In 1942, on a quiet day in October, Bobby Gibbes sent a few of us rookie pilots on a low-flying exercise.

I was really enjoying it. Flying just a few feet above the ground and waving to Diggers of the 9th Div. Suddenly all the chaps on the ground pointed in the direction I was flying and started waving madly. I looked ahead and there was this palm tree!

I jerked the joystick back as hard and quick as I could. - I think I closed my eyes too.

When I got back to the Squadron base and landed, there was Harry Knight waiting for me. He was the plane’s Fitter.

“What the HELL have you done to my airplane???”

- Palm fronds were hanging from the wings and the tail and I was bloody lucky to come out of it alive.

I won’t repeat what Bobby Gibbes had to say…


some quips from Alan Clark 3 Sq RAAF


Did I mention that Tigers had no canopy or cockpit cover of any kind? But there was one saving grace - we had WAAFs to swing the propellers. Good strong lasses with no ambivalence about motors or, as far as I know, horses.

There was a little joke doing the rounds at Clyffe Pypard -

Q: What happened to the WAAF who forgot to put the chocks under before swinging the prop?
A: "Dis-ast-er" … (Say it out loud and think about it...)

Also in the pilot’s briefing room there was a blackboard with the following written on it:

"An instructor sent his pupil back to the base to get an insulated screw. The pupil came back with a WAAF and a pair of rubber gumboots!"



It seems that during his (US equivalent) SFTS in Texas some Women’s Army Corps girls arrived on the base to take over the radio telephone communications set-up. As a consequence, swearing over the R/T became a Court Martial offence. One of the trainee pilots on a cross-country exercise got lost and the following dialogue took place between the trainee and the control tower. Trainee: “Hello base, for Christ’s sake give me a course to steer - I’m all f***ed up.”

The squadron commander, who happened to be in the tower at the time and possessed a very distinctive southern accent, picked up the microphone and said, “Mister, what is your name and serial number?”

There was a long silence, then came, “I ain’t that f***ed up!”


My last flight, however, turned out to be a lot less boring than all its predecessors. With the trainee busy sending Morse Code in the back seat, we were stooging along somewhere close to Narromine, where another Tiger Moth EFTS was stationed. Quite a few Tigers were around, going about their routine training, when they obviously spotted this intruding Wackett, broke off their training and came belting over to me for a spot of “dogfighting”. Forgetting all about my pledge to fly straight and level, I immediately engaged about five Tigers in spectacular aerial combat but as the Tigers outnumbered me and could turn in smaller circles than I was able to do, they were soon on my tail. Time to go home, so I broke off the conflict and headed towards Parkes with my possibly terrified passenger. One of the Tigers persisted however; he got up above and behind me and made another classic fighter attack. Diving down fast onto my tail he shot past just below me, but very close. There was a loud "thump" and then he dwindled earthwards. “Shit!”, I thought, “He's hit my bloody fixed undercart and knocked it off.”

What to do? Very difficult to land without wheels, even more difficult to land with only one wheel. My first brilliant solution was to climb up to the nearest big cumulus cloud, position myself between the cloud and the sun, fly towards the cloud and see if I could get a silhouette of my undercart (if any) against it. No such luck, so I flew home and made a very tentative landing, without incident.

As we didn’t have the means to communicate in the air, it wasn’t until we got back to the hangers that the trainee could say, “Sir, we have lost the trailing aerial.” Oh shit! That was it. Having forgotten all about the blessed thing in the heat of battle it was obvious that the Tiger had got the aerial caught round his prop. No wonder he dwindled! It turns out also that he crashed - but more of that later.

Those of us who had trained as fighter pilots still held romantic notions about our prospective role in the air. We were soon to be enlightened about all this.

So, instead of racing off and flying Spitfires, we were now told that there was no more demand for fighter pilots and that we would all be converted onto bombers, a process that would take many months of special training. While there was a certain amount of awe-inspiring appeal in the idea of a 19-year-old Sergeant Pilot flying a huge four-engined bomber over Germany as captain of a crew of seven and with no second pilot, I decided that my true expertise (such as it was) was in single-engined flying.

So I set about exploring ways to make this happen, if at all possible. As it turned out, if you volunteered to go to the Middle East, you could stay on singles as that was the only Theatre of War outside Russia that any ground fighting was going on, and this is what I did. There was still a long wait though, as the EATS was working so efficiently by now (1943-44) that the UK was flooded with trained airmen. So here was another parting of the ways for old friends as most of our intake ended up on bombers. Many, like Ken Grose and Rex Loton, did not survive, but some, like Bill Fallon and Errol Ingram, did - Bill as a rear gunner (tail-end Charlie) and Errol as a pilot completed full operational tours of duty and lived to tell the tale.

The Kittyhawk was a sturdy, attractive veteran of the North African campaign but without the Spit’s charisma. As they were only operating in Italy, at least Burma was ruled out! But, we were told, the Aussies amongst us were destined for Italy, as both Australian Squadrons (numbers 3 and 450) were operating there, supporting the British Eighth Army, as they had done throughout the long Western Desert campaign. Indeed, 3 Squadron had been in the Middle East since June 1940, during which time it had had many updates of aircraft type, starting off flying Gloster Gladiators, a semi-obsolete biplane which would not have been out of place in WWI! Actually it was about this time, unbeknown to us, that No.3 was converting to the best and most effective fighter of the war, the P51, known as the Mustang, but little did Lew Ranger or I think that we would end up there flying these magnificent machines.

After some 15 hours on these, the big day came for me on October 20, 1944, when I was to have my first flight in a Kittyhawk. What an awesome thrill! To fly a single seater fighter the first time - no instructor, just you. They could tell you how to fly it on the ground but, thereafter you were on your own. To start with it had a much more powerful engine than anything we had flown before. We had previously flown only in radial-engined, air-cooled motors, this one was equipped with a 16 cylinder, in-line, liquid-cooled Allison, which seemed to stretch out in front of you forever. Don’t forget that I still hadn’t learned to drive a car.

Unlike most present-day planes which have two main wheels and a nose wheel, P40s had a tail wheel, so that you couldn’t see in front of you until you had given her the gun and got up sufficient speed to lift your tail up. This done, you roared along the runway at maximum revs until you felt that beautiful feeling of leaving Mother Earth, and then you were flying. It is hard to describe the feeling of being in control of all this complex machinery and power. As you lift off and retract your undercarriage the feeling of being airborne, of feeling the subtle currents of air gently acting upon your machine, is awesome. The seemingly limitless power at your fingertips and the three dimensional control of height and direction is heady stuff indeed. However, on this first trip in a P40 there were many other things to think about; lots to remember and lots to learn and get the particular feel of this beautiful, sleek beast. Somewhat to my surprise I managed the landing OK in spite of the considerable difference in speed and feel from anything previously. It’s a funny thing that throughout my flying career I never ceased to be amazed that I could actually land these flighty creatures!

Flying training in the Kittyhawk proceeded through the usual gamut of exercises, spins, formations, cross-countries etc. Somewhere I have a few quite good photos, taken by me with a very unreliable cheap camera, of Lew and I low flying across the desert. This was quite a feat as I had to fly one-handed, formating with Lew, and still try to take the photos. Unfortunately at this time one of our group, a good friend and fine chap, Geoff Swinbourne, crashed his Kitty and was killed. Another funeral - we buried him in a desolate piece of desert. He was only 19 years old. But for the rest of us it was get up in the air and get on with it.

It happened thus: air-to-air gunnery practice is usually done by a pair of planes both carrying cine cameras, which were used instead of guns for obvious reasons. Both pilots would shoot at each other using the cameras, the films of which were analysed later in the Station’s theatre. In this instance there had been a serious stuff-up as one of the planes (Spitfires) was loaded with cannon shells instead of film. The pilot of this plane, Jim Fletcher, a mate of ours, lined up the other plane, laid off the necessary deflection and pressed the trigger. His aim was obviously very good as he only let loose some 12 cannon shells before he realised what was happening and took his finger off the button. The incident above resulted and we returned to Jungle Jim’s rudely interrupted monologue.

