 22 year old face.

Marseille, the youngest captain in the Luftwaffe, appeared to have everything going his way. He was confident, cocky, and by far the most famous and successful fighter pilot in the North African war front.

After a slow start as a fighter pilot during the Battle of Britain, having downed seven aircraft while losing several airplanes himself, Marseille overcame initial weaknesses as a fighter pilot and made his Messerschmitt 109 with the big yellow 14 painted on its fuselage . . the scourge of the Allies in desert aerial warfare.

In less than 30 days, he had destroyed 54 British, South African, and Australian fighter aircraft . . 17 of those kills were in a single day. Young Marseille was well on his way to becoming among the few Luftwaffe pilots to shoot down two hundred enemy aircraft.

The morning of 30 September brought the prospect of another day's hunt in the skies over Egypt. More victories and more glory bestowed upon the young man from Berlin. But this morning, a freak accident would reduce perhaps the greatest fighter pilot of the war from the hero of the German nation to a lifeless historical footnote on the floor of the North African desert.

All but four of his victories were against fighters. No other pilot destroyed as many aircraft on the Western Front as did Marseille, although he was shot down several times, himself, Marseille evaded death from the angry guns of Allied pilots in over 388 combat missions. Twenty-nine other German pilots would go on to score more victories than Marseille, however, those pilots scored the majority of their victories against slow-moving Russian fighter bombers on the Eastern Front.

Marseille, a German of French Huguenot ancestry, was in the words of the General of the German Fighter Arm, Adolf Galland, " . . the unrivaled virtuoso of fighter pilots." His ability to sometimes destroy entire squadrons of enemy aircraft in a single sortie is the substance legends are made of, and the kind of material ripe for critics to study and either deny or defend.

Marseille is still regarded by most German Luftwaffe pilots to have been the best of the best ; excelling as a marksman, an acrobatic pilots, as well as one of the best combat tacticians in the Luftwaffe. Together, the synergy created by the accumulation of these talents forged one of the most lethal fighter pilots in aviation history.

Marseille's remarkable ability as a deadly serious fighter pilot was conflicted by his uncommon, gregarious, and often boyish behavior on the ground. He wore his hair long, had a penchant for practical jokes, and listened to taboo music like American jazz and swing, that Nazi propaganda referred to as "Jew" and "******" music.

Marseille also had a reputation as a "playboy." Early in his career, he was transferred out of famous ' Macky' Steinhoff's squadron. " Macky' later said: " Marseille was remarkably handsome guy, and he was a gifted pilot and a fighter. But he had girl friends everywhere; they took up so much of his time that he was often too tired to for me to safely allow him to fly his airplane. His often irresponsible understanding of his duties was the primary reason so I sent him packing. "

Marseille was quickly shipped off to air combat in North Africa, where his new commanders had been shipped a thick file containing his breeches of military discipline and unorthodox behavior. To say Marseille was not the typical German fighter pilot or stereotypical Aryan Teutonic Knight would be a gross understatement.

" Jochen was a practical joker; he was forever playing pranks. He came to see me and my squadron one day in his colorful Volkswagen jeep. He called it Otto. After a talk, a cup of sweet coffee and a glass of Italian Doppio Kümmel, he got into his jeep and drove it straight at my tent . . flattening everything. Then he drove off with a grin stretching across his face." [ Werner Schrör, 8/JG 27, 61 Kills in North Africa.]

Much of the debate and refusal to substantiate Marseille's combat record originates from one day of furious air combat on 1 September, 1942 in which he claimed to have destroyed 17 aircraft in three missions. Not only did Marseille claim 17 aircraft, but he did it in a fashion that was unheard of at the time. His victims were shot out of the sky in such a rapid fashion that many Allied critics still refuse to believe Marseille's claims as fact.

But it is precisely the speed and fury involved with these kills that has been the center of the Marseille debate for the past half century. For years, many British historians and militarists refused to admit that they had lost any aircraft that day in North Africa. Careful review of records however do show that the British did lose more than 17 aircraft that day,and in the area that Marseille operated. The British simply refused to believe, as many do today, that any German pilot was capable of such rapid destruction of RAF hardware.

Facts are that Marseille is still acknowledged as among the best marksmen in the Luftwaffe. The Germans were very meticulous in filing combat reports with all relevant data to include time of battle, area of operation, opposition encountered, as well as an in- depth armorers report. At the end of a mission, the armorers would count the number of bullets and cannon shells expended during the fight.

Marseille would often average an astonishing 15 bullets required per victory, and this with a combat resulting in his downing of several allied aircraft. No other German pilot was close to Marseille in this area

" Yeah, everybody knew nobody could cope with him. Nobody could do the same. Some of the pilots tried it like Stahlschmidt, myself, and Rödel. He, he was an artist. Marseille was an artist." Using his hands to illustrate. " He was up here and the rest of us ( he gestured ) were down here somewhere." [ Friedrich Körner, 36 victories, Knight's Cross winner.]

But what made Marseille so effective in a theater of combat where so many other pilots achieved little or no success? Several factors accounted for his success in the desert with one being attributed to his superior eyesight. Legend has it that Marseille would stare at the sun for extended periods of time in order to acclimate his eyes to the desert glare. Marseille, like American fighter pilot legend Chuck Yeager, he had the ability to see enemy aircraft long before anyone else in his formation.

Since Marseille tended to see the enemy first, he was consistently able to position himself in desirable attacking advantage with many of his victims obviously succumbing to the speed and surprise of his attacks.

Another critical factor for his success was his superb flying ability. Through constant practice and a desire to be the best pilot in his unit, and confident in his flying abilities that he would often break standard rules of aerial combat by pulling his power to idle and using flaps to help tighten his turns. He would also regularly attack numerically superior enemy formations in lightening fast strikes that used the enemy's formation size as its own disadvantage.

But most critical to Marseille's success was the exploitation of his superior Messerschmitt fighter over the majority of enemy fighters he encountered in the desert in concert with exposing weak-nesses inherent within the standard Allied tactical fighter formations used in the desert.

The Royal Air Force, Royal Australian Air Force, and South African Air Force sometimes used what was called a Lufbery Circle. When encountered by a real or perceived superior force of enemy fighters, the Allied fighter pilots would often form up in a defensive circle with one aircraft behind the other. This formation was much like the 2-dimensional wagon train circling in a attempt to both dissuade Indian attack and to afford the best defensive firepower.

Using the original Luftbery theory, if a German aircraft attacked a British fighter from behind, another British fighter's guns would be in place to immediately shoot down it down.

Marseille, one not to be frightened away, developed his own innovative tactics, while paying the cost of losing several of his own airplanes earlier in his combat career, that allowed him to enter and destroy the otherwise efficient Allied fighter formations.

Several thousand feet above the Lufbery defensive circle and displaced laterally a mile or so, Marseille would dive down below the formation's altitude. From below, he would select one unsuspecting victim, line him up in his sights, and hammer one brief and deadly burst of cannon and machine gun fire.

His aim was so accurate that he was often able to place nearly all of his bullets from the engine back into the cockpit, often killing the pilot.

After his firing run, Marseille would set himself up for another run.

By repeating cunning variations of this deadly sequence, Marseille often shot down four, five, and six, aircraft in a single sortie. His movements were so swift and quick that often unsuspecting allied pilots thought they were being attacked by several fighters.

On 15 September 1942, for example, Marseille destroyed 7 Australian fighter aircraft within an eleven minute period and on 17 June 1942, Marseille destroyed six aircraft within a seven minute period. The table below illustrates the quickness of many of Marseille's multiple kills.

At 15.40 hours on the 19th of May 1943 Flight Engineer W J Smith (Wally to his friends) of 12 Squadron Wickenby, along with the rest of the crew, boarded a Lancaster bomber ED 995 PH-X for the fist time. The crew's duty this day was to last only one hour, for as ED 995 had only been delivered that morning, this flight was just a shake down. Five days later this plane was to embark on what was the first visit to enemy territory for both plane and crew, a nearly six hour sortie to Dortmund.
Flight Engineer Wally Smith was a reasonably local lad, the son of a baker in the village of Walesby Nottinghamshire (just a short ride home on his Norton motor bike when off ops). The others were from more distant parts of England. They came together as the seven men left standing when everybody else had crewed up through self selection based on experience and friendship. All the crew were to survive their first tour bar the wireless operator, Sgt. Tom Routledge, who died of oxygen starvation on the second operation a night raid on Dusseldorf.
During the summer of 1943 Bomber Command suffered its heaviest losses and the life expectancy of both crew and planes was very short. For Wally and the rest of the crew to survive was against all the odds. Raids were carried out on Turin, Milan, Berlin and Peenemunde to name a few, a remarkable feat at this point of the war.
What made this tour even more remarkable for Wally was that he completed his 30 ops in the same Lane'. Through his undoubted ability as an engineer and the phenomenal skill of pilot Jimmy Wright and the rest of the crew, after each raid they were to bring ED995 back to Wickenby virtually unscathed. So when they were next on ops' ED995 (who was affection ally named Sarah) was waiting at dispersal.
Superstition played a big part in bomber crews' lives, and as the sorties numbers rose into the twenties, the crew became more and more anxious to keep ED995 as their own, to avoid breaking a winning sequence. After twenty seven ops Wally was chosen to be flight engineer to Wing Commander Craven on a night raid to Berlin. The mission was a success, but it meant that when the rest of the crew had only completed twenty nine ops, Wally had finished his tour of duty. Having no intention of breaking the sequence however, Wally still went on the last op with his regular crew!
So on the night of October 4th 1943 the crew of Wright, Saunders, Smith, Tattersall, Hone, Heath and Shrimpton set off in their trusty Lancaster ED995 on a raid on Frankfurt. Six hours and ten minutes later they landed safely at Wickenby for the last time. ED995 had carried them close to two hundred operational hours.
On the morning of October 5 Wally walked away from his kite for the last time, mindful of how lucky he had been to have such a wonderful plane beneath him
ED995's next mission was three days later. She was to take her new crew to bomb Hanover, a mission from which she never returned!
Wally went on to complete anther tour of 20 operations with 463 squadron and was commissioned in August 1944.

propaganda with british humor

While waiting to cross the Channel. The Feldgrau idled away their time tuned their radio dials to to hear the BBC's German-speaking voice broadcast the latest war news, titbits of gossip and the latest runour from the Third Reich aswell as playing popular German ballads.

The broadcasts were a component of the "Black Propaganda" campaign devised to "approach the German mind .... and throw it off guard by appealing to the selfish motives in the (soldier civilian)."

Speaking as fluently as any Berliner, Sefton Delmer's chats on BBC were designed to make the German soldiers fearful of taking part in the looming invasion of England. "The barbaric British have developed a fiendish apparatus with which they are going to set the English Channel ablaze as soon as your assault boats near the beaches," Delmer said.

To a degree this disclosure was true. Britain had created an anti-invasion defense whereby oil would be piped to large containers offshore. When ignited, a thick barrier of fire and smoke would rise from the water. However this device was only installed on only a few potentential landing beaches.

Then Delmer informed the Germans in France that he would teach them afew useful English phrases.

"For your first lesson, he said, "We will take the Kanaluberfahrt - the Channel cross-ing ..... the Chan-nel cross-ing.

"Now, repeat after me: Das Boot sinkt .... Das Boot sinkt .... the boat is sink-ing .... the boat is sink-ing.

"Das Wasser ist sehr kalt .... the wat-er is ver-y cold.

"here is a verb will be most useful. Please repeat after me. Ich brenne .... I burn .... Du brennst .... you burn ..... wir brennen .... we burn.

"and now I suggest that you learn another important phrase: Der ss Sturmfuhrer brennst auch scoen .... the ss cap-tain is al-so burn-ing quite nice-ly."

The theme of the germans burning to a crisp on the English Channel was tied in wth information planted by British deception servce, using turned spies and whispers in neutral embassies in Londo, Madrid , Stockholm and Geneva.

Bobby, i truly take my hat off to you my friend, some of these accounts are staggering :)




great stuff, keep it up :D

Lady Be Good

Lady Be Good was an American B-24D Liberator of the United States Army Air Forces, serial number 41-24301, during World War II. Based at Benina Airfield in Soluch (today Suluq), Libya, it crashed in April 1943 returning from a mission and was later discovered in 1959 hundreds of miles into the Sahara with its crew mysteriously missing.

Following an April 4, 1943 bombing raid on Naples, Italy, conducted by the 376th Bomb Group, the Lady Be Good of the 514th Bomb Squadron failed to return to base. After attempts to locate the plane in Libya, its nine crewmen were classified as Missing in action, and presumed dead, believed to have perished after crashing in the Mediterranean Sea.

The crew of Lady Be Good were on their first combat mission, having arrived in Libya on
March 18. The aircraft itself was also new, reaching the 376th BG on March 25. The ship had the identification number 64 painted on its nose and was one of 25 assigned to bomb Naples late in the afternoon of April 4.

The members of the Lady Be Good crew were:
1st Lt. William J. Hatton - pilot - Whitestone, New York
2nd Lt. Robert F. Toner - co-pilot - North Attleborough, Massachusetts
2d Lt. D.P. (initials only, also seen as "Dp") Hays - navigator - Lee's Summit, Missouri
2d Lt. John S. Woravka - bombardier - Cleveland, Ohio
T/Sgt. Harold J. Ripslinger - flight engineer - Saginaw, Michigan
T/Sgt. Robert E. LaMotte - radio operator - Lake Linden, Michigan
S/Sgt. Guy E. Shelley - gunner - New Cumberland, Pennsylvania
S/Sgt. Vernon L. Moore - gunner - New Boston, Ohio
S/Sgt. Samuel R. Adams - gunner - Eureka, Illinois

The crew took off from Benina shortly after 3:00 p.m., one of the last to depart. High winds and obscured visibility (and possibly the crew's inexperience[citation needed]) prevented it from joining the main formation of bombers, and it continued the mission on its own.

An 8:52 p.m. an entry in the navigator's log shows a bearing of 140° that indicates the plane abandoned the mission and turned back towards base, but its whereabouts at that time are not known and may have been a source of dispute among the crew itself[citation needed]. At approximately 10:00 p.m. the plane dropped its bombs into the Mediterranean to reduce weight and as a result fuel consumption.

At around midnight the pilot, Lt. Hatton, called base by radio and stated that his automatic direction finder was not working and asked for a location of base. He was apparently given a bearing but it is unknown if Lady Be Good received the transmission or not.

The plane apparently overflew its base and did not see flares fired to attract its attention and continued into the interior of North Africa for two more hours.

After the crew abandoned the aircraft, it continued flying southward. The mostly intact wreckage and evidence showing one engine was still operating at the time of impact suggests the aircraft gradually lost altitude in a very shallow descent, reached the flat, open desert floor and landed on its belly.

On February 27, 1959, British oil surveyor Paul Johnson spotted the wreckage near 26°42'45.7″N 24°01'27″E? / ?26.712694°N 24.02417°E? / 26.712694; 24.02417, 440 statute miles southeast of Soluch, following up a first sighting from the air on May 16, 1958, and another on June 15. A recovery team made initial trips from Wheelus Air Base to the crash site on May 26, 1959.

Although the plane was broken into two pieces, it was immaculately preserved, with functioning machine guns, a working radio, and some supplies of food and water. A thermos of tea was found to be drinkable. No human remains were found on board the aircraft, nor were parachutes found. Evidence aboard the plane indicated that the men had bailed out. Records in the log of navigator Lieutenant Hays, who was on his very first mission, ended at Naples.

The United States Army conducted a search for the remains of the airmen. Finding evidence the men had walked northward, the exploration concluded their bodies were buried beneath sand dunes.

In 1960, eight of the bodies were found by another British oil exploration team after an extensive ground search. After parachuting to the desert floor, eight of the nine airmen had managed to meet up by firing their revolvers and signal flares into the air. They had not been able to find the ninth crewman, bombardier John Woravka, because his parachute had only partially opened and he likely died on impact (his body was the first found in 1960). Thinking they were fairly close to the Mediterranean coast, the eight surviving crew members walked north, leaving behind footwear, parachute scraps, Mae West vests and other items as markers to show searchers what their path had been. They survived for eight days, sharing only a single canteen of water while walking over 100 miles (160 km) in searing heat before perishing. Remains of five airmen were found in a group nearly 80 miles (130 km) from the crash site. The other three (Guy Shelley, 'Rip' Ripslinger and Vernon Moore) had set off to try and find help while the other five waited behind. The bodies of Shelley and Ripslinger were found twenty and twenty-seven miles further north, respectively. Moore's remains were never found, although it is possible that seven years earlier in 1953 they had been spotted and buried by a British desert patrol, unaware that any air crews from the war had ever gone missing in the area.

A diary recovered from the pocket of co-pilot Robert Toner told of much suffering on the walk northward and indicated the crew were unaware they were over land when they bailed out. There has been speculation that whatever glimpses they may have caught of the empty desert floor in the darkness looked like open sea. It seems the crew never understood they were more than 400 miles (640 km) inland.

There is some consensus the crew could have survived had they known how far inland they were and moreover, if their maps shown the area where they bailed out. Going north, the distance they walked was slightly less than the distance needed to reach the oasis of El Zighen south of them, but they were wholly unaware of this. Additionally, if they headed south they would have very likely found the wreckage of the Lady Be Good with its water and food supplies, however meager, along with its working radio, which they might have used to call for help.

According to the Graves Registration Service report on the incident:
The aircraft flew on a 150 degree course toward Benina Airfield. The craft radioed for a directional reading from the HF/DF station at Benina and received a reading of 330 degrees from Benina. The actions of the pilot in flying 440 miles into the desert, however, indicate the navigator probably took a reciprocal reading off the back of the radio directional loop antenna from a position beyond and south of Benina but 'on course'. The pilot flew into the desert, thinking he was still over the Mediterranean and on his way to Benina.

Parts of the plane were scavenged or returned to the United States for evaluation. Curiously, several aircraft that were repaired with parts scavenged from the Lady Be Good crashed. An Army 'Otter' that had an armrest from the bomber crashed in the Gulf of Sidra. The only traces that were ever found from the plane were a few parts that washed ashore—including the armrest from the Lady Be Good.