He had every right to be very angry, as what we had done was not only rude but a potentially serious breach of Air Force discipline. Jungle Jim, ever a mild man, only remonstrated with us mildly. Never the less it was not a good way to kick off with a reportedly perfectionist type instructor.

more from alan to come...

http://www.spitfireperformance.com/m...n-8april44.jpg

Second part of the second paragraph....that must've been a sight to see! These are great reads, nice find Bobby! +1

(I know I'm a little late on all these stickies, but I just have to give credit :P)

Fantastic site Bobbysocks!Better than Ace of Aces mag I used to read.Cool.Thx for sharing.

your welcome...
now that i have a little break in the action, a little more from alan clark.

DAF was a Tactical Air Force, as distinct from a Strategic Air Force such as the various long-range bomber forces of the RAF and USAF. Within this structure, No. 3 had, over the years, performed a number of roles: reconnaissance, dive-bombing and strafing, bomber escort, and aerial fighting, sometimes individually and sometimes all together. In my time, and for some time earlier, the main role was close support for the ground forces of the British Eighth Army. This entailed moving up fairly close behind the advancing ground forces in order to respond to their requests for help ASAP and also shorten the range of the flights. This latter, however, was becoming less important with the advent of the longer range Mustang. As it was now the depth of winter, both the British and the American Armies were bunkered down on both sides of the north-south running Apennines, so there was almost no call for close support. Instead we spent our operational time ranging widely over Yugoslavia, Austria and Northern Italy, dive-bombing bridges, strafing trains, trucks, tanks and even horse-drawn vehicles, which the Germans were increasingly needing to use.

We also did some bomber-escort duties which, for us, were “a piece of cake”, as there was no German aerial opposition to worry about. When the bombers reached their target, we would move to one side while they copped all the flak. I personally took part in three of these to Vienna, Klagenfurt and Graz and the trips, for us were uneventful (although not so for the bombers), except for Vienna when, for a few brief minutes, high above us we saw one of the new German jet or rocket fighters streaking across the sky at tremendous speed. This put a serious dent in us Mustang flyers’ sense of aerial superiority, but it was only brief and never recurred before the war’s end.

My stay on No. 3 lasted until April 3, 1945, when I was shot down on my 25th Mission. Though brief, this period was for me replete with incident, in contrast to that of my peers, Lew, Peter Martin and Ron Horton, all of whom had joined the squadron at the same time and all of whom went through the rest of the European War unscathed and, apart from the usual exigencies of dive-bombing and strafing under fire, without too much drama. Let me explain a bit. Some months before arriving, both 3 and 450 had apparently, through attrition and tour expiration, run out of experienced flight leaders. So an SOS was sent to Australia for some pilots with one tour of operational experience. As a result, four pilots with a tour done in the Jap war were flown from Australia straight to Italy, two each for 3 and 450. They, of course, were excellent and experienced pilots but the aerial war against Germany into which they were now thrust was vastly different to that which they had experienced in the SW Pacific. In the event, all four were shot down: the 3 Squadron duo - FLTLT John Hodgkinson DFC and FLTLT Barney Davies - both while flying in front of me!

At full strength, we flew 12 aircraft in three sections of four: "Red", "White" and "Blue". We flew in very loose formation, called “battle formation”, a method that the RAF had learned from the Germans years before during the Battle of Britain. The pre-war tactics of showy close formation had proved disastrous in that campaign, as the pilots’ attention was totally taken up watching each other and failed to see the enemy coming.

Each four flew at staggered heights with the mission leader as No. 1 in the Red section. Newer pilots (“sprogs”) flew in the No. 2 position about 75 metres behind the leader, while the other two in the four formed a square with 1 and 2. It was the number two’s job to search the sky continually, while the No. 1s checked the ground and also navigated us to the target. Our squadron’s radio call sign was “Shabby” (hence the name of my Laser “Shabby Red 2”). It was from this position that I got shot down.

But prior to that, on March 6, Hodgkinson, as Red 1 (with me right behind him at Red 2) got shot down in rather dramatic circumstances, which I won’t recount here as the detail can be found in a brief article I wrote for the 3 Squadron Association newsletter that is now on the web here .

Hodge was taken prisoner. On April 1, two days before I copped it, I was again flying Red 2 behind Barney Davies when he too got shot down. Flying over a mountainous area of Yugoslavia, Barney had spotted a couple of trucks full of German troops. He told the rest of the squadron to stay up and called me to follow him down to strafe. This was fairly exhilarating, as we had to dive and weave our way through the peaks of the mountains to get at the trucks. As we started shooting, a large amount of flak (anti-aircraft fire) came up at us. Neither of us was hit but we had to pull up very steeply to avoid the mountain on the other side of the road. We circled back to where we had started the attack and Barney (who was nothing if not intrepid) said:

“All right, Shabby, we are going in again!”

“Shit!”, I thought, for not only had the flak been heavy but we had been briefed never to attempt a second run as the enemy would be:

(a) Better prepared and;

(b) Rather angry and thus liable to do nasty things to you if you got shot down.

Which is exactly what happened to Barney. At a low point in his dive (about 100 feet or so above the trucks), he was hit by several 20 mm cannon shells. Cool as ever, he called:

“Hit! Bailing out, Shabby.”

He pulled up to about 1500 feet, with me quite close on his tail, where he executed a perfect ‘bunt’ bail-out; that is, after jettisoning the Mustang’s Perspex canopy, freeing himself from all the impedimenta, such as straps, helmet, radio mike, oxygen mask etc., he pushed the nose of the plane hard down (he was still climbing at this stage) and floated upwards, beautifully turning somersaults in the air until he pulled the rip cord and that life-saving canopy mushroomed out.

“Wow”, I thought, “that’s the way to do it, so easy and graceful; that’s the way I’ll do it, if and when my turn comes.”

But, as I found out, it is not as easy as it looks first time (and this was, I think, Barney’s third go at it). By now, in spite of my general inexperience, I was the leading Squadron close-up eye-witness of bale outs, one very good and one botched, almost fatal one. Mine, two days later, was similar to, if not worse than, the latter.

At this point, while on the subject of bale-outs, I may as well go forward to recount my own bale out, two days later on April 3. This was to be the day of an athletic carnival for No. 3 and supposedly we had been stood down for the day. As an athlete of some past standing, I had been looking forward to this event, but the Operations phone rang, summoning us into the air.

The reason for this sudden change of plan was as follows: Several days before, a large Russian advance had revealed an enormous column of retreating German troops, tanks, trucks etc. on a road in Slovenia. The retreat had been temporarily halted by bombing a passing train at a level crossing, thus the column was at our collective mercy. Many squadrons had been involved in the two-day carnage, while the column was halted, and it was to this that No. 3 had been summoned.

Now, ever since the Battle of Britain in 1940, it had been a fighter squadron tradition that, at the sound of an alert, the pilots belted helter skelter to their machines and took off in a cloud of dust. Although the need for such urgency was long since past, it was still deemed prudent to get airborne with some celerity. So off to the strip in our 3-ton truck (we were now based at Cervia) and into the waiting planes. To expedite take-off, all aircraft were allotted randomly and each had a parachute with dinghy attached in position, with straps spread out so that the pilot leapt in, clipped on the parachute harness, then the restraining straps, helmet, goggles, oxygen mask, and radio; then roared off into the wild blue yonder.

My allotted plane for this mission (another armed recce) was a Mark III [serial KH631, marked "CV-V"], a slightly older model than the new Mark IVs, which were now arriving regularly as replacements on the squadron. It was armed with six 0.5¢¢ machine guns and two 1000lb. bombs. After clambering in, I was amazed to find that the parachute straps were set up for an impossibly huge person. Instead of fitting snugly, the straps flopped about so loosely that there seemed to be every chance of falling out of them if I had to bale out. In addition, the ripcord metal ring, which you had to pull to open the parachute, instead of fitting neatly in its slot on your chest, was dangling on a foot-long piece of wire almost touching the floor of the cockpit. Very piss-poor maintenance, I thought. But, no time to speculate, off I went to take up my position behind our newly appointed flight commander, FLTLT Tubby Shannon who had arrived several weeks earlier to start his second tour of operations.