Aside from components reused in other aircraft, other parts from the Lady Be Good may be seen today at the National Museum of the United States Air Force. One propeller can be seen in front of the village hall in Lake Linden, the home of Robert E. LaMotte.

A Royal Air Force team visited the site in 1968, and hauled away components including an engine (later donated to the USAF) for evaluation by the McDonnell Douglas company. Other pieces were stripped by souvenir hunters over the years.

In August 1994, the remains of the craft were recovered by a team led by Dr. Fadel Ali Mohammed and taken to a military base in Tobruk for safekeeping.

think i posted about clive before but...

Group Captain Clive Caldwell, DSO, DFC & Bar, Polish Cross of Valour.
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Clive Robertson Caldwell was born in Lewisham, Sydney on the 28th of July, 1911. Pre war he trained for his civil pilot's licence whilst a member of the Royal Aero Club. He joined the RAAF at the beginning of the war in 1939 and was commissioned as a Pilot Officer in 1940. As he was destined to become an instructor after completing his training, he resigned and re-applied as an air-crew trainee. His commission was reinstated in January 1941, and he was sent to the Middle East where he took up flying duties in Tomahawks with 250 Squadron RAF. Following a short period of operations in Syria and Cyprus, Caldwell and the squadron were relocated to the Western Desert. It was in this theatre that he achieved great success during intensive operations.

By mid-1941, Caldwell had flown about 40 operational sorties, but had only one confirmed kill - a Bf 109. He was perplexed by the fact that he had trouble scoring hits on enemy aircraft. Whilst returning to base one day, he noted his squadron's aircraft casting shadows on the desert below. He fired a burst of his guns and noted the fall of shot relative to his shadow. He realised this method allowed for the assessment of required deflection to hit moving targets. Further experimentation lead him to acquire the knowledge to assess deflection needed for a range of speeds. Within a couple of weeks he had attained four further kills and a half share. Caldwell's method of "shadow shooting" became a standard method of gunnery practice in the Middle East.

On 29 August 1941 Clive Caldwell was attacked by two Bf 109s North-West of Sidi Barrani. One of his attackers was the Bf 109 E-7 "black 8" of 2./JG 27 piloted by one of Germany's top aces, Leutnant Werner Schroer who was credited with 114 Allied planes in only 197 combat missions. Caldwell's P-40 "Tomahawk" of 250 Squadron was riddled with more than 100 rounds of 7.9 mm slugs, plus five 20 mm cannon strikes which punctured a tyre and rendered the flaps inoperative. In the first attack Caldwell suffered bullet wounds to the back, left shoulder, and leg. In the next pass one shot slammed through the canopy, causing splinters which wounded him with perspex in the face and shrapnel in the neck. Two cannon shells also punched their way through the rear fuselage just behind him and the starboard wing was badly damaged. Despite damage to both himself and the aircraft, Caldwell, feeling, as he remembers, "quite hostile" turned on his attackers and sent down one of the Bf 109s in flames. The pilot of the second Messerschmitt, the renowned Leutnant Schroer, shocked by this turn of events, evidently made off in some haste. Caldwell's engine had caught fire, however he managed to extinguish the flames with a violent slip. He then nursed his flying wreck back to base at Sidi Haneish.

Caldwell's most successful day was the 5th of December 1941 when he shot down five Ju 87s in a single engagement during operation "Crusader". Here is the combat report of that action:
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"I received radio warning that a large enemy formation was approaching from the North-West. No. 250 Squadron went into line astern behind me and as No. 112 Squadron engaged the escorting enemy fighters we attacked the JUs from the rear quarter. At 300 yards I opened fire with all my guns at the leader of one of the rear sections of three, allowing too little deflection, and hit No. 2 and No. 3, one of which burst into flames immediately, the other going down smoking and went into flames after losing about 1000 feet. I then attacked the leader of the rear section...from below and behind, opening fire with all guns at very close range. The enemy aircraft turned over and dived steeply...opened fire [at another Ju 87] again at close range, the enemy caught fire...and crashed in flames. I was able to pull up under the belly of one of the rear, holding the burst until very close range. The enemy...caught fire and dived into the ground."
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Due to his aggressiveness, exceptional combat skills, and determination to strafe ground targets, Caldwell soon acquired the nickname "Killer" which he apparently was not particularly proud of. The name however stuck and was commonly used in referring to Caldwell. In opinion of Wing Commander R.H. "Bobby" Gibbes (he battled in 3 Sqdn RAAF in North Africa and in the SW Pacific under Caldwell's command): "Clive Caldwell was given the name "Killer" (a name which was not of his choosing or liking) due to his habit of shooting up any enemy vehicle which he saw below when returning from a sortie. Invariably he landed back at his base with almost no ammunition left."

Caldwell was promoted to flight commander in November 1941 and received the DFC and Bar simultaneously on December 26 by which time he had 17 victories. He was promoted to Squadron Leader in January 1942 and took command of 112 Squadron RAF flying Kittyhawks. It was due to his leadership, confidence and daring, his work with a contingent of Polish pilots attached to 112 Squadron, and continued success with this squadron that he received the Polish Cross of Valour (Krzyz Walecznych).

In contrast with the great successes of Skalski's Circus , Polish pilots' endeavours with 112 Squadron weren't as fruitful. A group of 12 Polish ferry-transport pilots volunteered for RAF service on 29 August 1941 and after training they joined "Shark" squadron in February 1942. On 14 February, 1942 the patrolling 112 Sqn RAF and 3 Sqn RAAF encountered a formation of 32 enemy aircraft and Sec.Ltn. Dula downed an MC 200. In combat with 6 Bf 109 fighters from I/JG 27 on 21 February 1942 three "Kittyhawks" of 112 Sqn were downed, two of them piloted by Polish pilots: Sgt. Derma and Ltn. Jander. On 13 March 1942 pilots P/O Bartle (English) and Sgt. Rozanski (Polish) left a formation of 12 "Sharks" in the Tobruk area and they were caught by surprise and attacked by Oberfeldtwebel Otto Schulz (4./JG 27, MIA on 17 June 1942, 42 victories). Both were downed, but Rozanski luckily escaped his crashed, burning aircraft. On the following day Sgt. Urbanczyk together with S/L Caldwell got one Bf 109. On 15 March 1942 112 Squadron was moved from the front line to Sidi Haneish for replacements. Polish pilots didn't return to duty in this unit from 16 April 1942.

Whilst with 112 Squadron, the Australian government asked that he be released to return to Australia to command a Wing in the defence of Australia. This Wing was to consist of 3 Squadrons of "Spitfires", and Caldwell spent some time with the Kenley Wing before returning home to acquaint himself with the new aircraft. The Japanese were threatening Northern Australia, and several Australian towns were regularly being bombed. Caldwell left the Middle East with nineteen individual and three shared confirmed enemy kills, six probables, and fifteen damaged.

On his departure from the Middle East, the Marshall of the RAF Lord Tedder wrote of Caldwell: 'An excellent leader - and a first class shot.'

On taking up his command of No. 1 Fighter Wing based in Darwin, Caldwell again showed his outstanding fighting abilities and claimed a further eight Japanese aircraft by August 1943. Caldwell's tally was twenty-eight and a half by the time he left the Wing in August and for this feat he received a DSO to add to his DFC and Bar and Polish Cross of Valour.

How Worcestershire RAF fighter pilot helped Stalin defeat Hitler
by Adam Aspinall, Sunday Mercury


THE last surviving member of a secret RAF squadron who helped save Russia from defeat by Nazi Germany has finally revealed the truth about his wartime heroics.

Eric Carter was a 21 year-old fighter pilot in 1941 when he boarded a blacked-out train in Hull with his 81 Squadron and taken to Liverpool.

The young airmen were then ushered on to a waiting ship and set sail for the open seas, still none the wiser about their destination.

Rumours within the squadron suggested they could be heading for Africa – but they soon discovered they would not need any warm weather gear.

Eric was part of Force Benedict, a clandestine operation to save the strategically vital Russian port of Murmansk.

It was being targeted by the Nazis who were marching relentlessly towards Moscow.

The mission to protect the port and train Russian fighter pilots was top secret because Stalin did not want the world to know he needed British help to defeat the invading Germans.

And such was the secrecy surrounding the ultimately successful operation, that it was largely forgotten for nearly 70 years.

That is until the chance discovery earlier this year of a medal awarded to Force Benedict’s Wing Commander, Group Captain Henry Neville Gynes Ramsbottom-Isherwood.

He was one of only four non-Russians awarded the nation’s highest military award, the Order of Lenin, which was sold at auction in Sothebys this week for £46,000.

Eric, now 89 and living in Chaddesley Corbett, Worcestershire, revealed how he and his comrades were plunged into a grim battle of life and death in the skies above the port on the edge of the Arctic circle.

He said: “Force Benedict was a very well kept secret.

‘‘Stalin did not want his people to know that he had asked the West for help and we were threatened with a court martial if we said anything.

‘‘I was young and must have been mad, but perhaps we were just a tougher generation. I knew the average lifespan in the air was just 15 minutes but I was determined to volunteer after hearing the atrocities the Germans had carried out on the Russians.”

Eric had joined the RAF in 1939 and was initially posted to the famous 615 Squadron who were recuperating in Wales following the Battle of Britain in 1940.

He served with them for a year, defending the skies over Liverpool and Manchester, before being transferred to 81 Squadron. Alongside 134 Squadron, they made up 151 Wing which was sent to save Murmansk.

Eric said: “Murmansk was a pivotal point in the war. It was Russia’s Battle of Britain, the battle for their very survival, and we had to hold on to the port at all costs.

“Our job was to escort Russian bombers and fight off the German planes. We went on 60-odd missions and never lost one bomber.

“But we were only 10 miles from the German base.

“Their General repeatedly asked Hitler for more men so they could overun our airfield but he refused, so we got lucky there.’’

Life in the freezing under-siege city was tough and the threat of death constantly stalked the British pilots – with German bombers above and trigger-happy Russians on the ground.

Eric said: “Murmansk was like Beirut, it was all rubble.

“And the Russians soldiers did not bother to ask who you were, they just killed you on sight. So we were issued with special passes and had to hold them in front of us as we walked anywhere or else we would have been shot.

“It was minus 40 most of the time. Our aircraft and transport vehicles had to be started up every 20 minutes to prevent them from freezing for good.

“And life was so cheap out there.

“Labourers working on the airfield would sometimes freeze to death after a night drinking and in the morning they would be just scooped up and put in the back of a truck.

“But that helped build the strongest camaraderie with your pals because that was all we had. You depended on them for your life and they were all that you lived for.

“Yet we never thought Murmansk was a hopeless cause, never considered defeat and never contemplated that Britain might be invaded if we lost.

“We were determined to win and that’s what we did.

“When you were up in the air you were nearly always in trouble, but Murmansk was the key to everything at that point so we just had to survive.

“We used to fly in pairs to cover each other and shot down our fair share of Luftwaffe, but the Germans gave us a very hard time.

‘‘Yet although we lost a pilot on the first day, we only lost one other during our time there.’’

Wing 151 carried out 365 sorties during a four-month stay in Murmansk, shooting down 11 Messerschmitt fighters and three Junker 88 bombers before handing the secured port back to the Russians on October 13, 1941.

By then the deep snows had begun falling and the German army was set to stall within sight of Moscow. It was the beginning of the end of Hitler’s invasion of Russia – and the turning point of the Second World War.

Eric and his comrades returned to Britain without fanfare after the operation.

He married his wife Phyllis, who he described as “wonderful wife and mother”, while on leave in 1943, before being posted to Burma for the remainder of the war, flying Spitfires and supply missions in Dakotas from Rangoon to Calcutta.

His beloved wife passed away four years ago, after 62 years of marriage.

But the people of Murmansk have never forgotten Eric’s bravery and he has been invited back to the city many times in recent years where he is still feted as a hero.

“The Russian Government has never forgotten what we did for them,’’ said Eric, who is the last survivor of 81 Squadron – and possibly the last remaining member of Force Benedict.

“Me and my wife were invited to the Russian Embassy in London during the 1980s for a ceremony of remembrance with the Ambassador.

“It was a funny occasion and he had a big rant about Margaret Thatcher, I didn’t know where to put my face.

“And I have been repeatedly asked back to Murmansk to remember what we did for them.

“The Russians think a lot more of their war veterans then we do in Britain and they have really looked after me every time I have been over there. They even let me go on board one of their nuclear submarines and how many British people can say they have done that?

“A lot of my pals died during the war and I’m the only one left now.

“I hope our sacrifice and the freedom people enjoy now means it was worth it.”

more raf in the ussr...

Stalin's British heroes: The discovery of a forgotten medal reveals the extraordinary courage of the RAF aces who fought for the Soviet Union


The Messerschmitt was screaming towards him on a head-to-head collision course, but it was Flight-Lieutenant Micky Rook who got his shot in first. He held his nerve, pressed the firing button of his Hurricane fighter plane and the German Me109 exploded in mid-air, disintegrating before his eyes. Another hard-won 'kill' for the RAF in the early years of World War II.
Yet this was no part of the famous Few's dogfight over Kent. The waters beneath Rook's plane were not the English Channel but the icy Barents Sea off Murmansk on the northern edge of the Soviet Union, deep inside the Arctic Circle.
Rook was part of 151 Wing, a little-known RAF group who fought against the Germans alongside the pilots of the Soviet dictator, Joseph Stalin, for four vital months in the winter of 1941. Code-named Force Benedict, its mission has been largely forgotten for nearly seven decades - until the chance discovery earlier this year of a medal awarded to the splendidly named Wing Commander Henry Neville Gynes Ramsbottom-Isherwood, who led 151 Wing.

The red and gold Order of Lenin, resplendent with hammer and sickle and a platinum portrait of the Russian revolutionary leader, is one of the rarest ever won by a British serviceman. It had lain untouched at the back of a cupboard in Sussex for years.
At a Sotheby's auction next month it is expected to attract bids as high as £30,000.
The story behind the medal is an extraordinary one. Stalin's Russia and Hitler's Germany had a non-aggression pact - until Hitler tore it up and huge numbers of German forces invaded the Soviet Union in June 1941.
The Russians had been caught on the hop, largely because Stalin himself had ignored many warnings about such an invasion, and now they desperately needed weapons and supplies to stem the Nazi advance.
Stalin urged Winston Churchill, Britain's wartime leader, to send him Spitfires, the RAF's latest and fastest fighter planes. Churchill refused.
Britain was still struggling to keep the Germans at bay across the Channel and needed its best aircraft for that fight. But to show willing to his new ally, he dispatched Hurricanes - 40 of them to begin with, hundreds later.
As trainers and technicians went the men of 151 Wing, made up of two squadrons, Nos 81 and 134. They were officially under the command of Admiral Nikolai Kuznetsov, head of the Soviet Navy and Naval Air Service, and their orders were to undertake 'the defence of the naval base of Murmansk and co-operation with the Soviet Forces in the Murmansk areas'.
In practice, their job was to get the Hurricanes flying, train the Russians in their use, hand them over and return to Britain. But since they were within easy range of air bases in Germany's ally Finland, they would also go into action, escorting Russian bombers to these targets and shooting down as many German aircraft as they could

Speed was crucial. The ruthlessness and intensity of Operation Barbarossa, Hitler's attack on the Soviet Union, sent the Red Army reeling. It was essential to get the planes to Russia and flying as soon as possible - and before the winter snows began.
The first batch sailed from Liverpool on August 12 in a convoy headed for the port of Archangel, on Russia's White Sea.
Aboard the SS Llanstephen Castle were 16 Hurricanes in crates, with all the spares and kit they would need to get them in the air. The flotilla of ships, codenamed Dervish, was the first of the PQ convoys that later become notorious because so many of their ships were sunk by Nazi U-boats on that run through near-freezing seas to northern Russia.
The second batch, of 24 Hurricanes and their crews, were put on board HMS Argus, an escort carrier converted from a World War I Italian merchant ship.
She sailed from Greenock on August 19. When the Argus reached Murmansk Sound, the Hurricanes were to fly off from its deck and go directly to a remote and windswept airfield at Vaenga, 15 miles north-west of Murmansk on the Kola peninsula that borders Finland.
All 39 were to rendezvous there at a brutally exposed base whose rutted grass strip was open to the bitter winds and snows of the Russian winter. In all, around 550 RAF air and ground crew made this their home for the next four months, a very short time to get their mission completed in temperatures that would go down to -15C, with daylight that varied from 23 hours at the start to three at the end, and rain, mist, snow and ice.
They achieved miracles. Just six days after the Llanstephen Castle docked at Archangel on August 30, three Hurricanes took off for flight testing. Nine days after arrival all 15 were flying, to the delight of the pilots and the Russians. They flew up to Murmansk and the first operational patrols began.
Heading the operation was Wing Commander Ramsbottom-Isherwood, who, despite the overwhelming old-world Englishness of his name, was from New Zealand.
Short, wiry and tough-minded, he was a career RAF flyer in his mid-30s. He was probably the most experienced pilot in the Wing and had been awarded an Air Force Cross for his hazardous duties flight-testing Spitfires, Hurricanes, Typhoons and

Described as having a mouth like a steel trap he was, as one of his men said, not to be trifled with, although he did have a sense of humour and was known to enjoy a party. Once, in Murmansk, his absence at breakfast was noted after a particularly lively Anglo-Soviet celebration the previous night.
His pilots - many of whom had flown in the Battle of Britain of the previous year - were young and keen as mustard, although a bit surprised to find themselves 170 miles north of the Arctic Circle when they had initially believed they were going to the desert, a subterfuge designed to keep the mission secret before they set off.
Among them were Micky Rook and his cousin, the moustachioed Squadron Leader Tony Rook, both dashing six-footers. There was also one very short man, Flt Lt Jack Ross, who was a formidable flyer, having already shot down five German aircraft. He supervised much of the Russian pilots' flight training.
Vaenga, their base, was on a sandy silver birch-covered plateau a few miles from Murmansk Sound. It lacked concrete runways and tarmacked roads and there were no hangars - the aircraft were scattered in wooden pens screened by branches.
But living conditions were good. The men had brick barracks with solid windows and plenty of wood-fired heating.
On the very first day, the Russian hosts produced a welcoming breakfast that included champagne and brandy - delights that were not, however, to be repeated.
The only complaints came from younger officers who found the daily menu of smoked salmon, caviar and cold ham a poor substitute for the bacon and eggs and sausages they were used to. The youngest occasionally complained: 'Oh, hell, here's that smoked salmon again.'
But they saw their job as more than just assembling Hurricanes for the Russians and training them in their use. Here was a not-to-be-missed chance for these Battle of Britain veterans to take on the Luftwaffe again in a different theatre of operations.

On September 12, six patrols and escorts went out and 151 Wing had its first skirmishes with enemy planes. Three of the enemy were shot down, but at a price - the loss of sergeant pilot N. Smith, the Murmansk mission's only combat fatality.
His aircraft was hit behind the cockpit. Unable to bail out because the cockpit rail was damaged, it is thought he attempted a crash-landing on rugged ground and was killed.
Others flirted with death, as Flight-Lieutenant Rook did when he took on that Messerschmitt, one of six flying in formation. At 7,000ft over Finland, he had become separated from the rest of his patrol and, at first, thought the six planes he spotted ahead of him were his own men. He sidled up alongside them before realising his mistake.
They turned on him. He blasted the first one out of the sky and then dived for home at Vaenga with the other five enemy fighters on his tail. They chased him down to mast height over Murmansk Sound before he shook them off.
As he said later, having landed after one of the stiffest dogfights of his life, he sat sweating in his cockpit for a good five minutes before he could lever himself out. The Germans, he said, 'must have thought I was either bloody brave or bloody foolish'.
In all, Wing 151 carried out 365 sorties during its stay at Vaenga, claiming 11 Messerschmitt fighters and three Ju88 bombers shot down - a very creditable tally, considering how short the mission was. On October 13, the handover of the Hurricanes to the Air Force of the Soviet Northern Fleet started.
On October 26 the first Luftwaffe aircraft was destroyed by an ex-151 Wing Hurricane flown by a Russian pilot. Force Benedict's job was done. It was time to go home.
But before leaving, the Wing organised a farewell party for their hosts. The whisky, gin and port proved too much for the Russians, despite their liking for copious amounts of vodka.
On November 16, an advance party left for Archangel to sail back to Britain.
A fortnight later, Wing-Commander Ramsbottom-Isherwood, Squadron Leaders Rook and AG Miller and Flt Sgt Haw were awarded the Order of Lenin, the only four British servicemen so honoured in the whole of World War II.
In the list of Russian honours, the only one higher is the Order of Victory, and only one of those was awarded to a Brit - Viscount Montgomery.
On a fine spring day in late March 1942, the four were invited to the Soviet embassy in Kensington where Ivan Maisky, the ambassador, presented them with the medals.

The importance of the event for Anglo-Soviet relations was shown by the presence of Clementine Churchill, representing the Prime Minister Winston Churchill; Sir Archibald Sinclair, Britain's Air Secretary; Air Chief Marshal Sir Charles Portal, the Chief of Air Staff; and Air Marshal Sir William Sholto Douglas, head of fighter command.
Ramsbottom-Isherwood was also awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross for his Russian exploits. He later flew in the Far East and survived the war, rising to the rank of group captain. Afterwards, he became commanding officer at Martlesham Heath RAF base in Suffolk.
On April 24, 1950, he took off in a Meteor jet fighter, then just coming into service, for a test flight. Over Kent, he ran into blinding snowstorms and icy conditions.
He flew over West Malling at 200ft and headed for RAF Manston. At 10.45 the aircraft dived into the ground four miles east of Tonbridge and disintegrated, killing him outright.
Extreme icing was the likeliest cause of the accident. At only 44, the man who had led Force Benedict through the wintry skies of Northern Russia had died in conditions similar to those he and his men had encountered and overcome in distant Murmansk.
His medal, along with his other awards, stayed with his family. His wife remarried and went to America. She is now dead. His only child, India, just 10 when her father died, had little interest in medals. Eventually she settled in Rottingdean, on the East Sussex coast. She is now frail and in her late 60s.
In February she moved to Somerset to be looked after by friends.
While her house was being cleared, a plastic bag containing her father's long-forgotten medals was found at the back of a cupboard.
In it were his AFC and DFC 37 - and that rare and elusive Order of Lenin. From that find has emerged a rarely remembered story of World War II bravery and the odd, forgotten campaign fought by the men of 151 Wing in a remote, cold corner of the Soviet Union.


picture: Group Captain H N G Ramsbottom-Isherwood was one of only four non-Russins awarded the Order of Lenin

this is pretty interesting....

Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago. Capone wasn't famous for anything
heroic. He was*notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.

Capone had a lawyer nicknamed "Easy Eddie." He was Capone's lawyer for a good reason. Eddie was
very good! In fact, Eddie's skill at legal maneuvering kept Big Al out of jail for a long time.
To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big, but Eddie got special dividends, as well. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block. Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago*mob and gave little consideration to the atrocity that went on around him.

Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object. And, despite his involvement with organized crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was. Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn't give his son; he couldn't pass on a good name or a good example.

One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Easy Eddie wanted to rectify wrongs he had done. He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al "Scarface" Capone, clean up his tarnished name, and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob, and he knew that the cost would be great. So, he testified. Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street. But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he could ever pay Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion, and a poem clipped from a magazine.
*The poem read:

"The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop,at late or early hour. Now is the only time you own. Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in time.* For the clock may soon be still."

STORY NUMBER TWO

World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O'Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific. One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship. His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet. As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold; a squadron of Japanese aircraft was speeding its way toward the American fleet. The American fighters were gone on a sortie, and the fleet was all but defenseless.* He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger.There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet.

Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 caliber's blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent. Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the planes, trying to clip a wing or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible, rendering them unfit to fly. Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction. Deeply relieved, Butch O'Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon arrival, he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had, in fact, destroyed five enemy aircraft.

This took place on February 20, 1942, and for that action Butch became the Navy's first Ace of W.W.II, and the first Naval Aviator to win the Congressional Medal of Honor. A year later Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29.* His home town would not allow the memory of this WW II hero to fade, and today, O'Hare Airport in*Chicago*is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.



So, the next time you find yourself at O'Hare International, give some thought to visiting Butch's memorial displaying his statue and his Medal of Honor. It's located between Terminals 1 and 2.

SO WHAT DO THESE TWO STORIES HAVE TO DO WITH EACH OTHER?



Butch O'Hare was "Easy Eddie's" son.

World War II fighter pilot is reunited with the Spitfire he was shot down in 65 years ago

A fighter pilot shot down over France more than 65 years ago has been re-united with the Spitfire that almost became his tomb.

Piotr Kuryllowicz was serving with the RAF in 1943 when he bailed out of his blazing Spitfire Mk IX over the Somme after an attack by a Luftwaffe fighter.

The plane, which plummeted 20,000 feet into the ground, lay buried six metres deep until it was recovered in 2005 by French enthusiasts and sent for restoration.

And this week, the 90-year-old who now lives in Canada, took his place back behind the controls for the first time since he was shot down.

Remembering the last time he flew the plane with No. 315 and No317 Squadrons, he said: ‘We were always having lectures, every week it would be something different. In one they told us if you are more than 250 feet away from the enemy, don't bother firing because you will only dent the aircraft from that distance.

Well, we were over Somme flying close escort and I looked over my shoulder and could see someone firing at me, I think it was a Focke Wulf or a ME109.

‘I thought they were too far away to do any damage, the next thing I know I could hear someone on the radio saying Kuryllowicz is on fire.’

Mr Kuryllowicz, who received the Polish Cross of Valour for his wartime efforts, was captured by the Germans while the plane lay wrecked in the French fields until 2005.

He remained a POW until the end of the war, interned in the Stalag Luft III prisoner of war camp made famous in The Great Escape and The Wooden Horse.

The plane was recovered by French aviation enthusiast Pierre Ben and a team from Somme Aviation 39-45, who discovered it buried 6 metres below the ground.

Remarkably some of its original skin was intact, including the squadron insignia and markings, which helped them to identify it and trace Mr Kuryllowicz.

At a special ceremony in France in 2006, he saw the wreckage for the first time and was presented with a crowbar that could have saved his life.

Mr Kuryllowicz used the tool, mounted on the inside of the door, to break the jammed lock of the cockpit canopy, before climbing free of the burning plane and parachuting to safety.

‘As I climbed out on to the side of the plane I remember looking at the rivets and thinking how big they looked. It is strange the things that go through your head when something like that happens,’ said Mr Kuryllowicz.

‘I make sure I have a crowbar in every car I drive now.’

Airframe Assemblies has been involved in restoring or repairing around 90 per cent of the 54 Spitfires thought to still be flying.

a short from one of "the few"

“Our day in a fighter squadron started one hour before dawn and went on to one hour after dusk. This meant that we were on duty from about 3.30 am during the summer and autumn of 1940 and stood down at about 10.30 in the evening. That is of course, when we were not called upon to fly throughout the night, which occasionally happened.”

On the morning of the 15th September 1940, Tom Neil was shaken from his sleep and scrambled with his fellow pilots of 249 Squadron. Leaving the grass airfield at North Weald, the Hurricanes lifted off and began to climb away from the aerodrome.

With tired eyes, the pilots rigorously scanned the arena for the opposing Hun. Flying as Yellow 2, Neil watched as Bf 109s flew over several thousand feet above. Soon after, Ack-ack began to thump into the air at the approaching formation of Dornier 17 bombers. The Squadron turned towards them to attack. Neil positioned himself slightly below and dead astern to the nearest aircraft. With the gun button set to ‘fire’, Neil closed in and sprayed the port side of the Do 17. After putting in a second burst, Neil fell back to maintain his position and watched in amazement as two large objects were flung from the Do 17. In a flash, Neil looked up as the two men passed over his Hurricane with undeveloped parachutes. The crew had bailed out and almost collided with their startled attacker. Suddenly Neil was in the presence of hungry 109’s looking for trouble. After some intense manoeuvrings and fighting, Neil looked around to find he was alone. The action had disappeared as quickly as it had started.

Neil kept his head turning in all directions, knowing full well that there could be hidden bandits skulking in the vast amounts of cumulus cloud. Sure enough, he spotted a Dornier slightly above him. Neil opened up the throttle and set after it. Flying high above the Thames, he quickly caught up with the Do 17, realizing that he wasn’t alone. About 200 yards on Neil’s left was a Spitfire, chasing after the bomber in front. Hurricane and Spitfire flew line abreast and watched as the Hun took cover in the large cotton wool clouds. Quickly re-emerging, it took evasive action and began to dive towards the Estuary. Neil and his companion began astern attacks, taking it in turns to fire short bursts into the Dornier. With smoking engines the aircraft turned eastwards towards the sea. After a final attack, the Hurricane’s guns fell silent. Neil watched the Spitfire deliver the remainder of its ammo and then pull away. The stricken aircraft lost height and grazed over the convoy of ships below. Exhausted, the Dornier’s tail slumped and collided with the North Sea. Leaving the Hun to submerge in the waves, the RAF’s finest veered away.

Flying inland together, the Spitfire pilot gave a wave from the cockpit and pulled away, leaving Neil to head back for North Weald.

The Luftwaffe’s Flying Dutchmen

The following is the translation from French of an article by German historian Hans-Werner Neulen which was published in the February/March 2001 issue of AÉRO JOURNAL magazine, published bi-monthly by Aéro-Éditions of F-32500 Fleurance.

All the countries occupied by the Germans between 1939 and 1945 supplied the Luftwaffe with aircrew contingents, of greater or lesser importance and for the most part these were comprised of volunteers. In proportion to the size of their small nation, the Dutch were probably the most numerous. The following is the history of four such men.

To face the German invasion of the Netherlands on 10th May 1940 the LVA could assemble some three hundred aircraft, of which 25% were combat types (being utilised by Lv regiments 1 & 2) Dutch military aviation offered vigorous resistance to the Luftwaffe. In five days of combat, the Dutch lost 80 aircraft (70% of their front-line strength). The Germans losses totalled 328 machines (1) (including 206 brought down by anti-aircraft guns)

FOREIGN VOLUNTEERS
Five years of occupation followed. During this period a small number of Dutch nationals collaborated with the new masters of the Netherlands. Some fifty thousand Dutch volunteered for Service in either German military (Waffen-SS, Kriegsmarine) or para-military (NSKK, OT, RAD etc) units. Only a minute fraction of these volunteers chose aviation.

A list prepared in 1945 for judicial purposes (Strijders in Duitschen Dienst aan het Oostfront) states – via informants or unit names – the existence of twenty-two Dutch nationals who served as ‘aviators' (2) This list is most likely incomplete, it was prepared in haste shortly after the country was liberated and thus with little retrospection. It is however accepted that about a dozen Dutchmen did serve as active aircrew. This is a large contingent for a western European nation.

It may be said that the citizens of the Netherlands possessed a ‘trump card’ faced with the racial policies of the national-socialists. They were viewed as a Germanic race and so could enrol without problems in units such as the Waffen-SS. The Luftwaffe authorities however, were for their part, more reserved and hardly willing to put their machines in the hands of foreigners. It was too easy for a candidate to desert in possession of a modern aircraft or to reach neutral countries or land behind enemy lines. This intransigent opinion was to be relaxed during the course of the war. The losses of German aviation provide evidence of how it became possible for Estonians Latvians, Russians, Norwegians, Danes, French, Belgians and others to enter the exclusive ranks of German aircrew. They are found in all units, fighter, night-harassment, bomber, etc. Despite understandable desertions at the war’s end, it is nonetheless clear that the greater part of these foreign volunteers died alongside their German colleagues before the final collapse of the IIIrd Reich.

The reasons why foreign volunteers chose to serve in the Luftwaffe are simple to understand; a desire for adventure, idealism, love of flying, fascination with modern technology, political convictions and even as a profession (it may have been seen as training and preparation for a post-war career in civil aviation) Another important element was the fear of ending up as an infantryman on the eastern front. This was the lot of most Estonians, Latvians and the French from Alsace-Lorraine who having been incorporated into the Reich were then automatically enrolled into the Wehrmacht. Fear of foot service in the East was undeniably a factor for prospective foreign aircrew. In view of all this and of the skills and capabilities demanded of aircrew, it is becomes clear why those of a mercenary disposition, attracted to military service merely for the pay, are not found among the ranks of aircrew. This is also true of the four Dutch volunteers whose tales are related below.


KLAAS VISSER
Klaas Visser was born on 24th December 1921 in Amsterdam; the son of a shopkeeper/delivery driver. He attended school from 1927 to 1936. Then his schooling was interrupted and he worked fulltime in his parent’s shop, whilst attending evening classes through to 1937. In September 1942 for reasons which remain unknown he volunteered for active service in a German unit which also remains unidentified. Whatever, in a CV signed by him on 10 July 1943 he states being employed as a chauffeur in Berlin. His military ID states that he was attached to aerodrome A 9/VII, namely Crailsheim. On 20 March 1943 he concluded basic training at Fliegerregiment 51 and was posted on 1 June 1943 to 6/Fl.Rgt.90. He was subsequently assigned on 1944 to 9/NJG.1 His engagement seems to have come as a shock to his family, as he wrote in his CV. ‘My relationship with my parents, my brothers and sisters and my friends is not good in view of my voluntary service in the Wehrmacht’

Perhaps Visser was thinking of reversing his choice – but this would prove to be out of the question. His voluntary Luftwaffe service was not to be terminated by a voluntary retirement! In September 1944 in regard to the fast advancing allies, NJG 1 had to abandon its bases in Belgium & Netherlands. III/NJG 1 reached Fritzlar via Werl and Krefeld. Visser was allocated to a crew as gunner (3). On the evening of 12 December 1944, Bf 110G-4 G9+OT (Werknummer 440135) with Flieger Hans Apel (pilot) Unteroffizier Walter Trenck and our Gefreiter Visser took off on a sortie. That night Essen was the RAF’s target – during which they dropped more than 2354 tonnes of bombs on the town. G9+OT was engaged and destroyed by an allied night-fighter. Trenck and Apel survived (4) but Visser was killed near Dorsten. The young Dutch volunteer is buried in the local cemetery of Marl-Brassert.

WILLEM EDUARD DE GRAAF
De Graaf, an experienced and competent KLM pilot would prove to have more of a chance. He was born on 11th January 1908 in Soekaboemi (Netherlands East Indies) His father originated from the Netherlands, his mother was Indonesian. He joined KLM in 1926 to become an aeronautical engineer. From October 1930 through to the start of 1933 he was in the service of the LVA so as to obtain his military pilot’s brevet (in 1931) and his B brevet (in 1933) As of May 1st 1933 he was appointed a co-pilot on KLM’s European and Asian routes. It is most probable that, during this period, he experienced rebuffs or prejudices due to his appearance and background and these accordingly may have influenced his attitude.



After the invasion of his country De Graaf became an adherent of the NSB and was accepted with no problems. (perhaps understandable in view of the close links between the mother country and her colonies). De Graaf’s choice perhaps can be explained with simple ‘belonging’ psychology: that of being a ‘half-caste’ who was always viewed as an ‘outsider’ by the ‘Dutch’ – then becoming a fully accepted member of the party which collaborated with the Germans.

In 1942 he applied to join the Luftwaffe and was eagerly accepted despite his ancestry not exactly complying with ‘Aryan’ requirements. In April this member of the ‘old brigade’ found himself in the 4th recruit company of Fliegerausbildungsregiment 42 in Salzwedel. But he soon left this ‘boy’s unit ’ to serve as a delivery pilot between an aircraft factory in Leipzig and Rangsdorf airfield. In 1943 he was with the celebrated Versuchsverband des ObdL. This was an elite unit carrying out special missions and dropping agents behind enemy lines. This posting proves in itself the obvious capabilities of the Dutch-Indonesian pilot, and the confidence placed in him by his superiors. On November 3rd 1943 he received a serious leg injury when his B-71 (Czech licence-built Tupolev SB2) DR+PG Werknummer 230 crashed in the northern Crimea. His injuries kept him from the front for some months.