One thing about being young and silly (I was 20 at this time): you feel indestructible, bullet proof as it were, and so I said to myself:

“Well it will be all right just this once.”

However, with Murphy’s Law always lurking in the background (albeit as yet undiscovered) - it wasn’t. So off we flew across the Adriatic and into Slovenia until we had almost reached Maribor, a large town on the Austrian border where somebody in the formation spotted a Fieseler Storch aircraft flying low beneath us. This was exciting stuff as most (if not all) of us had never seen a German plane in real life before.

Tubby decided that just he and I would attack it; so leaving the others up top, we jettisoned our bombs (all 4000 lbs of them) and dived down to attack. At this point I should explain that the Fieseler Storch is a light reconnaissance aeroplane, totally unarmed and capable of a top speed of about 90 mph (150kmph), whereas we were much faster and very well-armed.

As Dusty Lane had shot another one down two days before, there was some speculation as to why such aircraft should be flying at all and Wing Intelligence had suggested that these planes may have been transporting high ranking German Army officers trying to escape from both the Eastern and Western fronts, which, by now, were rapidly approaching each other. Their escape plan was, presumably, to try and reach the Austrian redoubt which, as yet, had not been overrun.

However, there is an alternative possibility. These planes had been used to spot Partisan movements in the mountainous regions nearby and it is possible that this accounted for their aerial presence. Whatever, down we swooped, putting down our flaps and throttling right back to reduce our speed. The Storch, by this time had spotted us and staying just above the ground positioned himself behind a nest of German anti-aircraft guns (Oerlikon 20 mm cannons as it turned out) so that we had to fly right across these low and slow to get at him.

As we did this, he banked steeply to fly at right angles to us so as to make it as difficult as possible for us to hit him. In other words he was maximizing the deflection we had to use to shoot him down. By way of explanation, when you are shooting at a target crossing your path, you have to aim a certain amount in front of it in order to hit it, otherwise the bullets will just pass harmlessly behind him. The amount you have to allow for, of course, depends on the speed of the target, which you estimate and then lay off the correct amount on your gunsight - rather like clay pigeon shooting really.

We both opened fire as we drew near the German guns; every fifth bullet of our combined twelve 0.5¢¢ machine guns was a “tracer”, that is a bullet that has a fiery glow, thereby indicating the path of all the other bullets. I was amazed to see our bullets run up the wing of the Storch , which then burst into flame and crashed. Almost immediately there was a hell of an explosion which seemed to lift my plane up in the air, large holes with ugly jagged edges appeared in both wings and ailerons, the engine started pouring black smoke and my lateral control of the plane almost disappeared.

The engine, however, continued to function, even though it was emitting sounds of dire distress that suggested to me that I wouldn’t make it back over the Adriatic. I had managed to climb to 5000 feet and decided to head southeast. While I was doing this in my terminally-stricken plane, which was pouring huge amounts of smoke (presumably indicating some, as yet unseen, fire) and uttering horrible sounds of malfunction, Tubby kept badgering me with R/T calls, asking me where I was. Momentarily taking my mind off my multifarious problems, I had a look around: green fields below, mountains in the distance. How the **** could I know where I was precisely?

So I ignored Tubby and got back to the problems at hand. Decisions had to be made; getting back across the Adriatic was obviously out of the question; should I head for the mountains, where Partisans were allegedly active, or for the Russian front which was only some 30 miles to the East? The latter had some difficulties, so I elected for the former.

Let me explain. As we operated fairly close to the advancing Russian front quite regularly, we were equipped, among many other bits and pieces, with a flag, a Union Jack that hung around our necks and was accompanied by the words “Dobra den, ya sum Englesi piloten (Good day, I am an English pilot)”. As we were all dressed in grey English battledress and were wearing wing brevets, the possibility existed that you could be mistaken for a German soldier by the necessarily trigger-happy Russians and summarily dispatched. In the event of being shot down in Russian-occupied territory we were told by Intelligence to advance towards their troops with hands up and quoting the abovementioned words. I thought the Partisans might be a better bet.

Nearing the mountains, I thought it would be wise to blow off the canopy in case of a sudden loss of control, as was the case with John Hodgkinson. This was a mistake as the smoke and leaking glycol now poured into the cockpit, forcing me to decide to bale out immediately, even though I was some way short of the mountains. It was at this point that I remembered my loose parachute straps and, taking my eyes off the flickering instruments, glanced, with some dismay at my dangling ripcord.

No choice - I undid my seat straps, took off my helmet with attached radio and oxygen mask and contemplated which bale-out method to use. Somehow, the bunting method seemed to be losing its previous appeal. Wouldn’t it be easier and safer just to go over the side and risk hitting the tailplane? Thus persuaded, I let go of the control column and tried to clamber out. Halfway out, the slipstream hit me, forcing me back against the cockpit edge with such force that I could neither get out any further nor get back in to regain control of the aircraft. The plane, out of control, slowly went into a dive, the ground appeared directly in the windscreen as we hurtled towards it with increasing speed, with me desperately trying, to no avail, to reach the stick.

A swift and violent death appeared imminent. Still pinned immovably against the rear of the cockpit, the engine noise and smoke reached a crescendo of violence. Then the next thing that happened was an incredible quiet; an eerie silence in marked contrast to the preceding turmoil. Bewildered (in a state of shock really) I wondered is this heaven? How quick! No booking-in formalities, no sign of Saint Peter. Glancing upwards, above me was a beautiful white silk canopy. Wow! Relief; but tempered by the fact that the parachute had about a six to eight foot tear in it, stretching from the edge inwards. Did chutes with tears continue to do so under the pressure of descent? Shelving this query for the moment, I looked down to see green fields seemingly a long, long way below.

As I hung there in the pristine silence there appeared to be no detectable downwards movement whatsoever. Am I going to hang up here forever? I wondered. After what seemed to be an eternity I began to detect a slight downward movement and also a slight sideways progression towards the West. People appeared running towards my descent path. Friend or foe? Ah well, at least I had my trusty Smith and Wesson 38, with its four bullets. Misjudging the final 100 feet or so, it seemed as though I would drift gently and gracefully onto the forgiving earth; nothing happened for a bit then the earth rushed up to meet me and I hit with a dreadful thud while travelling backwards at about 15 mph due to the wind. Dragging along the ground at speed I hit the release buckle and came to rest - more or less in one piece.

People were running towards me, civilians not soldiers, so I walked towards them, whereupon they turned and fled. Perhaps with my grey battledress, winged chevron and trusty six shooter at the hip I looked like a German to them…or maybe an alien of sorts. So I grabbed the parachute and looked for somewhere to hide it, as per orders. No real hiding place so I put it, as best I could under a small bush and headed for the distant hills as I could see what appeared to be German soldiers coming my way from a distant village. As I glanced back, I saw the peasant women pulling my ‘chute out of its hidey-hole, evidently assessing the quality of the material.

Much later, thinking about the bale-out, I have concluded that the following was the most likely scenario. When the plane began to dive because I couldn’t reach the control column, this must have acted as a partial bunt, perhaps just elevating me slightly from my trapped position. The dangling ripcord ring must have caught on one of the many projections and levers in the narrow cockpit. This would have triggered the opening of the parachute in the cockpit! Spilling out into the slipstream, I must have been dragged out perforce, narrowly missing the tailplane, which must have caught the silk of the chute and torn it. Needless to say I didn’t say anything about this horrible bungle in my official report later back at the ranch!

some of fred eggleston 3 raaf

I was proud to be posted to 3 Squadron R.A.A.F. which had a tradition of excellence as a fighter squadron dating back to the First World War. The squadron had been based at Richmond N.S.W. at the outbreak of WWII and embarked for the Middle East on the Orient liner Orontes on 12th July 1940.