In February 1944 the Versuchsverband des ObdL was incorporated into the equally renowned KG 200 and De Graaf and his comrades performed many more audacious and secret missions as Kommando Maria of I./KG200. Flying diverse aircraft, often captured types, they would ensure agents were dropped close as possible to targets before leaving them. Willem Eduard De Graaf survived to 1945 when he was trained to fly jet fighters. After Germany capitulated he went undercover for a period in Germany itself before reaching South America. At this point all trace of him was lost (7).

JOHANNES ANTONIUS KUHN
Johannes Antonius Kuhn. Born in Amsterdam on 15th November 1908 was destined to survive WW2. Having obtained his pilot’s brevet in 1932, he was applied in 1937 for a six-year posting to the KNIL. He was accepted on August 14th. In the colony the reserve NCO flew Martin 139 bombers, but in 1938 he was repatriated due to health problems related to the tropical climate. En 1939 he re-engaged for service in the ML. He started with the unit I-2 LvR (equipped with Fokker C-V & Koolhoven FK-51) before progressing at the end of 1939 to V-2 LvR (a fighter unit) to re-train as a fighter pilot. At the start of 1940 he was the pilot of a Douglas DB-8A. The Netherlands had 28 of these aircraft. It is amazing that they were in service as fighters as they were designed as two-seat bombers. A shortage of fighter aircraft had forced the Dutch to take this drastic measure. Kuhn’s (nicknamed ‘Bulletje’ by his colleagues on account of his short stature) involvement in the May 1940 actions was to be brief. On the 1oth May his DB-8A N° 392 was shot down near Pijnacker (probably by a Bf 110 of II./ZG1) Kuhn and his radio-operator NCO Staal were able to leave the machine but Kuhn suffered serious injury to a knee as a result of the crash landing. This meant long months of recuperation in hospital which then followed. In 1942 he was regarded as fully recovered and discharged on 15th October, having been declared as unsuitable for flying duties. That same year he applied to join the Luftwaffe. What was his motivation? In 1944 during interrogation by the British he stated that his German fiancée pushed him into making this choice. One suspects that this was purely an excuse.



Anyhow, in view of his prolonged absence from flying, the Luftwaffe were not going to let him escape the need for re-training! From October 1942 through to April 1943 he was at Flieger-Ausbildung-Regiment 63 at Toul (F) before moving on to the Flugzeugführerüberprüfungschule at Prenzlau. Subsequently at the start of January 1944 he moved to Schlachtgeschwader 101 (a ground-attack unit equipped with Fw 190 and some Hs 129s) based at Orly (F) After an interlude training at Quedlinburg, the Dutchman was transferred to Überführungsgruppe West, a ferry unit formed in mid-1943to fly new or repaired aircraft from factories to front-line units.

Überführungsgruppe West comprised 4 Geschwader. Kuhn belonged to the third. It Willie recognised that Kuhn had arrived at a bad moment. In the weeks preceding June 6th 1944 the ferry pilots had to accept the risk of allied intruder fighters spoiling for a fight. Many pilots were shot down due to this cause. When the ferried aircraft finally reached the airfields, they were then likely to become targets for allied bombers. After the invasion on D-Day 6th June, Überführungsgruppe West abandoned their advance bases and retreated to within the Reich borders. The quality of the pilots declined rapidly as a result of losses reaching 35/40%! Kuhn was particularly depressed as, being based at Langendiebach, he regularly had to take-off in He IIIs of TG 30 participating in supply flights for the German pockets of resistance on the Atlantic coast.

He decided to desert. To do so he had to wait for a favourable moment, which presented itself on 30th August 1944. On that day he was flying one of fourteen FW 190A8s being sent to reinforce JG 26 at Brussels-Melbroek. Kuhn was flying Werknummer 171747. Time was getting short. At 11:30 he took off for Belgium. He passed Aachen & Ostend and then headed west. Close to the many ships at sea he crossed the North Sea. So as not to run the risk of being shot down by British flak, he did not head for a known aerodrome, but managed to put his aircraft down in open country near Monkton in Kent. It was a good landing and his aircraft suffered only minor damage. It would receive the serial AM230 and would be displayed to the public many times; at Farnborough in 1945 , then going to the Science Museum in London in 1946. It was later scrapped.

As for Kuhn he remained a POW in Great Britain until 1949. In the 1980s he was given a friendly welcome by Dutch military aviation veterans. His peers managed to sponge over his ‘intermezzo’ in the Luftwaffe.

KLAAS VISSER
Klaas Visser was born on 24th December 1921 in Amsterdam; the son of a shopkeeper/delivery driver. He attended school from 1927 to 1936. Then his schooling was interrupted and he worked fulltime in his parent’s shop, whilst attending evening classes through to 1937. In September 1942 for reasons which remain unknown he volunteered for active service in a German unit which also remains unidentified. Whatever, in a CV signed by him on 10 July 1943 he states being employed as a chauffeur in Berlin. His military ID states that he was attached to aerodrome A 9/VII, namely Crailsheim. On 20 March 1943 he concluded basic training at Fliegerregiment 51 and was posted on 1 June 1943 to 6/Fl.Rgt.90. He was subsequently assigned on 1944 to 9/NJG.1 His engagement seems to have come as a shock to his family, as he wrote in his CV. ‘My relationship with my parents, my brothers and sisters and my friends is not good in view of my voluntary service in the Wehrmacht’

Perhaps Visser was thinking of reversing his choice – but this would prove to be out of the question. His voluntary Luftwaffe service was not to be terminated by a voluntary retirement! In September 1944 in regard to the fast advancing allies, NJG 1 had to abandon its bases in Belgium & Netherlands. III/NJG 1 reached Fritzlar via Werl and Krefeld. Visser was allocated to a crew as gunner (3). On the evening of 12 December 1944, Bf 110G-4 G9+OT (Werknummer 440135) with Flieger Hans Apel (pilot) Unteroffizier Walter Trenck and our Gefreiter Visser took off on a sortie. That night Essen was the RAF’s target – during which they dropped more than 2354 tonnes of bombs on the town. G9+OT was engaged and destroyed by an allied night-fighter. Trenck and Apel survived (4) but Visser was killed near Dorsten. The young Dutch volunteer is buried in the local cemetery of Marl-Brassert.

Notes:
1. Including losses inflicted by British & French fighters....
2. It is likely that some listed as ‘aviators’ were actually Luftwaffe drivers or flak crew.
3. Gunners did not need such long training as pilots or radio operators. Often groundcrew flew as gunners
4. A brief respite. Both were later KIA on 21 February 1945
5. This is as amazing as the case of Fleming Guido Rombouts, who joined the Algemeen SS and transferred straight away to the Luftwaffe. Rombout was succesful in achieving his goal although it seems he did not even at the time possess a civil pilot’s licence. He eventually joined JG 1 and was also killed in combat.
6. Other sources (Prien & Rodeike) state Werk-Nr. 27091 and call him <Fw. Dr Johann Vliegner > – some Dutchman!
7. Perhaps, like many others, he intended becoming a civil airline pilot in S. America

US pilot who crashed in Britain in 1944 returns to unveil memorial to comrades after plane wreckage is found.

Waiting in the departure lounge at JFK in New York for a flight to London, an announcement came over the public address system. We would be traveling with a very important passenger, it said.

An elderly man was sitting in a wheelchair. This, we were told, was Norman Landberg, who had flown 56 missions over Europe in B-24 Liberators during WWII. He was returning to Britain for the first time since 1945 to be guest of honor at a ceremony to unveil a memorial for two of his comrades, who had died when a plane he was flying had crashed on take-off.

America has a great sense of respect for war veterans and the passengers rose to applaud Mr Landberg as he was wheeled through the gate and down to the plane. I found him sitting in business class, his seat set in the reclining position, being cosseted by two flight attendants, a modest, quiet-spoken man in a tracksuit and trainers, slightly bemused by all the fuss.

During the war, Lt Landberg of 36 Bomber Squadron, as he was then, was stationed in Cheddington Air Base in Ivinghoe, Buckinghamshire. His trip to Britain was not only the first time he had been back to the country since 1945, he told me, but the first time he had been in an aircraft, "I'm a little nervous." He thought for a moment. "Anticipatory."

It was all very different from flying over Germany in a B-24. "What was that like? Oh my God, there was no insulation. It was cold as hell, 50 degrees below. Your wings would be flapping all over the place, rackety as anything. It was terrible."

Mr Landberg's squadron was engaged in special operations, attached to RAF 100 Group. His B-24 did not carry bombs but top secret radar-jamming equipment. His job was to fly lone missions over Germany, without any support from fighters, in advance of the Lancaster bombing raids. Flying below enemy radar, Lt Landberg would circle an area at an altitude of between 50ft and 100ft, transmitting radar signals designed to fool the Germans into scrambling their fighter squadrons in pursuit of a non-existent enemy.

By the time the actual bombers arrived - or so the theory went - the nightfighters would be back on the ground refueling. Mr Landberg's description of this is succinct: "Scary."

He was just 21 at the time, responsible for the lives of his 10-man crew. "That responsibility was not lost on me and that's the reason I'm coming to England." On the night of Nov 15th 1944, Lt Landberg took off on what he expected to be a routine - if such a word can be used - mission.

Shortly after take-off, his aircraft lost power. "All my lights went out. My engineer had a flashlight which he shone in my eyes. I couldn't see the instruments and my left wing caught the ground and I started to tumble."

The plane hit the ground, ploughing across two fields. The aircraft was loaded with 4,000 gallons of fuel and 26,000 rounds of ammunition. It should have exploded but amazingly, it didn't.

However, Lt Landberg's navigator and best friend William Lamson and the left-waist gunner Leonard Smith were killed on impact. The cockpit in which Lt Landberg was sitting was ripped from the fuselage and thrown 300 yards from the wreck. "I just snapped off the safety belt and stepped out onto the ground" he said. "Oh my God, it was something."

The other seven crew members also survived. Lt Landberg had a week of rest in Torquay before rejoining his squadron to fly another 30 missions.

At the end of the war he went back to his home and young wife Elizabeth in Atlantic City. "She was a great girl" he said. "She still is."

He thought of staying on in the Air Force, "but I'd sort of had my fill. Particularly of flying." He went to engineering school and then got into sales. "I was travelling all over the country, you can sell anything and I loved driving a car."

Mr Landberg has been so affected by the crash that he never spoke of it, not even to his wife. It might have passed, forgotten, into history had it not been for Chris Jellis, a 43-year old film prop man who lives in Ivinghoe. Mr Jellis' cousin owns Force End Farm, where Lt Landberg's B-24 crashed in 1944. For years, he had been plowing up bits of the wreckage, including live .50 cal ammunition without knowing what they were from.

In 1993, Mr Jellis himself picked up a piece of metal bearing a manufacturer's plate - Ford Motor Co. Dearborn - and soon became, in his own words, "a bit of an anorak on the B-24." A local historian told him that American bombers had been stationed at Cheddington. Through military records here and in America he determined the squadron and names of the crew of the crashed bomber. Dialing every N Landberg in phone directories in America, he eventually found his Lt Landberg.

I said "Is that Lt Landberg?" Mr Jellis told me. "He said 'No-one's called me that since 1945' "
When I told him I'd been picking up bits of wreckage from his plane for years, he said "Didn't they clear that sucker up?"

Mr Jellis resolved to erect a memorial in honor of the two airmen who had died. Yesterday, Mr Landberg joined the only other surviving member of his crew, the tail-gunner George Eberwine, whom he had not seen since the end of the war, at a ceremony to unveil the marble stone at the site of the crash. The ceremony included a dedication by a USAF chaplain, fly-past and wreath laying.

Mr Landberg later planned to visit the American war cemetery in Cambridge and the Imperial War Museum. As we neared Britain on Thursday, Mr Landberg told me, accepting a drink from a flight attendant, that the flight "was quite something". It might even have cured his aversion for flying. "It was most pleasant." he said, as we taxied to the arrivals gate. "I don't think I'll be quite so nervous flying home."

My turban saved my life after I was shot down in dogfight, reveals Sikh WWII flying ace

A sikh fighter pilot's life was saved by the padding in his turban after he was forced to ditch his plane in a WWII dogfight.

Squadron Leader Mohinder Singh Pujji, one of only a handful of Indian ace flyers in the RAF, crashed into the English Channel after his plane was shot down in a mid-air skirmish.
Advised to plant his stricken Hurricane in the sea because he was unable to swim, the 22-year-old nose-dived into the water.
Rescuers boarded boats to help the young flyer, who crashed landed near the White Cliffs of Dover, and pulled him from the wreckage with bad head injuries.

But Sqdn Ldr Singh Pujji, now 91, has told how his specially-adapted headgear, which even had his wings sewn onto it, acted as a cushion for the crash-landing.
He said: 'The padding of my turban saved me, it was full of blood. I was taken to the hospital but after seven days I was back to flying again.'

He added: 'I couldn't swim. I carried on until I saw the white cliffs of Dover and I thought, "I'll make it."
'The aircraft was a total wreck. I was dragged out and I heard voices saying, "He's still alive, he's still alive." Because my eyes were closed I couldn't see.'

Sqdn Ldr Pujji added how his turban was fitted so that the earphones could go over the top and how he carried a spare in his cockpit.
'I had a special strap made to hold my earphones. I used to carry a spare turban with me so I would have one if I got shot down.
'I thought I was a very religious man, I shouldn't take off my turban.'
Sqdn Ldr Singh Pujji surrounds himself with wartime memorabilia at his sheltered accommodation block in Gravesend, Kent.

He relived his daring wartime exploits ahead his memoirs published later this year, called For King and Another Country.
He said he signed up for the RAF after responding to an advert declaring 'Pilots needed for Royal Air Force' in an Indian newspaper.

And after learning to fly in 1937 he was one of only eight pilots from the Empire colony deemed good enough for fighter duties.
Arriving in August 1940, at the height of the Battle of the Britain, the young officer then flew countless missions against Hitler's Luftwaffe.

He said: 'Every day was a question of life and death. Every flight we made we weren't sure we were going to come back.
'It's a job which can't easily be described, escorting convoys over the English Channel, going over occupied countries looking out for enemies, escorting bombers and making interceptions.

'In one minute we would have to be strapped in and up in the air ready to meet enemy fighters. This was three to four times a day, throughout six months.'
He had another lucky escape when he was shot down by Rommel's army in the Western Desert in north Africa.

He said: 'I didn't know what to do. I wasn't on fire, I didn't get hurt. I knew if I carried on north I would get to the Mediterranean, but any other direction I knew nothing.
'I gave up and sat on top of my plane and after a while I saw a cloud of dust. I did not mind who it was picking me up, Germany or Britain.
'I started waving my shirt and luckily it was the British.'

Sqdn Leader Pujji, who was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for his bravery, hit the headlines last year after campaigning against the BNP.
He was angered by party leader Nick Griffin's use of the iconic Spitfire to symbolize Britishness.

The Death of George Preddy

CHRISTMAS DAY 1944
By Samuel L. Sox, Jr.


The 9th Air Force, already operating from the continent for months providing close ground support for Allied armor and infantry, found itself much in demand and greatly overworked. The 9th sent an urgent request to the 8th Fighter Command requesting two additional fighter units to come to its aid. On the 23rd of December, Preddy led his 328th Squadron along with the 487th and 486th to a small remote 9th Air Force field located at Asch, Belgium, designated Y-29. The field was so close to the German lines that aircraft in the landing pattern were occasionally fired upon by enemy antiaircraft units.

The 352nd was not accustomed to the tough living conditions it now faced. Living in tents was a far cry from the Nissen huts the pilots occupied at Bodney. Most of the troops thought they would freeze to death the first night. The next day was spent getting the unit settled down and assembled. The ground crews who were transported in C-47s became lost and arrived a day late. The first mission from Y-29 was a milk run, no action. Christmas Day found flyable ceilings and two missions were scheduled that day. Preddy led his unit on the second one, a support mission into Germany with the bombers from the 8th. Lt. Gordon Cartee was Preddy's wing man. Cartee recalls, "After stooling around for a while, due to no action, we were vectored to an area close to Koblenz, Germany, where enemy aircraft had been encountered. Preddy, receiving the call said, "They've started without us, let's join them." Preddy immediately turned in that direction. Just as Mitchell was about to peel off, he looked up and spotted two 109s coming down on him and Lambright. He called to Preddy for assistance, but there was so much chatter on the radio that Preddy never heard him. Mitchell believes to this day that, had Preddy heard his cry for help, he would never have placed himself into the series of events that were to follow.

Cartee continues, "Preddy spotted two 109s and got into a Lufbery with the first one. Neither were gaining much advantage when all of a sudden another 109 cut in front of him. He eased up on his controls just enough, gave it a short burst, blazed it and then resumed his pursuit of the first one. The 109 lost his concentration seeing his buddy flamed and Preddy nailed him. Preddy's score now totaled 27.5 aerial and five ground victories. Moments later, Preddy and Cartee were vectored to an area southeast of Liege where it was reported that enemy aircraft were strafing Allied ground troops.