It had participated in the highly successful Wavell offensive in November 1940. Flying Gloster Gladiator aircraft, it had immediate success against a superior force of Italian CR42 fighters during its first engagement on Tuesday 19th November.

Re-equipment with Hawker Hurricane fighters commenced during February 1941 and, during that month, the squadron claimed its first victory against the German Luftwaffe which had recently entered the campaign. The victim was a Ju88 bomber.

After the retreat from Benghazi in April 1941, the squadron moved back to Sidi Haneish and, by this time, its score of victories had reached 69 confirmed plus 14 probables. It had also become expert in making rapid transfer from one base to another, keeping up offensive flying in the process.

News was then received that the squadron was to be re-equipped with the American Curtiss P-40 Tomahawk fighters which were fitted with two 0.5" Browning guns firing through the airscrew and four 0.3" Brownings in the wings.

The Tomahawk was a tough aircraft which could take a lot of punishment. Its performance was better than the Hurricane but not as good as the German Me109 or the Italian Macchi 202. Nevertheless, its toughness and manoeuvrability enabled it to be used with great success in the air battles of that time.

After flying Hurricanes, 3 Squadron pilots had some difficulty adapting to the Tomahawks, which had a different type of rudder control and foot brake. As many as 21 had "ground-looped" on landing; damaging the wings. The C.O., Squadron Leader Jeffrey, decided that the new pilots should go to 71 O.T.U. (No. 71 Operational Training Unit) at Khartoum to convert to Tomahawks.

My first operational patrol took place on Sunday 30th November and was a levelling experience for one who felt himself destined to be a fighter ace.

We took off at 0800 hours from LG 122 on an offensive sweep over E1 Adem just south of Tobruk. My position was "Lester 4" paired behind Woof Arthur. We were at 11,000 feet when we saw about 18 Stukas over Bir El Gubi. They dropped their bombs from about 4,000 feet and dived westward - nine in tight formation and six above and behind them. Woof went down in a vertical dive and I followed him down through the Stukas, having a "squirt" at one on the way. I lost Woof and found myself in a melee with Me109s, Macchi 200s, Fiat G50s and Ju87s (Stukas). I had long range shots at a Macchi 200, a Stuka and a Me109 without any apparent effect and, since I was a number 2 without a Leader, I decided to pair off with one of our fellows who was pumping bullets into a Stuka. Before I could get over to him, a Me109 came up behind him and shot him down.

Our fellow proved to be Tiny Cameron who crash-landed, quickly got out of his aircraft, and ran to some bushes nearby. I circled overhead at about 2,000 feet to try to protect him; but the Me109 strafed his aircraft and showed its contempt for my efforts by looping off the deck and strafing his aircraft again. Fortunately, the German pilot evidently had not seen Tiny leave his crashed aircraft. After his second strafing attack, the Me109 went off towards the west and, a few minutes later W/C Peter Jeffrey landed on the desert near Tiny's aircraft and picked him up. They took-off safely and flew back to our base - Tiny sitting on Pete's knees, in the single seater cockpit.

It was a great day for the Squadron, with eleven victories and eighteen damaged. The total now was 106 victories and we celebrated our first century that evening. Woof Arthur was at first missing but turned up later in a borrowed Hurricane, having made a forced landing at Tobruk. He had shot down two Ju87s and two G50s.

No 3 Squadron became the first squadron in the Desert to score one hundred enemy aircraft confirmed.

.................

On Monday 1st December 1941, Sgts. Rex Wilson and Frank Reid "scrambled" early in the morning to intercept a Ju88 which had been coming over the airfield each morning at high altitude on reconnaissance. Rex hit the port engine and the aircraft caught fire. Two Germans baled out. In revenge for an earlier incident, when one of our pilots, Sgt Parker, had been shot and killed while parachuting from his burning aircraft over Tobruk, Sgt Reid tried to shoot the parachuting Germans on the way down and strafed them on the ground. I am sure that Frank Reid and the rest of us were relieved to hear later that the two Germans had survived unhurt and had become prisoners of war.

.......

The Kittyhawk was very similar to the Tomahawk but a bit more powerful and had three 0.5" guns in each wing (instead of the two 0.5" guns firing through the airscrew and the two 0.3" guns in each wing of the Tomahawk). The Kittyhawk IA had a top speed of 354 miles per hour at 15,000 feet and a service ceiling of 29,000 feet. The Messerschmitt Bf 109 F2 Trop. (armed with one 20mm canon, firing through the airscrew boss, and one 12.7 mm machine gun in each wing) had a top speed of 373 miles per hour at 19,700 feet and a service ceiling of 37,700 feet.

I did not ever fly a Kittyhawk. I was shot down and became a prisoner of war before the squadron was fully equipped with them. However, the Tomahawk was very much liked, if not preferred, by many of the old hands in the Desert.

..........

In the evening, we heard that Japan had attacked Pearl Harbour and that America was in the war.

On Tuesday 9th December, we flew on a wing offensive sweep over El Adem when we were "jumped" by Me109s. One of ours went down in flames. Nick, Geoff and a 112 Squadron Tomahawk went up after five Me109s, while the rest of us formed a defensive circle, each following another's tail, thereby, supposedly, protecting him. I was not comfortable in this manoeuvre because it seemed too easy for the Messerschmitts high above to dive and pick us off one by one. After five minutes we broke the circle and I followed Wally Jewell home. Pete Jeffrey, Dave Rutter, Rex Wilson and Tiny Cameron were missing, and three fires were seen on the ground.

Rex Wilson and Dave Rutter were killed, Pete Jeffrey force-landed at Tobruk and returned that evening. Tiny Cameron force landed and returned two days later. Rex Wilson had been recommended for the Distinguished Flying Medal, having previously had 8 victories. The DFM was awarded posthumously. Sgt Mailey got two Me109F's and Pete Jeffrey one. It was Dave Rutter's first operation!

In the evening, after his return from Tobruk, Pete Jeffrey had a post-mortem with us on the day's engagement. I remembered feeling quite vulnerable in that defensive circle with the Messerschmitts circling above and waiting to pounce. I asked Pete, "why didn't someone lead us out of that defensive circle?"

"Why didn't you!" growled Pete! I got the message and kept my mouth shut for the rest of the meeting! Pete then turned on Bobby Gibbes with "where did you get to?"

Bob replied, "Oh! I came home! I wasn't going to stooge around in that circle of death!" In fact, Bob had dived down when we were jumped, his idea being to zoom up and to climb above the Messerschmitts to attack them but when he got up there, he could not find them. I did not know this at the time but I admired Bob's courage in speaking up. Later, he was to command the squadron.

We took-off from El Adem at 1530 hours. I was leading blue flight with Robin Gray on my left and Nick Barr on my right. Woof Arthur was leading the squadron. I was flying Tomahawk AN335 which was in excellent condition though we had some trouble with the 0.5" guns in the cockpit which were inclined to jam, due to the desert dust ingested during taxiing.

We were climbing into the Sun at 10,000 feet, near the Gulf of Bomba, when we saw a number of Me109s taking off from the German base at Tmimi directly beneath us. There was a lot of chatter on the intercom. Suddenly, I felt my aircraft lurch and looked round to see Robin Gray's aircraft had drifted towards mine and his airscrew was chewing off my port wingtip. With the extra drag from the damaged wing tip, I couldn't keep up with the squadron and dropped away.

I soon found that the aircraft responded reasonably well to the controls and, seeing three Tomahawks of 112 Squadron chasing up after five Me109s climbing after 3 Squadron, I decided to join the attack.

With my height advantage, I was able to dive down and come up to make a quarter attack from below. I was the first to open fire and, though the range was a bit long, I succeeded in breaking up the Messerschmitt formation.

The Messerschmitts turned to join battle and a good old fashioned dog-fight ensued. There seemed to be Me109s and Tomahawks everywhere! I made two further quarter attacks from below at Me109s circling to attack. I could see glycol streaming behind each of them but could not claim to have shot them down. I managed to get close behind a third Me109 but, due to the absence of one wing tip, my aircraft flicked on its back just before I pressed the trigger. Meanwhile, I was having continual trouble clearing my 0.5" guns which were jamming!