As they neared Liege, they were joined by a white nosed Mustang from the 479th FS, Lt. James Bouchier, who had become detached from his squadron. From the initial intercept point, approximately 3 to 4 miles SE of Liege, Preddy, now from a height of about 1500 feet, began to accelerate having picked out a long nosed FW-190 in the distance heading Northeast. He radioed “tally ho” to Control and was immediately cleared to make the intercept. There was also some talk between Control and Preddy about intense flak in the area of intercept and it being halted so the attack could be made. Unknown to Preddy, Cartee and Bouchier, was that their line of flight was taking them over the quad 50 cal. AA of “A” Battery of the 430th AA (who was attached to the 258th FABN XIX at that time) positioned on the west side of a large clump of trees 2 miles Southeast of Aachen, Germany. As they neared the AA gun positions, Preddy was hit first by ground fire, followed by Cartee and Bouchier. Cartee saw Cripes A'Mighty begin to lose coolant, the canopy came off and Preddy began a chandelle maneuver to his left. Cartee noticed that a tracer that had entered his cockpit was on the floor moldering. Without getting it out of the way, it could start a fire at his feet. He began trying to kick it around still trailing Preddy. Lt. Bouchier's Mustang also received fire, began smoking and he too broke left, climbing to about 1000' where he realized that he would have to bail out to free himself from his severely damaged P-51. He released his canopy, rolled the '51 over and dropped out safely landing in the British sector 7 to 8 miles North of where he had been hit. Further up Preddy's and Cartee's line of flight, now a couple miles South of Weisweiler, Sgt. Charles Brown, PFC John Starzynbski and Lt Murray Grobman ( 258th FABN XIX Corps) were standing at the NE edge of a very large wooded area approximately 2..5 miles SW from the a large church located in the little town of Langerwehe. They were startled by the sound of a sudden burst of quad 50-caliber mounted on a half track from behind and to their left. The burst lasted 3 to 4 seconds. When they looked to their left, just coming into their field of view was Preddy's Mustang, now upside down, approximately 200 to 300 feet altitude and 20 to 30 degrees nose down attitude.

Up in the steeple of the church in Langerwehe, as had been the case on several other occasions, was Sgt. Harold M. Kennedy and his buddy Cpl. Elmer L. Dye (both with the 104th Infantry Division). While the Battle of the Bulge raged just a few miles away, it was relatively static in their sector where the Division had dug in on the chance that the Germans might veer in their direction. Division headquarters had been set up in a large steel foundry just north of Langerwehe. Dye and Kennedy had spent quite a few hours killing time by posting themselves in the church tower with binoculars and watching the considerable air activity along the front.

Cartee recalled having passed over a wooded area and seeing in the distance a large church in their flight path. The woods NW of the church were occupied by elements of 555th AAA (AW) BN which were located on the northern edge of the German penetration. Their weapons were 40 mm anti-aircraft guns and quad .50 cal. machine guns. They were assigned to protect US troops from low flying German aircraft. The ground was frozen, covered with snow and the sky was filled with snow and heavy clouds making it very easy for the German armor to move about. The troops had lined up for a hot Christmas dinner consisting of turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries and pumpkin pie. T/3 Leo J. Thoennes, of "B" Battery, recalls that he had just taken his mess kit of food and walked to the nearby gun section #4. Suddenly, before he could eat his dinner, what was thought to have been a P-47 (a FW-190) and a P-51, came over with their guns firing. The NCO in charge of the battery ordered his guns to return fire.

Kennedy recalled that as the Mustang passed over the church, firing from the 555th batteries became continuous and heavy. Lt. Mitchell, some distance away, recollects seeing multiple tracer rounds that gave every appearance of being "a whole field of golf balls," so intense was the anti-aircraft barrage.

From their vantage point looking NE, Sgt. Charles Brown, PFC John Starzynbski and Lt Murray Grobman saw Preddy fall from the Mustang at about 200 feet, his parachute not deployed and Cripes A’Mighty now inverted disappearing behind a tree line where they heard her hit the ground. Cartee glanced over his shoulder to see the Mustang continue it's rotation and violently impact the ground. After things quited down a bit, Lt. Grobman took his jeep and drove over to see what he could find. Later on when he returned, he told Brown and Starzynski that he did not go the crash site but he found where Preddy's body was located, added that the pilot was identified as a Major and his chute wasn't deployed. Brown recalls within minutes of the crash, 2 Me-109s flew over line abreast on the same path as Preddy and no US AA guns fired.

Sgt Kennedy and Cpl Dye went to the crash site of the Mustang noting that the largest portion remaining of the Mustang was the engine. Kennedy recalled seeing a piece of the fuselage on which swastikas had been painted.

Lt. Cartee returned safely to the field at Y-29 and made an uneventful landing.


William, George's brother, was also a P-51 fighter pilot and he too was killed in action over Budejovice Airfield in Czechoslovakia on April 17, 1945.

here's one from the "strange but true" files....


http://www.flixxy.com/world-war-ii-f...ncarnation.htm

Spooky...

an account from the battle of midway...

2nd Lieutenant William. V. Brooks

I was pilot of F2A-3, Bureau number 01523, Our division under Capt. Armistead was on standby duty at he end of the runway on the morning of June 4, 1942, from 0415 until 0615. At about 0600, the alarm sounded and we took off. My division climbed rapidly, and I was having a hard time keeping up. I discovered afterwards that although my wheels indicator and hydraulic pressure indicator both registered "wheels up", they were in reality about 1/3 of the way down. We sighted the enemy at about 14,000 feet, I would say that there were 40 to 50 planes. At this time Lt. Sandoval was also dropping back. My radio was at this time putting out no volume, so I could not get the message from Zed. At 17,000 feet, Capt. Armistead led the attack followed closely by Capt. Humberd. They went down the left of the Vee , leaving two planes burning. Lt. Sandoval went down the right side of the formation and I followed. One of us got a plane from the right side of the Vee. At this time, I had completely lost sight of my division. As I started to pull up for another run on the bombers, I was attacked by two fighters. Because my wheels being jammed 1/3 way down, I could not out dive these planes, but managed to dodge them and fire a burst or so into them as they went past me and as I headed for the water. As I circled the island, the anti-aircraft fire drove them away. My tabs, instruments and cockpit were shot up to quite an extent at this time and I was intending to come in for a landing.
It was at this time that I noticed that a important feature in their fighting. I saw two planes dog-fighting over in the east, and decided to go help my friend if at all possible. My plane was working very poorly, and my climb was slow. As I neared the fight both planes turned on me. It was then that I realized I had been tricked in a sham battle put on by two Japs and I failed to recognize this because of the sun in my eyes. Then I say I was out-numbered, I turned and made a fast retreat for the island, collecting a goodly number of bullets on the way. After one of these planes had been shaken, I managed to get a good burst into another as we passed head-on when I turned into him. I don't believe this ship could have gotten back to his carrier, because he immediately turned away and started north and down. I again decided to land, but as I circled the island I saw two Japs on a Brewster. Three of my guns were jammed, but I cut across the island, firing as I went with one gun. But I could not get there in time to help the American flier and as soon as the Brewster had gone into the water I came in for a landing at approximately 0715 (estimated).
It is my belief that the Japs have a very maneuverable and very fast ship in their zero fighters, plenty of fire-power . They can turn inside the Brewster, but of course on the speed I would be unable to say as my wheels were jammed about 1/3 way down all during the fight, causing considerable drag.
My plane was damaged somewhat, having 72 bullet and cannon holes in it, and I had a very slight flesh wound on my left leg.
It is my express desire that Lt. Sandoval, deceased be logged up with the bomber which one of us got in our first run.

RAF museum podcast series....

http://www.rafmuseum.org.uk/podcasts...ast-series.xml

Mi Amigo : the Fate of a Flying Fortress

At Hunters Bar, Sheffield, in the north of England, there is a green space called Endcliffe Park. Kids still play football there after school. Some things never change.

John Glennon Kriegshauser was Missouri-born, and his sweetheart came from Ohio. About the way he met his destiny, we can know little and imagine much.

An incredulous man went in search of a stone, and was moved to write a book.

A doctor who wanted to be an artist pondered the ring-pulls of beverage cans.

And there was once a machine called the B-17. Its legend will never be dimmed.

All these pieces come together in the terrible and wonderful story of Mi Amigo.

Testament


This is a letter I hope is never mailed...

...My final word is that I'm glad to have been able to lay down my life for a cause which I believed was just and right.

As dusk fell on 22 February, 1944, a Flying Fortress fell from the sky over Sheffield, and crashed in woodland at the edge of a city park. In spite of the efforts of townsfolk, none of its crew of ten could be saved. Accounts of the incident were sparse from the beginning, and soon they became confused and embellished. Some of the mysteries surrounding the stricken aircraft's final hours could perhaps be resolved by the chroniclers of the formidable 8th Air Force. Some of them might never be explained.

The paucity of information about the last flight of Mi Amigo has itself become part of the myth. Commentators have speculated that the truth is too harrowing to be lightly told. We should remember, though, that this was just one sorrow among a relentless litany of sorrows. More than 40 other aircraft, and more than 400 other airmen of the Mighty 8th, were lost on that very same day. No single tragedy could merit special attention. All of the telegrams were brief.

Under such circumstances, the reminiscences that take the place of a more formal record have a poignant and intimate quality. For many years, the fate of Mi Amigo was almost unknown outside the families of her aircrew and the veterans of the Royal Air Force Association who diligently mark her anniversary.

But some tales, even half-complete ones, possess a remarkable power. They endure quietly in the folklore of the community that bore witness, until they bloom in the imagination of succeeding generations. They bloom because they weigh on the heart and summon the spirit at one and the same time.

This is such a story.

Black Thursday

14 October, 1943 was a fateful day in the history of the 305th Bomb Group. Fifteen of its B-17 Flying Fortresses set out from their base at Chelveston, Northamptonshire, taking part in one of the huge daylight raids that characterised this middle phase of World War II. Their target was a notorious one, a ball bearing plant at Schweinfurt, and its tenacious defence had already inflicted grievous losses in an earlier sortie. Sixty bombers failed to return from the mission. Of the 305th's complement only two came home; the worst percentage loss endured by any allied bomber squadron in the entire war.

Far away in Seattle, a B-17G rolled out of the Boeing plant on the same date. Her serial number was 42/31322, and the bomber born on Black Thursday was destined for a dreadful fate of her own.

The G-variant of the B-17 incorporated features adopted as a direct result of the first disaster over Schweinfurt. The aircraft underwent several refinements throughout its European war service, and nearly all of them were to enhance its defensive firepower against fighter attack.

The B-17G was the ultimate version, and it was equipped with no less than thirteen 0.5" machine guns. The distinctive chin turret with its forward-pointing twin cannon was added at this time. These guns were remote-controlled, under the charge of the bombardier. Eight of the crew of ten were called upon to operate the various machine guns in the event of a dogfight. Sometimes it was still not enough.

Mustering

The newborn B-17 spent the rest of 1943 flying around the United States, progressively acquiring the accessories of war. She sojourned in Illinois, Colorado, Wyoming and Nebraska. They furnished her with her fearsome guns, and with radio and navigational instruments, and they attached her bomb-racks. Within the Perspex nose canopy, they fitted the latest precision Norden bombsight.

It was appropriate in its way that the aircraft became all-American in the course of its augmentation. It would have a crew to match; young men, bright and optimistic. They were Everymen from Everywhere:

Lt John Kriegshauser (Missouri) - pilot
2nd Lt Lyle Curtis (Idaho) - co-pilot
2nd Lt John Humphrey (Illinois) - navigator
2nd Lt Melchor Hernandez (California) - bombardier
S/Sgt Harry Estabrooks (Kansas) - engineer and top-turret gunner
Sgt Charles Tuttle (Kentucky) - ball-turret gunner
S/Sgt Robert Mayfield (Illinois) - radio operator
Sgt Vito Ambrosio (New York) - right waist gunner
M/Sgt G. Malcolm Williams (Oklahoma) - left waist gunner
Sgt Maurice Robbins (Texas) - tail gunner
This crew was assembled at Geiger Field, Spokane, WA. It was destined to train together for longer than it would fight together, though in truth such an outcome was not unusual.

On the day that they all died, the youngest of these men was 21 years of age and the eldest 24. Lyle's wife was carrying a daughter he would never see. Vito's wife had spent a single day with her new husband before he left for England.

They came to Europe via Newfoundland, over-flying Greenland and Iceland before touching down at Prestwick in Scotland on 16 January, 1944. Within a fortnight, Mi Amigo was at Chelveston, and they painted a large letter 'G' in a triangle on both flanks of her tail. Now she was marked as part of the 305th Bomb Group. In a little over three weeks, she would fly fourteen successful missions.

At this stage of the war, with the Luftwaffe's combat effectiveness still at a high level, bomber crews completing twenty-five missions would be allowed to return home to the United States. Many did not get that far. The average number of missions flown by a B-17 crew was fifteen. As the end of February 1944 drew near, Mi Amigo's luck was due to run out.

Harvey

David Harvey was not a native of Sheffield, but he had already been a resident there for fifteen years when he chanced upon a story that he found hard to believe. A book discovered in the Imperial War Museum's repository at Duxford said that a Flying Fortress had crashed in his home city, and moreover in a part of it that he knew well.

Harvey was already a devoted researcher of the air war in Europe, and he was incredulous for two reasons. First, he knew that no planes of this type were stationed as far north as the Yorkshire city and that an off-course bomber returning home in distress would be expected to come down much closer to the east coast. Second, he couldn't understand why his friends (who were well aware of his interest) had never mentioned the incident.

There was even supposed to be a memorial stone in a park where he had often taken his children to play. He went looking for it.

The stone weighs half a ton, carries not one but two bronze plaques, stands about fifty metres from a busy café and is surrounded by ten oak trees deliberately planted to commemorate the lost airmen. In spite of this, it's deceptively easy to overlook. David Harvey didn't find it immediately, but when he did find it, he knew at once that he must tell the story.

Harvey's deeply moving little book was published in 1997. It remains the only substantive public account of the legend of Sheffield's Flying Fortress.

Naming

Superstition and sentimentality combine in the naming of a warplane. This one acquired its personality with the help of its Spanish-speaking bombardier. Melchor Hernandez surely did think of the craft as his friend, and the others acquiesced.

Mi Amigo was a good name. Discreet and reassuring, it belied the terrible purpose of the recipient. It captured the reliance of ten men on this unnatural thing of the skies, and it suggested their calm acceptance of their lot. It wasn't a vain name, or a defiant name. Mi Amigo still sounds like the choice of men who considered themselves neither heroic nor wronged.

She would have had nose-art. Sadly, there is no record of the image she bore. The only known photographs of Mi Amigo depict her smouldering remains among the trees, with only her tail recognisable.

Even her colouring is uncertain. Some eye-witnesses, who saw her while the fire was contained within the fuselage, claim she was the natural silver-grey of her aluminium skin. The intact tail, though, appears to have been painted in a drab camouflage shade. Depictions of the 305th BG's livery are inconclusive.

The Allies were committed to bombing round the clock. While the RAF carried out the night-raids, the 8th Air Force was assigned to daylight missions. For the Americans, camouflage was probably ineffective. A best guess is that Mi Amigo was mainly silver, with a tail plane in green and black.

Chelveston

They called it Big Week, that third week of February 1944. The air war was coming down to a simple equation. British and American bombers strove to destroy Germany's aircraft factories, and Germany's existing fighters strove to stop them. It became clear to the Allies that mass raids might overwhelm the Luftwaffe's defensive capacity, and Big Week was intended to do just that.

The first three days of bombing wreaked impressive destruction from Rostock to Augsburg, but the allied losses were also severe. Part of the problem was that the Americans were stretching their own capacity in terms of fighter escort. The plane of choice for that role was the medium-range P51-D Mustang, but these were new entrants to the theatre and not yet up to the numerical strength needed to cover bombardment of this intensity.

So it was that Col. Curtis Le May assented to fresh plans for his 305th Bomb Group. This contingent of the much larger force would attack the Germans' principal northern fighter base itself, at Alborg in Denmark. The intention was to compromise the Luftwaffe's defensive response. If they engaged the bombers bound for Germany, then they might have nowhere to come home to. If they chose to defend their airfield, then there might be no factories left to build their successors.

Kriegshauser and his crew would have learned this in the briefing room at dawn on 22 February, only minutes before taking to the air. The ground crew would have readied Mi Amigo during the night, including the stowing of her 4000-lb bomb load.

It was a morning like many others, though the weather was already poor and worsening. Mi Amigo's four Wright Cyclone engines powered up to their full 5000 horsepower as the Aldis lamp at the end of the runway winked her turn. Moments later, she climbed into the gunmetal skies of a wintry Northamptonshire morning for the last time.

Artist

In about 1992, a doctor called Tony Kemplen decided that it was now or never as far as his artistic ambitions were concerned. He put his career in General Practice on hold, and enrolled on the Fine Arts degree course as a mature student at Sheffield Hallam University. Some time later, looking for inspiration for a project, he was strolling through one of the green spaces on Sheffield's west side. He noticed the ring-pulls of aluminium drinks cans littering the ground around the café in Endcliffe Park.

Kemplen had heard the story of Mi Amigo, and knew that many aeroplanes including the Flying Fortresses were made of aluminium. What if some of this aluminium had been strewn over this slope before, in the wreckage of an American bomber that crashed here fifty years ago?

Zero Hour

By around noon on that Tuesday in February, 1944, the 305th were over the coast of Denmark. The sky was blotted with the deadly black smoke-puffs of flak from 88mm anti-aircraft guns. Worse still, the cloud-cover was solid, and the bombers had little hope of locating their target. If the nature of the mission had been different, the bombers might have turned for home sooner. This time, though, it was imperative to maintain the threat, and so draw the teeth of the German fighter squadrons.

The first wave of Focke Wulf 190 fighters came out of the cloud close to the formation, leaving the gunners little time to respond. Judging that manoeuvrability was now the most urgent need, the squadron leader jettisoned his bombs. The rest of his convoy immediately followed suit, and the unburdened bombers climbed and wheeled back out to sea. For a little while, the enemy aircraft disengaged.

In the Park

Close to the bottom end of Hunterhouse Road at Hunters Bar, Fred Nichols had an electrical repair shop. Jeff and Tony, for a while yet too young for their call-up, were working there that afternoon. The kids who would soon be playing football in the park were still at their lessons. Some of them might already have been thinking about those precious minutes of abandon between the school bell and the fall of darkness.

In the streets nearby, there were bakers and bar-keepers, a dentist and a clergyman and many more who would all tell their stories in the days to come. For now, though, none of them can have imagined what they were destined to see.

Debrief

Big Week went well for the 305th. They deployed 300,000 tons of munitions for the loss of seven aircraft. Even the Alborg sortie, with a zero bomb-count, could be judged a success, since it prevented the interception of the raid on Rostock.

Two planes didn't make it back from Denmark. 42/31409 went down into the sea, its engines crippled by sustained enemy fire. Mi Amigo also took heavy damage, but Kriegshauser resisted the Focke Wulfs' efforts to isolate his craft from the main formation. The plane was still airborne when the Germans fell away, with ammunition and visibility compromised. She was by now well out over the North Sea, heading west in dense cloud.

Observers from neighbouring aircraft later gave a consistent, if detached, account. For whatever reason, Mi Amigo could not effect radio communication. More than one of her engines was misfiring, and her skin was in tatters. She was having difficulty maintaining altitude, and soon began to fall behind.

There was no effective way to assist a bomber in this situation. Its crew could not bale out over water, since they would die of hypothermia within minutes if they entered the sea. The first battle was simply a matter of regaining land, and after that it would be down to luck and the skill of the pilot. The squadron leader did all that he could, by assigning one plane to try and nurse Mi Amigo home. That done, he lead the rest back to Chelveston at full speed.

Mi Amigo was now almost alone. An hour before, the clouds had probably saved her. Now they became her nemesis. A tight escort was impossible because of the risk of collision. The nursemaid lost the stricken B17 some five hundred miles off the English coast, and, after a few minutes of tentative patrolling, the search had to be abandoned. Mi Amigo, it was assumed, had lost her struggle, and had plunged into the cold sea.

Hourglass

Mi Amigo did not crash for another four hours. What happened in the intervening time will never be known. We can only try to piece together John Kriegshauser's dilemma from the known facts.

At some point, she went off course, her flight ending a hundred miles north of her home base. This suggests that her navigational equipment was disabled, and possibly that the two crewmen in that area of the aircraft (the navigator and the bombardier) were incapacitated. The condition of the rest of the crew is unknown, though the fact that enemy fighters appear to have been able to sit on her tail and strafe her engines might mean that the tail-gunner and ball-turret gunner had also been lost.

Kriegshauser must have been aware of another aspect of his crew's welfare, too. The six men behind the cockpit of a B17 were exposed to severe cold when flying at altitude (in fact they wore electrically-heated suits for this reason). Waist-gunners in particular sometimes literally froze onto the aircraft's fabric, and so injured men who could not support themselves were prone to suffer a horrible death.

Mi Amigo's pilot may well have been faced with a dreadful choice. For the reason above, he would have wanted to fly at low altitude in warmer air. The damaged engines, on the other hand, might have denied him the power to ascend, so that the height he started with would be all he could ever have. We can surmise that the approach to the English coast was a slow, and perhaps irresistible, descent.

The condition of the engines may also explain why Mi Amigo flew so far inland (around a hundred miles) without apparently trying to make a landing. The weather conditions give a further clue. Though it was still daylight, cloud cover was complete down to about 500 feet. Kriegshauser probably judged that he would have insufficient power to abort a blind approach, and so chose instead to fly on for as long as he could, hoping that the cloud would clear. It never did.

SK329858

This is the Ordnance Survey grid reference of the place where Mi Amigo came to earth. It's also the partial name of Kemplen's exhibition.

The artwork is diverse, all of it beautifully judged and executed, all of it deeply touching.

There are playing cards, a perfect symbol of the lives of young men wiling away hours on the very brink of fate.

There is the ten of hearts, each spot a portrait, and almost too much.

Chaos

It was just before five o'clock in Endcliffe Park. Youngsters chased their football in the failing light. They heard her before they saw her.

Some accounts say that the aircraft tried to put down in that tiny green space, but that the pilot pulled up the nose when he saw the children, and hit the hill instead.

Some say that it circled, that it rolled, that it clipped the trees even as it broke the cloud. Some say that the engines stuttered at the last.

This can't all be true, and yet none of it really matters. All that can be said for sure is that photographs prove that the aircraft was pointing down the hill when it crashed. If Kriegshauser's last act was to save the footballers, he carried it out by bringing the plane down too soon, rather than by over flying the field.

Mi Amigo shed her tail, and slewed to a halt among the trees, her wings and fuselage more or less intact. Fire broke out internally, but for the first couple of minutes the astonished onlookers were able to draw close. The children were shooed away, since at least one man's corpse was thrown clear, though no public record identifies him.

Some observers describe cries from within. Some say that they begged for help, and others that they pleaded with would-be rescuers to get away. One young Sheffielder said he tried to pull an airman clear, but the man's legs were trapped and the flames consumed him.

Nobody seems to have considered the possibility of live bombs on board. It was only once the fire took hold, and ammunition began to crack and whine, that the huddle of people on the hill dispersed in search of shelter. The inferno, when it came, was shocking in its intensity. An hour after the crash, as the last natural light faded away, the remains of Mi Amigo were ashes and blackened shards of metal, and all hope had gone.

Legacy

There is an annual service on the Sunday closest to 22 February. Wreaths are laid at the crash site. The service is read in St Augustine's at Brocco Bank. The anniversary is kept by the Royal Air Force Association.

Jeff Hawkins was one of the young electrical apprentices at Fred Nichols'. His account is especially coherent and eloquent. He describes the immediate aftermath but also the scene three days later, when the authorities re-opened the park and children combed the slope for souvenirs. The clearance of debris seems to have been slapdash, for Jeff himself recovered a broken watch, stopped at two minutes past five, and someone else found a misshapen signet ring. The stream at the bottom of the bank yielded a pair of flying goggles.

Charles Tuttle, Harry Estabrooks and Maurice Robbins still lie in the American Military Cemetry at Madingley, Cambridgeshire, along with nearly four thousand of their countrymen who gave their lives in the defence of Europe between 1942 and 1945. The other seven were interred here briefly, too, but their remains were later reburied in the land of their families.

There are at least two h2g2 Researchers, one American and one English, who possess a copy of David Harvey's little book. This Entry can't add anything to that account, and it might never have been written, but on the evening of 5 November, 2005, the Englishman drove past Endcliffe Park, and there were trails of fire and showers of sparks in the sky above the fateful hill.

Eulogy

John Kriegshauser DFC was an unassuming young man from St Louis, with a job in a shoe factory, a 1936 Ford Sedan and a fiancée called Peg. His letters show that he believed in the cause he fought for and he knew the risks he took. He fought to save his aircraft and his friends until the very last.

Nowadays, the schoolchildren of Sheffield learn about Mi Amigo, and about John's sacrifice, and the sacrifice of many others like him. The city's vitality, manifest in its children, is part of their legacy.

It was a terrible war. The destruction wrought by allied bombing should never be forgotten, but the picture sometimes painted of a merciless toll inflicted on German cities is not the whole story. Big Week opened the floodgates, it's true, but the price of ascendancy was paid by thousands of young airmen before it, and by no small number afterwards.

At the time of writing, it's the onset of winter in Sheffield, making the copse on the slope cold and grey and a little eerie. There were no children there today, as the light faded like it did on that evening half a century ago. Mi Amigo was there, though. Her presence can still be felt.

How many places like this must there be? Nothing about this story, neither the aircraft nor the place, is unique. Nothing about it is even unusual. All of this happened so many times that we become numb to it.

But we shan't forget. Not now. Not ever. Let Mi Amigo stand for what we should aspire to and for what we must never repeat, an enigma for all time.

eyewitness...

On a mission to Merseberg (No 146) on Nov 8th, 1944, two planes of the 457th mysteriously collided while in formation. One of the planes was s/n 42-38064 named "Arf & Arf" piloted by Lt Arnet L Furr. The other plane involved in the collision was s/n 44-8418 named "Bad Time Inc II". The pilot of Bad Times Inc II was James Elduff. The copilot of "Bad Times Inc II" was Lt James Jenkins, Jr.

The official account says that "Arf & Arf" was cut in two by "Bad Time Inc II". The two portions of "Arf & Arf" spiraled into the sea with no survivors. "Bad Time Inc", while badly damaged, was able to return to base and flew again only to crash land in Belgium while on a mission to Euskirchen several months later

In the June 1991 issue of the Association Newsletter is a letter written to the Association by George Crockett regarding this incident. It is published here in it's entirety.

"Reading Lt Jenkins (Copilot on "Bad Time Inc.) article in a previous issue of the Newsletter brought back many vivid, but sad memories. I remember sitting across from Warren Rankin and Leroy Wetzel at breakfast on the morning of Nov 8th, 1944. It was to be the last time we would eat together or see one another. Our mission was to be the Luena synthetic oil plant at Merseberg. Fourteen of our planes were assigned to it. We had already crossed the channel when we were recalled due to bad weather.

As we were returning over the coast, we were met with a "flak" barrage and flew through it without any apparent damage. We were flying above and to the left of Lt Elduff. I was the right waist gunner on Joe Coleman's crew "Rattle Snake Daddy". Lt. Furr's, "Arf & Arf" was to the right and below Lt Elduff's "Bad Time Inc.". As I looked down on Furr's plane, I waved to their left waist gunner, and he waved back. As I watched, they started edging closer and were climbing closer to our level. At the time I thought they were just tightening the formation but they suddenly climbed up and under Lt. Elduff and hit him. The next thing I saw was "Arf & Arf" in two parts plumeting towards the water.

Contrary to the account in Col. Byers "Flak Dodger", one chute did open. We were instructed to 'hold position'. Joe (our pilot) said "To hell with you, I'm going down" and we went. We were going to try and drop a raft. We made two passes about 30 feet off the water and managed to drop a raft near him, thanks to Tom Crowley (our bombardier) who was calling the shots. The man in the water was Glen Wisdom. He made it to the raft and waved. We thought he had been saved but could not get any information on him. As we left the area, there was a swarm of fighters circling over him and the "flak" started up again trying to reach them.

It was hard to return to our hut and find their bunks empty and their personal effects gone. A lot of us cried to ourselves that night. We were given a 48 hour leave and found ourselves drowning our sorrows in London. When we got back, there was a new crew in their bunks and business went on as usual. There were two other survivors from that crew. Ed Rambler had left the crew a month before and Sgt Ramoe went to the hospital with severe abdominal pains the night before. He was replaced by Sgt Brunsvold, flight engineer. Joe must have caught "hell" for doing what he did but I thought he deserved a medal."

Ken Blakebrough Lutzkendorf


On my first mission, the airstrike against Schmalkeiden, I encountered a minimum of anti-aircraft fire (flak) and a solitary enemy fighter attack which was repelled. This experience left me with a confident feeling that there was a chance to survive the required 35 missions. My optimism was shattered when I flew my second mission on February ninth.

This time the target was an oil refinery at Lutzkendorf in eastern Germany. In the briefing room the curtain was removed from the large wall map showing a deep penetration flight into Germany of nine hours duration. We were warned to expect heavy flak plus aggressive fighter attacks. If shot down we were reminded to avoid capture by the now increasingly enraged German civilians. Clear weather was predicted at the target with a deterioration to heavy clouds on the return flight.

In the equipment room I checked out a parachute a flotation vest and, for the first time, took an electrically heated suit which was of a coveralls type and activated by plugging its cord into an electrical unit in the cockpit. The choice of the suit was a mistake. When I tried to use it in the severe cold at high altitude I found a problem with its heat distribution which required me to frequently adjust its temperature.

Takeoff and Group assembly proceeded as briefed and we joined the long stream of bombers heading toward Germany.The long flight to the target area was uneventful. Our plane and the eleven others in the low squadron of the Group maintained a good tight formation. Ahead of us I noted the lead and high squadrons were also keeping a good formation. We reached the Initial Point.

The bombing run began. As we closed in upon the target, bomb bay doors open, we were suddenly engulfed in a barrage of black, hour-glass shaped, bursts of heavy and accurate flak. A shell exploded near my right window sending metal splinters through the plane's thin fuselage and into the cockpit. My first reaction was that I must be wounded but there was no pain, no sign of blood. I turned to look at Ralph and Peschan but neither of them complained of wounds. It was a close call for the three of us.

The flak continued during the course of the bombing run. It seemed as though any second we'd be blown out of the sky. Finally, the plane gave an upward lurch as the bombs were toggled out by Steve in the nose compartment. This was followed by a yell over the intercom by Beran, "Let's get the hell out of here." An outcry which he made thereafter on every mission as the bombs fell away. It also meant he and Steve were removing their masks and lighting cigarettes from which they would alternately inhale smoke, then switch back to their masks to inhale oxygen. This was their way of smoking in an unpressurized plane at an altitude of 25,000 feet, five miles above the earth.

An overcast of heavy clouds developed and continued to drop lower on the long, and what I felt was tediously slow and stressful, homeward flight.

When we crossed the English coastline the formation spread out due to the clouds and fast approaching darkness and we soon found ourselves separated from the other planes. Within minutes it became too dark to use ground references to navigate. We were forced to fall back on "dead reckoning", an inexact system wherein we followed a compass heading given us by Beran based upon his best estimate of our present position in relationship to the airfield at Glatton. As we flew this compass heading which would in theory bring us to Glatton, each crew member was assigned to a window as lookout for other planes, hopefully to give sufficient warning against collision in the dark and plane-filled sky.

The flight continued for some time, altitude 1,000 feet. Then, we glimpsed the dim outline of runway lights of an airfield below us. A hurried discussion between the cockpit and the navigator. Yes, it was agreed that we had flown sufficient time via "dead reckoning" to place us over the Glatton airfield. We started to fly a counter-clockwise landing pattern, landing gear down. Suddenly another B-17 loomed in front of us. Ralph yanked back on the control column to avoid collision. I held my breath, prepared for a fatal collision, it seemed there was no way to avoid a crash. We missed but it had been very close.

We turned on a final approach to the runway. Too late to contact the control tower now. The altitude gained during the effort to avoid collision was making us come in too high, too fast and slightly to the right of the runway. I hit the full flaps position just as Ralph chopped the throttles all the way back to idle speed, we had to lose height and speed otherwise we would overshoot the runway. The plane settled to the runway, bounced, then stayed down in a full three-point stall. The end of the runway was in sight. Full brakes applied with the hope we wouldn't nose over. The plane stopped rolling at the very edge of the concrete. Ralph and I were momentarily exhausted. We slumped on the dual control columns and breathed deeply.

We started to taxi, looking for our parking hardstand. We saw other B-17s parked adjacent to the taxi strip, but something was wrong. These planes had the insignia of a triangle enclosing the letter "S" on the high dorsal rudder rather than our own triangle "U". We'd landed at the wrong airfield. This was Deenethorpe, home of the 401st Bomb Group.

In view of the weather conditions there was no question of a takeoff and attempt to find Glatton that night. Before we left our plane I pocketed several of the jagged-edged shell fragments lying on the cockpit floor. After we were served dinner, a truck from Glatton picked us up.

The Lutzkendorf mission was an awakening for me. Enemy anti-aircraft fire and the German Luftwaffe were not our only perils. Both the severe English weather with resultant lack of visibility plus the crowded skies were also our enemies. How to survive 33 more missions?
How?

Note: The name Lutzkendorf no longer exists on a map of Germany, The area is now known as Krumpa.

the south pacific Jack Cook

After our training mission at Lae, we flew a new B-24 to Biak, a Dutch-held island near the "head" of New Guinea. Biak was a huge supply depot for the Allied Forces. We were there a few days and all cash transactions were in Dutch guilders. We had to exchange our dollars for guilders before making any purchase. While at Biak we received our assignment to the 22nd Bomb Group which was located on Palau Island in the Pelelieu Group.

We departed Biak for Palau on our first solo flight over water. We were given maps of the Pacific Ocean and the radio frequency of a homing beacon located on Palau. I can assure you that nothing focuses your attention more than flying over open water, trying to find a small chain of islands, with a "green" navigator providing directions and a radio homing frequency you hope is valid and operating. As it turned out, the heading provided by my navigator, and the heading provided by the radio beacon (when we got within range) was about a ten-degree variance. My co-pilot, Rick, and I discussed this variance for about two minutes, and elected to go with the radio beacon. Had we stayed with the navigator's heading we would have missed the islands.

After landing at Palau, and reporting to Group Headquarters, we were assigned to the 33rd Squadron. Our squadron commander turned out to be Major Albert Hutchinson who was on his third tour of combat duty. We were shown to our tent quarters and found our way around the area locating such necessities as the mess hall, latrine, operations and other facilities.

From Palau our group was supporting the invasion of the southern Philippine Islands by land forces led by General MacArthur. After the ground forces secured Samar and Leyte in the Southern Philippines, our group moved to Samar. During this time I was flying as a co-pilot as part of the squadron indoctrination process. No pilot was allowed to fly, as first pilot, in combat until he had satisfied the squadron commander as to his abilities. Also, during this time, I learned that my navigator and bombardier had requested they be removed from my crew, alleging I was an unsafe pilot. I likely flew additional missions as co-pilot because of their allegations. When I was released to fly as first pilot, I received a replacement navigator and bombardier. All other crew members remained.

From Samar our group supported the invasion of Luzon and the northern portions of the Philippines. After MacArthur's forces secured Luzon our group moved to Clark Field, about 50 miles north of Manila. We used our B-24s as transport planes and hauled much of our squadron equipment from Samar to Clark field. Heavy gear, such as trucks and jeeps, was hauled by sea transport. Since telephone communications were not in place during the early days of the move, it was standard operating procedure to fly over the squadron tent area at 1000 feet, "razz" the props, and the squadron would send trucks to the airfield to pick up the incoming equipment. On one flight I decided to fly lower than 1000 feet and give my buddies a louder notice of my arrival.

I flew along the edge of the tent area about 10 feet above the ground at top speed (around 200 miles per hour) and made a beautiful left climbing turn. As I climbed to around 1000 feet I looked back over my shoulder and noticed two tents had blown from the prop wash. My momentary joy quickly faded.

I proceeded to the landing field and as I taxied to a stop on the ramp area, Major Hutchinson cam roaring up in a jeep. He was dressed only in his undershorts, tennis shoes, a ball cap, and he was hopping mad. It turned out that one of the tents was Major Hutchinson's, and he was taking a nap as I flew by. He gave me a thorough "chewing out" and told me to report to him in the squadron area. After further lecturing in his tent he gave me additional punishment as Duty Officer for four consecutive days. This meant I had to spend my nights in Squadron Headquarters (awake) monitoring the phones and maintaining contact with Group Headquarters. I also had to fly my regularly-assigned missions. I did not get much sleep during those four days. I did not "buzz" the tent area again.