I got close behind another Messerschmitt and put a long burst into him. I was surprised to see tracer streaming from my wings towards him. I didn't think we had tracer! Suddenly I realised there was another Messerschmitt close behind me and pumping bullets at me. I flicked into a steep turn and got away from him unscathed but, by this time, I had lost a lot of height and the friendly Tomahawks had vanished.

I was at 1500 feet and could see three Messerschmitts circling above me waiting for the kill. There were no clouds and I was at least 60 miles into enemy territory, so I decided to make the best of the situation and try to get at least one of them. One made a head-on attack at me and I pulled up toward him staring at the yawning hole in his airscrew boss through which his canon was pointing at me. My 0.5" guns jammed again but he too seemed to be having trouble with his guns as he did not open fire. I tipped the joystick slightly forward and went under him with what seemed inches to spare.

The net result was that I lost further height and found myself at 1000 feet with my Messerschmitt friends still above me. I could see two of them and was clearing my 0.5" guns saying to myself, "I'll get at least one of you bastards," when I heard a dull "plop" near my feet.

The third Messerschmitt had come up behind me and lobbed an explosive shell into the oil cooler beneath my engine.

I flicked into a steep turn and shook him off but the damage was done and my aircraft was on fire. I was now flying east with a thick trail of black smoke behind me and the Me109 in close pursuit. I opened the cockpit canopy to get a better look but flames and smoke came up around me and I quickly closed it again. This was it! I had to get out fast! I undid my safety belt and disconnected my oxygen line but forgot about my intercom cord.

I flung open the canopy, eased the stick forward - and floated up out of the cockpit into the slip-stream, which swept me back against the tail fin. My intercom cord came adrift and luckily it was my parachute pack which took the brunt of the blow from the tail fin. I found myself spinning like a top but threw out my arms and legs in a spread-eagled position which had the immediate effect of stopping the spin. I was facing down with my arms and legs stretched out and, out of the corner of my eye, I could see my aircraft with its smoke trail fading into the distance with the Me109 close behind.

The land below stretched out like a coloured map and I could see the Gulf of Bomba to the north. I reached for the rip cord with my right hand but remembering Sgt Parker's fate over Tobruk, decided to make a delayed drop, even though I had baled-out at only 1000 feet. I clutched the handle of the rip cord whilst falling freely toward the land below. It was quite exhilarating, and I was fascinated with the view but, all of a sudden, I could see stones and tufts of grass and I realised I was getting very close to the ground.

I yanked at the rip cord and the parachute opened immediately.

I was relieved to feel the support of the shroud lines. I floated for about ten seconds and noted that there was a strong drift toward the east. The terrain was undulating with rock outcrops but, fortunately, I was drifting towards a flat grassy patch. Fortunately also, I was facing the direction I was drifting. In textbook style, I pulled hard on the shroud lines just before my feet touched the ground. Although this helped to cushion my landing, my feet hit the ground with a jar and I turned several somersaults, finally being dragged along on my head by my still inflated parachute. I was glad at the time that my flying helmet was well padded, otherwise I would have sustained severe head injuries.

After a struggle, I finally managed to release my parachute harness and halt my undignified progress across the ground. With no weight on the shroud lines, the parachute collapsed and lay on the ground near me. I stood up to take stock of the position. By a miracle, I was unwounded and seemed to be uninjured by the fall. A couple of weeks later, I suffered acute back pains, but felt nothing when shot down.

I looked around, and immediately saw the Me109 returning at low altitude from the east. He saw my parachute and then saw me and went into a steep left hand turn with the obvious intention of strafing me. I sprinted a hundred yards in eight seconds to take cover behind some rocks just as the Messerschmitt began its dive. He didn't open fire as my cover was good and, as soon as he passed over, I ran to some bushes a few yards away where I had better all-round cover. He did not come back and I assumed that he and his companions had landed at Tmimi, their base nearby, and that a search party might soon come out to find me. It was 1630 hrs and there were several hours of daylight left. I drew my pistol determined to defend myself.

I was completely transformed! A few minutes ago, in the air, where I had been trained to fight, I had faced certain death with detached calm. I was now on the ground with the chance of survival and was completely scared. I realised I would have no chance of resisting a search party and I dared not move before nightfall for fear of being spotted.

original AVG pilot and legend Tex Hill talks.... 30 mins

http://www.eaavideo.org/video.aspx?v=1243520860

actually scroll down that page and there are interviews with several ww2 fighter and bomber pilots ...a lot of good stuff there.

Hey! Thanks for the link Bobby, cool site!

William Y ""Willie"" Anderson...obituary

died at home. He was born June 28, 1921 in Kromfors, Sweden to Helmer and Esther (Anderson) Anderson. In 1922, his family passed through Ellis Island and settled in Chicago. On November 26, 1944, he married Lois Anderson.
He joined the Army Air Corps in 1941 and became a highly decorated veteran of World War II, receiving over 30 medals including the Silver Star and the French Croix de Guerre. General Eisenhower personally pinned on his Silver Star. He flew a P-51 "Mustang" he named "Swede's Steed" on 126 combat missions. He was a triple Ace, and Sweden's only fighter Ace.
He made front page headlines in the Chicago Tribune on June 20th, 1944 when he shot down a German V-1 rocket which he named the "Buzz Bomb". He was the first to ever to do so. During the war he was known as quite a dare-devil----including flying THROUGH the Eiffel Tower in Paris.
He returned to the States and instructed cadets at the West Point Military Academy. Many articles and books have been written about him, and he still receives requests for autographed pictures. He is featured prominently in the Aviation Hall of Fame, the Fighter Aces Hall of Fame, and Who's Who in Aviation History.
After the war he took his flying skills to United Air Lines. He retired in 1981 as a Boeing-747 Captain. He was very popular with his fellow pilots, and would never hesitate to give them a flying lesson. His famous sense of humor entertained passengers and crews for 36 years. His wife Lois frequently accompanied him on his trips; the Honolulu layovers were a special treat for her.
As a father and husband, he was without equal. He adored his wife and pampered her for 66 years. She has nursed him with superhuman care for the last four years. His children and grandchildren took their every problem to "Poppy". He could fix anything, do anything and knew everything. He was the indestructible rock at the center of his family. His brilliance and love have shaped four generations.
He was also generous to others with his time. He served as Commander of the Crystal Lake V.F.W. and he was a member of the Tebala Shrine in Rockford. He gave many hours of his time and continuous financial support to the Shriner's hospital for crippled and burned children. He was a friend of the late Chancellor of Germany, Conrad Adenauer, worked with F. Lee Bailey, joked with Bob Hope, and sponsored Buzz Aldrin into the Aviation Hall of Fame.
He is survived by his wonderful wife and the two daughters he spoiled: Nancy (Paul) Lerner and
Gina (Durant) Carpenter. Also, a son William Anderson, Jr. Six grandchildren: Duffy Godshall, Chad (Stacey) Emigholz, Teresa Turck, Shiloh (Gery) Lee, Rhain Carpenter, and Graham Lerner. Two great-grandsons, Colton Turck and Kaytum Lee.
Services will be private.
"Willie Y", as he was called during his WWII flying days, was highly regarded throughout United Air Lines both for his skill as a pilot as well as his wit. At his retirement dinner in 1981 he closed his remarks by famously saying: "…and may the wind at your back always be your own". God speed, Willie.

On May 19, the 357th Fighter Group was back over Berlin. Blue Flight of the 363rd had just made rendezvous with the bombers when they saw 100 German fighters headed for their charges. “Part of the squadron went for the main bunch, but I saw three slightly higher than I was, so I climbed after them in a Lufbery,” said Lt. Charles Peters. “I was out-turning and out-climbing them up to 31,000 feet. I fired at the last man and saw a strike on his canopy. The ship rolled over and went straight down. I continued turning with the other two until the last man broke away to the left and I followed him down to 12,000 feet. He finally leveled out and I got in a good burst with strikes at the wing roots. He broke hard to the left and then blew up. The pilot was thrown out and his chute opened.”