About fifty years later I found Major Hutchinson's address through a group newsletter, and wrote him. I introduced myself as the one who had "buzzed" the tent area at Clark Field many years ago. He answered that he remembered the incident quite well. Unfortunately, he passed away shortly thereafter from massive cancer. I would have enjoyed visiting with him about some of the antics I and other pilots perpetrated during our tours of duty. He later promoted me to Flight Leader and I had the honor of leading the Squadron and Group on several missions.

Some flying antics by other pilots may be of interest. While the group was stationed at Palau one pilot decided to entertain his buddies by "buzzing" the beach. He flew a few inches too low and cooped some sand into the bomb bay of the B-24. His flight engineer told him about the sand, so he proceeded a short distance off shore and flew low enough to scoop up sea water to flush out the sand. The combination of sand and salt water in the cables and other mechanisms resulted in the airplane being scrapped. Another incident happened after we moved to Clark field. The peasant rice farmers used bamboo trees to mark the boundaries between their rice paddies. Bamboo is a tough, fibrous plant that will not easily break. One afternoon a pilot was having some fun "buzzing" the local rice paddies, when he saw a farmer with his water buffalo plowing the field. He focused on the farmer and forgot to pull up in time to clear the bamboo. When he landed at Clark Field, bamboo was impeded in the nose, wings and engine nacelles. The airplane had to be scrapped.

Each pilot took his turn performing local engineering flights. This happened when a new engine was installed, or other major maintenance was performed, and the airplane was tested before sending it on a mission. It was my turn, this particular day, and as I was being briefed by the line chief, he mentioned that three or four infantry GIs standing nearby wanted an airplane ride. I said, "Sure." Since a new engine has been installed on this plane, I asked the line chief if it would be OK to feather the engine on take-off. He said, "Yes. In fact, it would be a good test of the feathering system."

We feathered the engine at about the time we lifted off and continued the climb on three engines. After a few minutes we started the engine and continued to local flight. We were to fly for about an hour to thoroughly check all the systems. During this time, my co-pilot, Rick Giannarelli, asked how slow a B-24 would fly. I replied I didn't know, but we could find out. We slowed the aircraft, dropped wing flaps and landing gear, and were mushing along in a nose-high attitude. Rick was watching the airspeed and I was waiting for the signs of a stall. All of a sudden the plane fell off in a spin to the left, and we made about one and a half turns, losing about 1500 feet before I could recover. To this day I can't remember how slow we were going. Soon it was time to return tot he field. We landed and taxied to the parking area. After shutting off the engines, I noticed those infantry GIs off to the side, kissing the ground. They obviously had more of an airplane ride than they anticipated. Unusual things can happen when B-24s are flown by fun-seeking pilots in the 20-to-24 age bracket.

Another unusual incident sticks in my memory. It was customary to send a single aircraft to the next day's target area to gather weather information and to harass the enemy. I thought it unusual that this crew wore their combat boots, had their pistols and canteens on their web belts, and were fully dressed in combat fatigues and flight jackets. We usually flew in very casual clothes, such as shorts and tennis shoes. Our concern changed to worry when their plane failed to return from their mission over China. Three weeks later the entire crew returned, and we learned they had bailed out over China to "test" the escape methods established to recover downed American airmen. They each had a barracks bag filled with many Chinese "souvenirs", some looked quite valuable.

During all this "fun" activity, we continued to fly our assigned missions, and each crew flew on a schedule of about every other day. From Clark Field we regularly bombed Formosa and mainland China. On one occasion, I led a squadron detachment to the island of Palawan, in southern Philippines, and from there we bombed Japanese airfields along the west coast of Borneo. We flew four missions on that assignment, and since the missions were about 13 hours long, we had to carry extra fuel in bomb bay tanks and a reduced bomb load. We bombed from low altitude, at 5000 feet, and could feel the concussion from the bombs as they detonated. On one of our Borneo missions, a plane was hit and was unable to return to home base. The pilot made a belly landing on the beach and a Navy Catalina amphibious aircraft picked the crew up. As I recall, the crew did not suffer any serious injuries.

A P-38 fighter outfit was stationed at the airstrip on Palawan, and they used to show off by flying over the runway, in formation, and peeling off to land. As our B-24 squadron returned from our last mission, I had our planes form an "echelon right" formation and approached the runway at an altitude of about 50 feet. As I crossed the threshold, I pulled my plane in a steep climbing left turn, and each plane followed in sequence. The crews on the ground said it was the greatest show they had ever seen. The P-38 pilots were unable to top our little act. Morale and esprit de corps were especially high in our outfit.

Weather systems were a continual factor during our flight operations. Major Hutchinson required each pilot to maintain instrument flight proficiency by scheduling regular training flights in the local area. Captain James F. Rock was our instrument flight instructor, and although he was an excellent instructor, he had an abrasive, superior attitude and was universally disliked by all the pilots. In addition to instrument flight, he would usually include "engine out" practice and other emergency procedures during an instruction period.

His usual format was to start with the "student pilot" making a series of turns at a 30 degree angle of bank. Then the same series at a 45 degree angle of bank, and at a 60 degree angle of bank. In order to maintain constant altitude in a steep turn, the B-24 required a lot of back pressure on the control column. Rock would never allow us to use both hands, and this placed considerable strain on the left arm. He insisted we always keep our right hand on the throttle controls. Our instruction was performed "under the hood", that is, the windows were covered with colored plastic and the students were wearing contrasting glasses that made the windows appear black. We could not see out. Then Capt. Rock would have the student repeat the series of turns with certain flight instruments covered. Soon we would be flying using needle, ball, airspeed, and altimeter. Capt. Rock was seldom pleased with our performance.

On one mission, I was grateful for the instruction received from Capt. Rock. Ours was a single ship mission to perform weather recon, and to bomb Japanese barracks near Canton, China. We encountered a broad weather system off the coast of China and had to penetrate it to get to the target, as well as return. While in the weather system on the return flight, I noticed the vacuum gauge was reading "zero". This meant most of our flight instruments were unreliable. I immediately started flying by "needle, ball, airspeed and altimeter", and we passed safely through the weather front. Due to Capt. Rock's instruction we made a safe landing at Clark Field, rather than becoming another statistic. Thereafter, I was never reluctant to fly training missions with Capt. Rock. My last information concerning Capt. Rock was that he was suffering from Alzheimer's disease. I am not sure he still lives.

Another interesting part of combat was formation flying. After take-off we would form on the lead ship and proceed to the target. Our average mission was 10 hours, so this provided a lot of time to sharpen our skills. My co-pilot, Rick, and I established the schedule of flying 30 minute shifts. During our early missions our skill level was not that great and we had to work extra hard to keep a good position, but after several missions we noticed an improvement. After climbing to altitude and establishing cruising speed, the lead aircraft would rarely change power settings. Theoretically, all other aircraft in the formation should be able to do the same. Not so, at least with low-skilled pilots and very cumbersome aircraft. At the end of our early missions, both Rick and I would be soaked with perspiration from the exertion of formation flying.

After several missions, we had each refined our technique to the point where we could fly our shift by making a few minor power adjustments. We soon became expert at the art of formation flying, and would not be "worn out" after a mission.

One more incident regarding formation flying. A new replacement pilot had been assigned to me for this particular mission. He was a captain, I was a first lieutenant, and he had been a B-24 instructor pilot prior to coming overseas. I informed him of my practice of the 30-minute schedule while in formation, and he accepted. After take-off and once we had formed on the lead ship, I gave him the controls. His skill level was the same as I had experienced early in my combat flying. It came time for my 30 minute shift. I quickly stabilized the aircraft as to speed and position, and flew with much less effort than the captain. Then it was his turn again. The same thing happened all over again. He was working extra hard to maintain speed and position. All during the mission he struggled and then watched me smoothly handle the ship. After our landing he stated, "I have instructed for over a year, but I have never seen, or even believed, a B-24 could be flown in that manner." I accepted his compliment.

p 40 stories....

The P-40 first saw combat in the skies above the North African desert. Squadrons such as No. 112, who painted ferocious shark mouths on the front air intake of their P-40's and inspired other squadrons to do likewise, flew Tomahawks. They strafing and bombed German tanks, trucks troops, and regularly mixed it up with bombers and the famed Messerschmitt Bf-109 fighters. The Warhawk held its own against its German enemies and was considered by both the British and Germans to be superior to the Hawker Hurricane. In fact, in an effort to reduce losses for No. 33 squadron, obsolescent Hurricanes were replaced with P-40s.

North Africa was the first place the Hawks and Eagles met, but it was not their last confrontation. On the Russian front Soviet P-40s faced the Luftwaffe's 109s and Focke Wulf 190s with considerable success. In Italy the 325 Fighter Group, known as the "Checker-Tailed Clan" because of the yellow and black checkerboards painted on their tails, scored two impressive victories over German 109s.

On 1 July 1943, 22 P-40s made a fighter sweep over southern Italy. Forty Bf-109s surprised the checker-tails, engaging them at moderate altitude where the P-40 performed best. After an intense dogfight the Germans lost half their force while only one P-40 failed to come back.

A similar event took place on the 30th of the same month in which 20 P-40s were bounced by thirty-five 109s. The Germans limped home after losing 21 of their own while the checker-tails came through with only one loss. The Germans lost 135 aircraft (ninety-six of which were 109s) to the pilots of the checkered-tail P-40s while shooting down only seventeen of the 325th.

Back in North Africa, the most successful engagement by Tomahawks was what has come to be known as the Palm Sunday Massacre. Just before sundown on Palm Sunday, 18 April 1943, P-40s on anti-transport patrol spotted over 60 Ju-52s escorted by 21 fighters off of Cape Bon, making their way to Sicily. Elements of the 57th and 324th as well as the British 92 Squadron intercepted. 11 Spitfires covered 46 P-40Fs as they pounced on the Axis formations, ripping them to shreds. The carnage ended with 59 Ju-52s and 16 fighters crashing into the sea or Tunisian soil for the loss of only 6 P-40s. While the P-40's debut was not as spectacular as the A6M's it was very favorable, and just a preview to the P-40's later success.

On 7 December 1941 .... Most of the 180 P-40 fighters on Oahu were destroyed on the ground; the three airfields lay in shambles.

A few American fighters got off the ground. Two P-40s piloted by George Welch (a friend of Chuck Hawks' father) and Kenneth Taylor managed to get airborne and score some of the first American victories of the war. By a stroke of luck their planes had been reassigned to a remote field in an effort to disperse forces in the event of an air strike. After witnessing the first minutes of the attack they phoned the ground crews to arm and fuel their aircraft. The two pilots jumped into a car and raced to their aircraft. They were strafed by a dive-bomber on the way but escaped unharmed. Upon reaching the field they found their planes intact and ready to go. Welch and Taylor took off and quickly engaged the Japanese. Before the attack was over they scored 7 victories between them, including a few Zeros, while taking only minor damage, although Taylor sustained an injury to his right arm.


The tactics of The Flying Tigers were the key to its astounding record.... On sighting the Japanese they would dive on them at high speed and slash through their formation, guns blazing. After the attack the Tigers would use the speed from the dive to exit the combat zone and climb for another pass. It was essentially a drive-by shooting.

Saburo Sakai, Japan's leading ace to survive WW II, recounted an incident over Port Moresby, New Guinea where a P-40 piloted by Les Jackson used this tactic with deadly efficiency. This is Sakai's account of that encounter.

"We passed Moresby and the bursting flak fell behind. I sighed with relief. Too soon! Nearly a mile above us, a single P-40 fighter dove with incredible speed. He came down so fast I could not move a muscle; one second he was above us, the next the lone plane plummeted like lightning into the bombers. Six hundred yards in front of me, I watched the fighter- he was going to ram! How that plane ever got through the few yards' clearance between the third and fourth bombers of the left echelon, I shall never know. It seemed impossible, but it happened. With all guns blazing, the P-40 ripped through the bomber formation and poured a river of lead into Miyazaki's plane. Instantly the Zero burst into flames. With tremendous speed the P-40 disappeared far below."


...a few units managed to hold their own against the advancing Japanese.

One such group was the Australian 75th squadron stationed in Port Moresby. This group faced long odds, much like the AVG. With only a handful of planes and a trickle of resources, they were the only serious aerial defense against Japanese attacks coming from Rabaul and Lae. The men of the 75th had a great responsibility; they had to stop the Japanese or leave Australia open to invasion.

The Australian pilots displayed an immense amount of courage against daunting odds. It was not uncommon for only one plane to challenge twenty or more Japanese. After 44 grueling days of combat the 75th destroyed 35 planes with another 15 probables and roughly 50 damaged. Their loss was 11 pilots and 16 P-40s lost to combat and 6 to accidents. Though theirs were not an outright victory, the brave souls of the 75th saved Port Moresby and held off the enemy until more squadrons could be formed.

talk about a "clingy B!TC#!!

Margaret Horton

Christmas 1944 was my fifth Christmas as a W.A.A.F......
When I went to Kirton, it was a Fighter Command Station, much used to rest crews from active service during and after the Battle of Britain, but also a fighter station in its own right. As the war in the air changed, Kirton’s use as an operational fighter station decreased and it turned increasingly to house a training function. From 1942, it was a training base for the R.A.F. Regiment, of which my friend, Mac was an Instructor. He had already seen service in the Middle East. In May 1943 it became the home of 53 OTU (Operational Training Unit). They used some of the older Spitfires as well as basic training aircraft. At that time, the Station Commander was Group Captain Hawtrey, a cousin of Charles Hawtrey, of ‘Carry On’ fame. He was remembered as being eccentric!

But there was another incident about flying training. As I mentioned, Kirton had a satellite airfield at nearby Hibaldstow. This was in April 1945, not long I had been posted from Kirton and was in Brussels. It involved a W.A.A.F. flight mechanic, ACW Margaret Horton, and a veteran Spitfire. When an aircraft engine had been serviced, the practice was for the training instructors to run the engine and do a particular test. Margaret had finished work on the Spitfire, when the pilot began this test. It was necessary, if it was windy, for a mechanic to sit on the tail of the aircraft while it taxied to the end of the runway ready for take-off. The mechanics were given the order, ‘Tails’. Having got to the runway, the aircraft would pause for the mechanic to drop off. This time the pilot did not pause. Whether he was unaware that the order to ‘tail’ had been given, nobody knows. He just carried on with Margaret Horton hanging on for grim death, and him unaware that he had a ‘passenger’ on the tail. ‘I thought the aircraft was tail-heavy’, he said later. The Spitfire had risen to 800 feet or more when the strange shape of the tailplane was noticed from the ground. The emergency services were called out and the pilot talked back in without being told what had happened. The aircraft landed safely with Margaret Horton still in one piece. Just how daft the machinery of the R.A.F. could be was shown when she was reprimanded for her unofficial flight and charged for the loss of her beret! She was posted later to West Raynham and, despite her ordeal, survived into her eighties.

taken from 'WW2 People's War is an online archive of wartime memories contributed by members of the public and gathered by the BBC. The archive can be found at bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar'

life and death aboard a b17

"I'm sorry, sir, I've been hit..."

Joseph Hallock was a twenty-two-year-old first lieutenant serving as the bombardier aboard "Ginger" a B-17 flying out of its base north of London. Hallock dropped out of college to enlist in the Army Air Force in June 1942. After training as a bombardier, he arrived in England in November 1943 and began his combat career on the last day of the year:

"My first raid was on December thirty-first, over Ludwigshaven. Naturally, not knowing what it was going to be like, I didn't feel scared. A little sick, maybe, but not scared. That comes later, when you begin to understand what your chances of survival are. Once we'd crossed into Germany, we spotted some flak, but it was a good long distance below us and looked pretty and not dangerous: different-colored puffs making a soft, cushiony-looking pattern under our plane. A bombardier sits right in the plexiglas nose of a Fort, so he sees everything neatly laid out in front of him, like a living-room rug. It seemed to me at first that I'd simply moved in on a wonderful show.' I got over feeling sick, there was so much to watch.

We made our run over the target, got our bombs away, and apparently did a good job. Maybe it was the auto-pilot and bomb sight that saw to that, but I'm sure I was cool enough on that first raid to do my job without thinking too much about it. Then, on the way home, some Focke-Wulfs showed up, armed with rockets, and I saw three B-I7s in the different groups around us suddenly blow up and drop through the sky. Just simply blow up and drop through the sky. Nowadays, if you come across something awful happening, you always think, 'My God, it's just like a movie,' and that's what I thought. I had a feeling that the planes weren't really falling and burning, the men inside them weren't really dying, and everything would turn out happily in the end. Then, very quietly through the interphone, our tail gunner said, 'I'm sorry, sir, I've been hit.'

I crawled back to him and found that he'd been wounded in the side of the head - not deeply but enough so he was bleeding pretty bad. Also, he'd got a lot of the plexiglas dust from his shattered turret in his eyes, so he was, at least for the time being, blind.Though he was blind, he was still able to use his hands, and I ordered him to fire his guns whenever he heard from me. I figured that a few bursts every so often from his fifties would keep the Germans off our tail, and I also figured that it would give the kid something to think about besides the fact that he'd been hit. When I got back to the nose, the pilot told me that our No. 4 engine had been shot out. Gradually we lost our place in the formation and flew nearly alone over France. That's about the most dangerous thing that can happen to a lame Fort, but the German fighters had luckily given up and we skimmed over the top of the flak all the way to the Channel."

"They came so close that I could see the pilots' faces..."

In early 1944 the number of missions required to complete his tour of duty was extended from 25 to 30. This meant that Lt. Hallock and his buddies, each of whom had been counting down each mission, now had five additional to fly. We pick up his story as he begins his 27th (and worst) mission:

"We had a feeling, though, that this Augsburg show was bound to be tough, and it was. We made our runs and got off our bombs in the midst of one hell of a dogfight. Our group leader was shot down and about a hundred and fifty or two hundred German fighters swarmed over us as we headed for home. Then, screaming in from someplace, a twenty millimeter cannon shell exploded in the nose of our Fort. It shattered the plexiglas, broke my interphone and oxygen connections, and a fragment of it cut through my heated suit and flak suit. I could feel it burning into my right shoulder and arm. My first reaction was to disconnect my heated suit. I had some idea that I might get electrocuted if I didn't.