Lt. Robert Foy destroyed one Bf 109, then closed in in two more. When these aircraft spotted him, they “immediately pulled into a sharp turn to the left,” Foy reported. “The lead ship of this two-ship formation collided with the outside 109 attempting a head-on pass. ( and we thought this was a BoP thing but it did happen in real life) The wing of this ship struck squarely in the propeller of the (other) and was shorn off at the fuselage. The ship burst into flames and I saw no chute. The (other) enemy aircraft lost its prop and the engine nacelle seemed to be crushed and the 109 started into what might be described as an irregular spin.” Foy was credited with three Bf 109s destroyed.

Maj. Irwin Dregne ( Dregne was my dad's hero) was leading the 364th when he spotted the same huge formation, but it was scattered before he could reach them. “I started after a Bf 109 and he split-S’ed for the deck,” Dregne said. “I dove after him. At about 14,000 feet the Bf 109 was in a vertical dive and started rolling. He went into a tight spiral and then started spinning. I followed him down waiting for him to recover. At 5000 feet his canopy came off and I saw the pilot jump. I saw the plane crash but I never saw the parachute open. I never was closer than 1000 yards to the Bf 109 and did not fire my guns.”

Capt. John Storch picked out a straggler who dived for safety. “I followed him and he began to take evasive action, skidding and slipping and half-rolling. When he reached about 13,000 feet he suddenly began to spin. I followed him on down and pulled out of my dive when I could see from the way he was spinning that he would be unable to recover. I watched the Bf 109 spin into the ground and explode. I did not observe any chute. From the way in which the enemy aircraft was spinning I believe the pilot must have in some way damaged his plane by taking such violent evasive action at excessive speeds, as we were both probably indicating about 500 mph.”

Meanwhile, Lt. Leroy Ruder spotted German fighters at higher altitude than the first group diving for the bombers. “After a few minutes, I was in position to fire on an Fw 190,” he reported. “I closed to about 300 yards and opened fire, observing numerous strikes on the fuselage and wings. The enemy aircraft completed a couple of rolls and tight turns. Finally, he straightened out long enough for me to fire a few more bursts from about 250 yards. At the time, we were going at a great speed, with my aircraft nearly out of control. As I fired my last burst, the enemy aircraft started into another roll, with pieces flying from it. Suddenly, the enemy aircraft fell apart. Large sections of the fuselage and tail assembly ripped off and the enemy aircraft tumbled toward the ground, end over end. I broke off my attack at 10,000 feet and climbed back up to locate my flight.” Additional victories were claimed by Capts. Fletcher Adams and Ed Hiro ( who later was KIA), and Lt. Arval Roberson. In all, the group scored 10 kills, and lost no Mustangs.

The 362nd Fighter Group paid a visit to the rail yards at Valenciennes on the morning of May 10, 1944, bringing along an ample supply of 500-pound bombs. The 378thwas led by Capt. Sherwin Desens, but his plane was hit by flak over St. Omer at 11,000 feet and his engine quit. He jettisoned the canopy, “getting a face full of oil in the process,” and he bailed out 3000 feet over the English Channel. When he hit the water, he quickly located his CO2 bottle and dinghy and inflated it. Seeing Spitfires overhead, he fired his flare pistol and they started circling him. Soon, he was rescued by an RAF Walrus flying boat and brought back to England. Capt. Thurman Morrison’s plane was hit by flak over Dunkirk and he was forced to return to base.

After that rough morning, the group executed an afternoon attack on the Champagne airfield near Reims using its own tactics and dropping a combination of 500-pounders, fragmentation bombs, smoke bombs and phosphorus incendiaries. The phosphorus bombs were impressive but they made it impossible to asses the damage to the target. The 379th flew as top cover, and after the other squadrons had bombed it dropped down to strafe the remaining planes; Lt. Gordon Larsen damaged a Ju 88 and Lt. Madison Putnam damaged a Do 217 during their attacks. Capt. Hugh Houghton and Lt. Ken McCleary went down to strafe; “we started a left turn after strafing a hangar when I noticed a glow in Capt. Houghton’s cockpit, which I realized was a fire,” McCleary said. “His aircraft rolled into a vertical bank and slipped into the ground.” Lt. Gerald Major saw Houghton’s P-47D-16 42-75867 “Curtain Call” (B8*5) hit the ground with “a big flash, and it continued burning on the ground.”

Robert McKee was also in Houghton’s flight. As the shaken McCleary joined up with McKee’s wingman, “I remained on the deck in an attempt to avoid the continuing intense flak as I slowly began a turn to the northwest,” McKee later wrote. “About three miles from the airfield, I flew over a small hill and discovered a long train of boxcars moving northward, almost perpendicular to my course. I still had some ammunition remaining for my eight .50 caliber machine guns. With my gun switches and gun sight still on, I waited until I was 1000 feet from the train before I commenced firing from about 200 feet of altitude.

“Simultaneous with my opening fire, all side panels on each side of this train dropped open with their 20mm and 40mm antiaircraft guns firing on our three aircraft. Their opening salvo hit the leading edge of my right wing root and another round hit the right lower side of my engine. I continued spraying my gunfire at these boxcars while inbound, hoping to quiet them down somewhat. After passing over the train, I quickly managed to hide behind another low hill, still being fired upon but not hit. I soon noticed that I had lost some engine power and after getting out of the range of this train’s guns, I began a slow climb to a safe bailout altitude, if that became necessary.

“I eventually managed to level off at 1500 feet but was only able to maintain 155 mph maximum airspeed,” McKee wrote. “The remaining aircraft rejoined squadron formation and continued on without me. I flew on towards England alone with my canopy open, climbing to 2000 feet in case I had to make a quick exit.

“The slower airspeed extended my flight time home for rest of my return flight to England and caused me concern about my fuel supply. It was going to be close. It seemed to take forever, but eventually I had our home base in sight. As I made plans for a long straight-in approach to the runway, I descended to 1000 feet.

“Life is full of surprises and now I faced another one! The engine quit and I was still two miles from the runway. I tried switching fuel tanks with the help of the fuel booster, to no avail. Within a few seconds I was down to 500 feet and flying over many wooded sections of British countryside. I selected two small adjoining fields, about 45 degrees to my left. They were separated by a hedgerow that I hoped I would be able to plow through while making a belly landing into the first one. As I approached the field, I found that the approach side had a row of 70-foot trees that seemed to quickly loom up and above the nose of my aircraft.”

McKee recalled a conversation he had with a civilian instructor many years before involving a pilot intentionally cartwheeling a plane to avoid an obstacle like a fence, with the thinking being that the impact would be distributed around the pilot. Because the P-47 was just above stall speed, McKee knew that if he pulled to miss the fence he’d stall and crash. “Without hesitation, I moved my flight control stick to the left, dipping my left wing about 45 degrees. I then crossed both arms in front of my head and held tightly to the top of the instrument panel. I heard the crunching of tree branches as I felt the sudden deceleration of the aircraft. I sneaked a peek to my left and saw the left wing fold up and inwards as it impacted the ground. I felt the engine’s ground impact force, which threw my head against the right side of the canopy. At this point I closed my eyes and held on tight, feeling a lot of tumbling going on.”

The plane did not catch fire; when McKee opened his eyes, he saw no flames but instead “saw blood everywhere,” he wrote. “It seems that, when I hit my head against the canopy, I had received a long cut above the right eye that had spurted blood around as I turned my head to look about. I tried to slide the canopy open, but found it to be jammed by the fuselage’s twisted metal and would only open about six inches. I almost panicked at this point because I could also see that a lot of red hydraulic fluid had splashed throughout the cockpit and, being concerned that I was going to lose consciousness due to loss of blood, I was afraid of fire erupting before I could get out. I grabbed the control stick with both hands and, squeezing it hard, said aloud to myself, ‘now, hold onto yourself, Mac!’”

Five British antiaircraft gunners raced to the scene and extricated McKee from his smashed Thunderbolt. He suffered the gash on his eyebrow and a broken ankle, probably caused the by the rudder pedal when the tail of his plane was torn off.

Lt. Gerald Majors’ plane was also hit by flak, but he was able to nurse the plane home. On return to base, one of the 378th’s planes had a hung fragmentation bomb, which detonated on landing. The pilot escaped but the plane was a write-off, and it blocked the runway; only Col. Morton Magoffin was able to land. The rest of the squadron flew to Woodchurch, where Lt. John R. Lovett’s hung-up smoke bomb detonated, flipping the P-47D 42-75246 on its back and inflicting a broken back and cuts on Lovett’s face, under his arms and on his legs. Even so, once the fire-fighting crew jacked the plane enough to allow him out of the cockpit, his first request was for a cigar. Lovett was evacuated to the U.S. for recuperation from his injuries. Lt. Robert Kennedy was unhurt when his plane, P-47D 42-22773, crashed at Headcorn on his return from the continent; Lt. Joseph Lane of the 377thbanged up P-47D 42-76442 in a ground loop on his arrival.

Keep em coming Bobby, this is great read.....

been busy with other stuff but will dig some more up soon... but here's something i fell upon. i have vivid memories as a child watching the movie about the bismark.....especially when the HMS Hood and all the brave men went down. but talk about a david vs goliath moment this was it...

Bismarck bombing pilot recalls attack - Jock Moffat took part in the bombing of the Bismarck

It is 70 years since the sinking of the German warship the Bismarck.

The last surviving member of the air attack has been remembering his role on a visit to his old squadron at RNAS Culdrose in west Cornwall.

Jock Moffat, 92, from Dunkeld, is believed to have fired the torpedo that hit the Bismarck's rudder, affecting its steering.

The order came from Winston Churchill to destroy the ship, after it had sunk HMS Hood three days earlier.

Mr Moffat, who was born and grew up in the Scottish Borders, is the last surviving member of the air attack, carried out by 820 Squadron, the oldest in the Navy.

The night before the Bismarck's sinking, a plane from Naval Air Squadrons based on HMS Ark Royal launched a torpedo that hit the Bismarck's rudder.

This action made it possible for the British ships and planes to inflict damage on the heavily-armoured Bismarck.

Remembering his orders while he was in the air, Mr Moffat said: "All of a sudden they said to let her go. I pressed the necessary and my torpedo left my aircraft.

"I can't honestly turn around and say I changed it. But I would like to think I did. They decided it was my torpedo that managed to hit it."

Hundreds were killed on both sides during the sinking of HMS Hood and the German ship.

impressions of the 109 from both sides....

“Renowned test pilot Capt Eric ‘Winkle’ Brown, who has the unique distinction of having flown every major combat aircraft of WW2, was one of the first Allied pilots to get his hands on the Bf109. He recalls: ‘The Bf109 had two problems in combat. It had a very claustrophobic cockpit and was very tight and narrow. As a fighter pilot, you behave like a falcon swinging your head side-to-side in search of prey and particularly trying to look behind. And the rear view of the 109 was very poor. When we knew about that we took advantage of it with close in middle of the tail shooting. The Germans never knew what hit them. I calculate over 60 percent of our kills happened this way. Also, if you increased speed in the Spitfire and Hurricane, you could ease the rudder and trimmer. The 109 had no rudder trim. So the pilot was continuously working against the rudder to catch up speed, and you are bound to make slight mistakes and ruin your sighting. I saw many examples of this. The 109 had an offset to the right gun sight. One of the reasons for this is the plane seemed to always pull to the left as soon as you fired. They seemed to think this then moved the gun sight onto the target as it jerked over. Our tests showed the nose cannon mainly caused this. Our pilots saw numerous times when the 109’s missed an easy target because they were constantly fighting the rudder and missing aim. You couldn’t be an average shot in the 109 you had to be virtually so close a burst would hit something. Another problem that the 109 had was that it could not follow in a steep turn when using lots of power. If so, it would get into your slipstream, and he has these slats on the wings of his aircraft, these would tend to come out and snatch as the airspeed varies. And in these turns when the slats open and close unevenly, a rocking motion develops that ruins your shooting in addition to the nose jerking about. Another tip we learned is to dive as fast as you can. The Spitfire and Hurricane had a very effective elevator and could pull out of a dive. At 400mph, the elevators of a 109 locked solid and the plane would hurtle into the ground. I can’t count the number of German pilots I saw this happen to. So this was a good manoeuvre against the 109 we used very effectively. On the ground, taking off and taxing it was an unstable beast. Huge motor, in a long nose balanced on two ping pong balls, ridiculous design that cost the Krauts many pilots.”

“Once it was in the air is was very manoeuvrable but unforgiving. We learnt quickly and tried to teach new pilots never follow a Spitfire or Hurricane down in a dive, if the slats lock in their slipstream you’ll most likely die and be unable to pull up. It speeded up very fast, if you dived a little but you must work the rudder all the time. They did this to get away, we’d dive at them, they’d dive for the ground, you had half a second to get a shot off. Often we’d be circling high; they’d be circling low beneath us, trying to bait us to dive down. Over France our side had the advantage and waited till their fuel got short. During the Channel battle they had the advantage because the 109’s had only 15 minutes of combat fuel. Extra fuel tanks were unheard of and experimental. You had to get right on your target. It didn’t aim well because with speed the wing slats opened and threw off your aim. Also the big nose cannon pushed it to the left. I waited till my target filled the windscreen; you had maybe a second or two of firing then pull up or roll away. Many pilots died crashing into their targets too focused on firing. You could pull out of a spin but you worked at it. The major problem occurred during take-off. It had a strong engine, and a small, narrow-track undercarriage. If you took off too fast it would turn [roll] ninety degrees. The Russians would catch us on the ground taking off. You’d couldn’t speed up or go over. They hit us many times like this; this is why we staggered the planes over the place so if one went over the others could get up. We lost so many pilots in takeoffs. I lost 4 in one day – one very experienced, in the whole war it was the only time I felt like weeping.”
In 1941 aged 19, Erich Hartman joined the Luftwaffe being posted to the Eastern Front where he quickly claimed increasing number of victories. Proud of the fact he never lost a wingman he claimed 352 aerial kills. At wars end, Hartmann was deported to Siberia where he was sentenced to 50 years hard labour. Released in 1955, he joined the newly-established West German Luftwaffe. He died in 1993.

for more on the 109 ..comments and facts go to:

http://www.virtualpilots.fi/feature/articles/109myths/

this isnt a good subject but story itself is remarkable
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1940_Br...-air_collision

my god!!!!!waoooo!!it what i call THE CHANCE!!!!
nice post my friend ,thx to share!!

That's proper mental! Jesus they had balls back then.

that's some damn good flying! hats off to that man.

Bridge Farm, Bradfield in the heart of rural north Norfolk, was the home of William and Matilda Gibbons, and their son Jack. Farming was pretty tough in the thirties and forties, no cars, tractors or combine harvesters; no telephone or electricity in the house.

October 8th 1943 had been just another day, and as is the habit of the farming community, they retired early. On the many RAF airfields across East Anglia it was a different story. Hundreds of airmen were preparing for take-off. Their bombers were fully laden with a deadly load of assorted bombs to be delivered to the heart of the Third Reich. That night the main force was to visit Hanover, with a diversionary force to head for Bremen.

The crew of Halifax HR777 TL-Y of 35 squadron, members of the crack Pathfinder Force based at RAF Graveley in Hunts., were to mark the target at Bremen. They took off at 22.46 hours and headed off to join the formation.

What happened after this is best described by Derrick Coleman, then a nineteen year old air bomber and radar operator.

‘.......... Ross Whitfield had gone to an Australian Squadron and his place as rear-gunner had been taken by a Canadian, Sgt.’Benny’ Bent. About 50 miles from the target I had left the H2S and moved into the nose of the Halifax in preparation for a visual bombing-run using the Mk XIV bombsite. There was no moon, no cloud and visibility was good in a bright starlight sky. I quote now from the official combat report which I obtained from the RAF Museum, Hendon.