I crawled back in the plane, wondering if anyone else needed first aid. I couldn't communicate with them, you see, with my phone dead. I found that two shells had hit in the waist of the plane, exploding the cartridge belts stored there, and that one waist gunner had been hit in the forehead and the other in the jugular vein. I thought, 'I'm wounded, but I'm the only man on the ship who can do this job right.' I placed my finger against the gunner's jugular vein, applied pressure bandages, and injected morphine into him. Then I sprinkled the other man's wound with sulfa powder. We had no plasma aboard, so there wasn't much of anything else I could do. When I told the pilot that my head set had been blown off, the tail gunner thought he'd heard someone say that my head had been blown off, and he yelled that he wanted to jump. The pilot assured him that I was only wounded. Then I crawled back to the nose of the ship to handle my gun, fussing with my wounds when I could and making use of an emergency bottle of oxygen.

The German fighters chased us for about forty-five minutes. They came so close that I could see the pilots' faces, and I fired so fast that my gun jammed. I went back to the left nose gun and fired that gun till it jammed. By that time we'd fallen behind the rest of the group, but the Germans were beginning to slack off. It was turning into a question of whether we could sneak home without having to bailout. The plane was pretty well shot up and the whole oxygen system had been cut to pieces. The pilot told us we had the choice of trying to get back to England, which would be next to impossible, or of flying to Switzerland and being interned, which would be fairly easy. He asked us what we wanted to do. I would have voted for Switzerland, but I was so busy handing out bottles of oxygen that before I had a chance to say anything the other men said, 'What the hell, let's try for England.' After a while, with the emergency oxygen running out, we had to come down to ten thousand feet, which is dangerously low. We saw four fighters dead ahead of us, somewhere over France, and we thought we were licked. After a minute or two we discovered that they were P-47s, more beautiful than any woman who ever lived. I said, 'I think now's the time for a short prayer, men. Thanks, God, for what you've done for us.'"

Last Mission: "One more, one more, one more."

The twenty-eighth [mission]was on Berlin, and I was scared damn near to death. It was getting close to the end and my luck was bound to be running out faster and faster. The raid wasn't too bad, though, and we got back safe. The twenty-ninth mission was to Thionville, in France, and all I thought about on that mission was 'One more, one more, one more.' My last mission was to Saarbriicken. One of the waist gunners was new, a young kid like the kid I'd been six months before. He wasn't a bit scared - just cocky and excited. Over Saarbriicken he was wounded in the foot by a shell, and I had to give him first aid. He acted more surprised than hurt. He had a look on his face like a child who's been cheated by grownups.

That was only the beginning for him, but it was the end for me."

How To Cite This Article:
"Life and Death Aboard a B-17, 1944," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2005).

shot down over france.

On the morning of March 5, 1944, Flight Officer Charles Yeager strapped himself into his P-51 fighter and joined a mission to attack targets in the Bordeaux area of France. The twenty-one-year-old Yeager occupied the "tail end Charlie" position of his four-plane flight - the most vulnerable place to be. However, Yeager was no novice. He had three months' experience in combat and had already shot down two German aircraft. On this day his luck was to change.

As the flight neared its objective, three German FW 190 fighters suddenly attacked from the rear, targeting Yeager's P-51. Caught by surprise, the young pilot tried to evade his attackers but to no avail. The enemy's gunfire slammed into his aircraft, severing his control cables and forcing Yeager to jump for his life.

Successfully escaping his plane, his parachute open, Yeager was still not out of trouble. As he floated to earth, one of the FW-190s turned and dove on the vulnerable pilot with the intent of finishing him off. The enemy fighter grew larger and larger in his vision but Yeager could do nothing but hang helplessly suspended from his silk canopy. Suddenly, the German plane burst into a fireball - its pilot so intent on his deadly mission that he had not seen the P-51 on his tail.

Within minutes after his landing, Yeager was surrounded by French Resistance fighters and beginning his escape journey that would take him to Spain, Gibraltar and back to England. Three and a half years later, the young pilot would make his mark in history as the first to break the sound barrier.

Parachuting Into the Unknown

After Yeager successfully made his way to Gibraltar he filed a written report of his experience and was debriefed by a British intelligence officer. The following is excerpted from these reports:

"Three FW 190s came in from the rear and cut my elevator cables. I snap-rolled with the rudder and jumped at 18,000 feet. I took off my dinghy-pack, oxygen mask, and helmet in the air; and then, as I was whirling on my back and began to feel dizzy, I pulled the ripcord at 8,000 feet. An FW 190 dove at me, but when he was about 2,000 yards from me a P51 came in on his tail and blew him to pieces.

I landed into a forest-clearing in which there was a solitary sapling about twenty feet tall. I grabbed the top of the sapling as I passed it and swung gently to the ground. My chute was hung up in the tree, however, I hid my mae west and started off to the south-east, for I thought that I was in the forbidden zone. Before I had gone 200 feet half a dozen Frenchmen ran up to me. Some of them got my chute down, and one of the men took me by the arm and led me to a house some 200 yards away. There I was given food and civilian clothes. A gendarme was seen approaching the house at this moment, and so I was quickly hidden in the barn. When the gendarme left I was brought back into the house where one of the men who had left the group now returned and gave me a note in English telling me to trust the people in whose hands I was. I was then taken to another house about a kilometer away, and from there my journey was arranged."

Escape

The house to which Yeager was taken was actually a hotel run by an English-speaking French woman and her daughter. The next morning the man who took Yeager to the hotel returned and took the pilot to the home of a ""fleshy, white-haired man and his family" where Yeager spent one night. The British debriefing officer continues the report whose content masks the life-threatening danger each of Yeager's benefactors places himself into.

The next morning the same guide returned and took him by bicycle to a young couple of 35 years with a son, Jean, five years old who live in a farmhouse off RN133 near the lake at Font Guillem au Pujo between Pompogne and Houeilles. Here Yeager lived for seven days. Then a farmer from Houeilles took him to a house half a km. from Nerac. This is the house of the regional maquis (French Resistance) chief, Gabriel; and here Dr. Henri -, the doctor of all the maquis in this part of the country, lives when he is in the vicinity. After Yeager had been here a few days, Dr. Henri arrived in the Franbel (the name of a local pencil company) lorry and went after Nahl and the six sergeants with him whom he then brought to the maquis near Nerac. He then went back to Castel Jaloux and from there brought Seidel to the maquis.

On 25 March the Franbel lorry brought Nall, Seidel, and the six sergeants from the maquis, picked up Yeager, Dr. Henri and a Belgian lieutenant and drove to a farmhouse 4 kms. S. of Nerac. From this point Yeager's journey was the same as that of Seidel and Nall."

How To Cite This Article:
"Shot Down Over France, 1944," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (1998).

Charles Lindbergh in Combat, 1944

In 1944 Charles Lindbergh took part in over 50 combat missions in the South Pacific. He participated in numerous bombing and strafing attacks and shot down one Japanese aircraft. The question arises: how was Lindbergh, a private citizen, able to strap himself into the cockpit of a fighter aircraft and take part in combat missions? The search for an answer to this question starts 17 years earlier.
Charles Lindbergh had captured the hearts of the American people in 1927 by becoming the first to fly solo across the Atlantic (see Lindbergh Flies the Atlantic, 1927). His new-found fame was a double-edged sword that gave him access to the halls of American power while simultaneously engulfing him in a notoriety that would lead to heartbreak and self-imposed exile.

On the night of March 21, 1932 the Lindbergh's 20-month-old son was kidnapped from their isolated New Jersey home. The child's body was discovered in a nearby wooded area two months later.

This tragedy and the subsequent trial of the only suspect apprehended in the case only increased the press's interest in the "Lone Eagle." Teams of reporters and photographers hounded his every move. To escape this incessant pressure, the Lindbergh's fled America and sailed for England in December 1935.

Lindbergh returned to the United States in the spring of 1939 as war clouds began to envelop Europe. He had visited Nazi Germany and was convinced that America should stay out of any impending conflict because it was no match for Germany's military might. Lindbergh became a spokesman for the America First Committee that advocated US neutrality in the event of a war in Europe. His position had political consequences. President Roosevelt publicly attacked America's former hero and in response, Lindbergh resigned as a colonel in the Air Corps Reserve.

After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941 Lindbergh offered to reactivate his Colonel's commission but the Roosevelt administration refused. Rebuffed, Lindbergh turned to the private sector but only Henry Ford would offer Lindbergh an advisory position to help in the transition of Ford Motor Company's production lines to outputting bombers rather than cars.

By 1944 Lindbergh had became a consultant with the United Aircraft Company helping them with field testing of their F4U Corsair fighter. The spring of 1944 found Lindbergh in the South Pacific teaching Corsair pilots how to dramatically decrease their plane's fuel consumption and increase the range of their missions. His task required that he join the Corsair pilots on their missions in order to better understand and change their flying techniques. This is how Lindbergh, a private citizen, managed to make his way into the cockpit of a combat fighter, take part in over 50 missions and shoot down one Japanese plane.

"My tracers and my 20's spatter on his plane."

Lindbergh kept a diary describing the day he shot down his only enemy fighter. We join his story as he flies with a squadron of four P-38 "Lightning" fighters to attack a Japanese airfield on an island near New Guinea. Below them they see two enemy aircraft and prepare to attack:

"July 28

We jettison our drop tanks, switch on our guns, and nose down to the attack. One Jap plane banks sharply toward the airstrip and the protection of the antiaircraft guns. The second heads off into the haze and clouds. Colonel MacDonald gets a full deflection shot on the first, starts him smoking, and forces him to reverse his bank.

We are spaced 1,000 feet apart. Captain [Danforth] Miller gets in a short deflection burst with no noticeable effect. I start firing as the plane is completing its turn in my direction. I see the tracers and the 20's [20mm. cannon] find their mark, a hail of shells directly on the target. But he straightens out and flies directly toward me.

I hold the trigger down and my sight on his engine as we approach head on. My tracers and my 20's spatter on his plane. We are close - too close - hurtling at each other at more than 500 miles an hour. I pull back on the controls. His plane zooms suddenly upward with extraordinary sharpness.

I pull back with all the strength I have. Will we hit? His plane, before a slender toy in my sight, looms huge in size. A second passes - two three - I can see the finning on his engine cylinders. There is a rough jolt of air as he shoots past behind me.

By how much did we miss? Ten feet? Probably less than that. There is no time to consider or feel afraid. I am climbing steeply. I bank to the left. No, that will take me into the ack-ack fire above Amahai strip. I reverse to the right. It all has taken seconds.

My eyes sweep the sky for aircraft. Those are only P-38's and the plane I have just shot down. He is starting down in a wing over - out of control. The nose goes down. The plane turns slightly as it picks up speed-down-down-down toward the sea. A fountain of spray-white foam on the water-waves circling outward as from a stone tossed in a pool-the waves merge into those of the sea-the foam disappears - the surface is as it was before.

My wingman is with me, but I have broken from my flight. There are six P-38's circling the area where the enemy plane went down. But all six planes turn out to be from another squadron. I call 'Possum 1,' and get a reply which I think says they are above the cloud layer. It is thin, and I climb up through on instruments. But there are no planes in sight, and I have lost my wingman. I dive back down but all planes below have disappeared, too. Radio reception is so poor that I can get no further contact. I climb back into the clouds and take up course for home, cutting through the tops and keeping a sharp lookout for enemy planes above. Finally make radio contact with 'Possum' flight and tell them I will join them over our original rendezvous point (the Pisang Islands).

The heavies are bombing as I sight the Boela strips; I turn in that direction to get a better view. They have started a large fire in the oil-well area of Boela - a great column of black smoke rising higher and higher in the air. The bombers are out of range, so the ack-ack concentrates on me-black puffs of smoke all around, but none nearby. I weave out of range and take up course for the Pisang Islands again. I arrive about five minutes ahead of my flight. We join and take up course for Biak Island. Landed at Mokmer strip at 1555.

(Lieutenant Miller, my wingman, reported seeing the tracers of the Jap plane shooting at me. I was so concentrated on my own firing that I did not see the flashes of his guns. Miller said the plane rolled over out of control right after he passed me. Apparently my bullets had either severed the controls or killed the pilot.)"

How To Cite This Article:
"Charles Lindbergh in Combat, 1944," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2006).

top notch stuff dale,best thread on this forum

special thanks to McQ59 for the translation of these stories...

these are about the norway boys in the 331 and 332 sq.

December 1944

Tally Ho, Tally Ho! 25 Me 109 slightly above. The squadron leaders shows experience and skill and gets the whole squadron into a good position for an attack on the Me109’s without being seen. The squadron is now experienced and knows how to turn a bad situation into a good one. The Germans on the other hand are inexperienced and have still not seen the attacking formation of Spitfires. In a matter of minutes 12 German ME109 are blown out of the sky, another 2 damaged with the rest of the German formation running for the nearest cloud.
In the last part of 44 and 45 the Germans are less to be seen in the sky. 331 and 332 continues their crusade towards victory, mainly now by focusing on ground targets such as flak batteries, German vehicles and basically whatever German things that still move on the ground. It’s however a risky business and many fine pilots are killed by flak or low flying. The occasional dogfight still happens, but the Germans are cautious and often escapes before the Norwegians can get a hold of them.

again thanks to McQ


Mascots

The two norwegian spitsquadrons both had their little mascots. 331 had a dog called Varg who followed them through thick and thin. If his caretaker was shot down, Varg would be given to another, but he was everyone’s mascot and they all took care of him. 332’s mascot was not so popular. A goat called Mads. He was said to be a real pain in the ass and often found himself in places he shouldn’t have been, for example being the showman when Crown Prince of Norway, Olav visited the squadrons. Mads ended his life when he was shot dead by a guard after one of his little trips out in English countryside by night. According to the guard he did not answer to his call of identity.

It was quite normal to have mascots. On a norweigian minesweeper they had a St. Bernhard called Bamse. Someone rose a statue of it after the war. It was raised in Scotland.

Bamse (Norwegian for "teddy bear") (1937 - 22 July 1944) was a St. Bernard that became the heroic mascot of the Free Norwegian Forces during the Second World War. He became a symbol of Norwegian freedom during the war.
Bamse was bought in Oslo in Norway by Captain Erling Hafto, the master of the Norwegian whale catcher Thorodd, and he was taken to sea from an early age.
Military service At the onset of the Second World War, Thorodd was drafted into the Royal Norwegian Navy as a coastal patrol vessel, based in Hammerfest, and Bamse was enrolled as an official crew member on 9 February 1940. After the Nazi invasion of Norway on 9 April 1940 the Thorodd was part of the naval opposition to the Germans and had as one of its uses POW transport. Shortly before the 10 June 1940 capitulation of mainland Norway, Thorodd was one of 13 Norwegian naval vessels to escape to the UK, arriving 17 June 1940. She was converted to a minesweeper in Rosyth from June 30, 1940 and stationed in Montrose and Dundee in Scotland, where she remained for the rest of the war.


Bamse and his crew Bamse lifted the morale of the ship's crew, and became well known to the local civilian population. In battle, he would stand on the front gun tower of the boat, and the crew made him a special metal helmet. His acts of heroism included saving a young lieutenant commander who had been attacked by a man wielding a knife by pushing the assailant into the sea, and dragging back to shore a sailor who had fallen overboard. He was also known for breaking up fights amongst his crewmates by putting his paws on their shoulders, calming them down and then leading them back to the ship. One of Bamse's tasks in Scotland was to round up his crew and escort them back to the ship in time for duty or curfew. To do this, he travelled on the local buses unaccompanied, and the crew bought him a bus pass which was attached to his collar. Bamse would wander down to the bus stop at Broughty Ferry Road and take the bus down to Dundee. He would get off at the bus stop near his crew's favourite watering hole, the Bodega Bar and go in to fetch them. If he could not locate his friends he would take the bus back to base.

From his ship's mascot, Bamse became mascot of the Royal Norwegian Navy, and then of all the Free Norwegian Forces. An iconic photograph of him wearing a Norwegian sailor's cap was used on patriotic Easter cards and Christmas cards during the war. The PDSA made him an official Allied Forces Mascot.

Suffering from heart failure, Bamse died on the dockside at Montrose on 22 July 1944. He was buried with full military honours, and his funeral was attended by hundreds of Norwegian sailors, Allied servicemen, schoolchildren and townsfolk from Montrose and Dundee. His grave site in the sand dunes has been looked after by local people and by the GlaxoSmithKline factory. The Royal Norwegian Navy holds a commemorative ceremony every ten years.

Post-war honours. Bamse was posthumously awarded the Norges Hundeorden on 30 September 1984 for his war service. In 2006, he was also awarded the PDSA Gold Medal (sometimes known as the "animals' George Cross") for gallantry and devotion to duty, the only WWII animal to have received this honour.

A larger than life sized bronze statue of Bamse, made by Scottish sculptor Alan Herriot, was unveiled by HRH Prince Andrew at Wharf Street in Montrose on 17 October 2006. On the Norwegian side the Norwegian consul in Edinburgh, Bjørn Eilertsen, was present bringing greetings from the Norwegian king, Harald V. Also in attendance were Lathallan School Pipe Band, representatives of the Royal Norwegian Navy, Hans Petter Oset, director of the Royal Norwegian Navy Museum, and the daughter of Bamse's owner, Vigdis Hafto. A smaller bronze version of the statue has been purchased by the Royal Norwegian Navy Museum (Marinemuseet) at Horten in Norway.
His epitaph on the grave in Scotland :

BAMSE 22-7-1944. Faithful friend of all onboard the «Thorodd». Largest dog of the allied naval forces

Ups... A little bit of a misunderstanding Dale. I didn't have to translate them, I found them in cyber. Thing is i thought they were pretty cool. Specially the one about the goat "Mads" :-)