‘... the rear gunner (Sgt Bent) saw a Ju 88 at 250yds on the fine port quarter slightly up and closing in fast. Sgt Bent told his Captain (Fg Off Muller) to ‘corkscrew port’. The E/A (enemy aircraft) opened fire at 200 yards with cannon firing a very dull trace, hitting the Halifax and setting the port outer engine on fire. The rear gunner returned the fire with two short bursts, aiming point blank and hitting the fighter, causing it to pull up sharply. The Halifax was now in a spin and the Ju 88 appeared to Sgt Bent to be hanging on it's props on the starboard beam. He gave it another very short burst, observing strikes and saw it fall away, apparently out of control.

By now the bomber was falling fast in a spin with flames pouring from the port outer engine. The pilot regained control after losing 8000 feet in height, but as the port outer engine was u/s and the port inner engine appeared to have been damaged, the aileron and elevator controls also damaged, besides the turret being u/s and other damage to the aircraft, the bombs were jettisoned and course set for base.’’

I was terrified during the spin as I was pinned to the floor of the bomb-aimer’s position, could not move and thought this was the end. Although the report states the bombs were jettisoned, I recall attempting a bombing run on a solitary searchlight which was seeking us. The searchlight went out! Max Muller did a magnificent job in getting the aircraft back to England, gradually losing height all the way and using full right rudder to keep the aircraft straight. My brief attempt to help by tying my inter-com lead round the rudder bar and pulling was very ineffective.

We crossed the English coast in daylight attempting to reach RAF Coltishall, but crashed a few miles short; just not enough power to hedge hop in. In the Halifax the bomb-aimer occupied the co-pilot’s position for take-off and landing. I recall quite vividly while in this position the ‘hedge hopping’ as the pilot struggled to keep the aircraft above ground. The aircraft passed between two trees which hit the wings. It was a complete write off; although the nose and part of the fuselage remained reasonably intact at least one of the engines had been torn away and was on fire. All the crew escaped injury except for Tommy Ellwood, the flight engineer who had taken up his crash position behind the main spar and sustained a bad cut over one eye which required stitching. There was a touch of humour at the end. Blazing petrol had, unknown to him, landed on the back of ‘Benny’ Bent’s flying clothing, but ‘Hoop’ Arnott, the mid- upper gunner had seen this happen so jumped on ‘Benny’ (who must have wondered what was happening) to roll him over, so putting the flames out. A rather nervous couple living in a nearby cottage (sic) initially thought we were Germans, but when they realised we were RAF we were invited inside and given cups of tea until transport arrived. Fl t Sgt Emery was the navigator, and Pilot Off ‘Mac’ Maskell the Wop. There was no doubt in the minds of all crew that we owed our lives to the amazing ability and strength of the pilot, Max Muller.''

In a written account of the same incident by the Flight Engineer, Tom Ellwood, given to Max Muller’s son, Derrick’s recollections are confirmed. It includes the following extracts:

‘ ...........by this time the Halifax was also in a dive and I was knocked off my feet. As I fell I struck my head on the main spar, cutting my face badly but found I was unable to get up because the ‘G’ forces were so great. The Halifax was obviously spinning out of control. To my great relief the plane eventually came out of it's spin. I found Max grimly but firmly in control of a very damaged Halifax. He alone had used his great physical strength to pull that plane out!’

‘....the turret and hydraulic system was damaged, and petrol had been lost from two or three tanks .........the bomb door ...refused to close, adding drag.’ ‘ Max asked us all for our views and opinions on the unpleasant alternatives facing us - bale out now and risk being a POW, fly on and risk a possible ditching/drowning in the North Sea or try and limp home. After a brief discussion it was decided to fly on..........’

‘Our ‘Mayday’ was picked up as we approached our coast and we were directed to Coltishall. The dim lights from the airfield were a welcome sight...the port wheel failed to lock......By this time we were flying on one engine.........The Halifax came down with a heavy jolt, it wavered and crashed finally grinding to a halt. It seems we had hit a tree which, fortuitously, had slewed us around and diverted our progress away from a farm house......eagerly scrambled out as the Halifax was now on fire, to be confronted by two figures behind a wall who were relieved when they realised that we were not Germans.’

‘They helped us back to their farm and provided us with strong hot tea and sandwiches. Never had a cup of tea tasted so wonderful, nor has the feeling of being amongst friends felt so good, as we all sat in the warmth of that farm house.’

Bill Overstreet 357 FG

Not long after this, I had a freak accident. I think it was a mission to southern France. While over enemy territory, a burst of flak cut my oxygen line. Since I was at about 25,000 feet, I soon passed out. The next thing I knew, I was in a spin, engine dead since the fuel tank it was set on was dry. Somehow, I recovered from the spin, changed fuel setting, got the engine started, and dodged the trees that were in front of me. Then, I looked at my watch. Ninety minutes were not in my memory. I had no idea where I was, but remembered where I had been headed so I reversed it. I was able to find the coast of France and headed for Leiston. By this time, I was low on fuel, so I landed at the Fourth Group base. The officer I talked with was Captain Mead, who had lived a couple of blocks from my home in Clifton Forge, Virginia. To top it off, the mechanic who repaired my plane was “Hot Cha” Tucker, a former schoolmate, also from Clifton Forge. I still have a picture of Tucker and me with a P-47. Many weeks later, this story got a lot of publicity – Lowell Thomas on radio, newspapers and TIME magazine. So, that is my claim to fame. I hope I did a little bit that was productive.

During this period, I was flying more with Andy Anderson, while Peters and Pascoe were flying more with Jim Browning. My crew chief was “Red” Dodsworth with “Whitey” McKain as his assistant. Whitey was soon promoted. Whitey and I became good friends in spite of one incident. One snowy day, the visibility was so limited that Whitey was riding my wing to the runway. At the runway, I motioned Whitey to get off, but he thought I wanted him to come to the cockpit. I was watching Andy and he gave it the gun to take off, so I did the same. Poor Whitey was blown off the wing, but was wrapped up so well he wasn’t hurt. I was very glad of that. I never knew of this until, many years later. Whitey was riding with me and told me he had promised himself never to ride with me again. He did ride with me to Oshkosh several times and we had a ball.

Another mission that didn’t turn out as expected was one when I had a sinus infection. When we chased the German fighters out of position to attack the bombers, if most of them had dived away from us, we would sometimes chase them down. This time, I was chasing a 109 in a power dive from about 30,000 feet. Suddenly, my eyes were swollen shut. I was able to keep flying by feel (the pressure on the controls). I called for help and “Daddy Rabbit” Peters said he could see me. He got on my wing, took me back to the base and talked me through a straight-in approach and landing. It was days before doctors could relieve the pressure, and I could see again.

On April 11, 1944, I was flying with Andy, Kayser and Simpson. While we were escorting the bombers, a large group of 109s started to attack the bombers head-on. Andy led us into the fight, trying to break up their formation and keep them from getting to the bombers. Maybe they didn’t like being shot at, but they scattered all over. When most of them had dived away, Andy led us down after three 109s. At about 5,000 feet, Kayser got in position and clobbered one of them. It broke apart and Kay had to dodge the debris. At about 3,500 feet, Simpson closed on another 109 and got two good bursts to the nose section. He rolled over and went straight in. I was busy with another 109 who tried to get behind Simpson. Andy was turning with another 109 in a tight turn. Andy couldn’t hold a lead inside his turn, so he reversed his turn and came in almost head-on. As the 109 broke apart, the pilot bailed out. That took care of the 109s, but Andy spotted a HE111K flying close to the ground. Andy hit him good but directed all of us to make a pass. We all got hits and Andy came back, hitting it from nose to tail. The HE111K tried to crash-land, hit a pole tearing off the left wing, then started burning. As it slid along, the crew jumped out and I believe they were all track stars. They were in a hurry. Andy insisted on sharing the claim, although he easily could have claimed it. He would rather give us some experience and training.

During May, 1944, Colonel Graham ordered side arms to be carried at all times. There was an alert about German paratroopers. On May 12, I destroyed a JU52 on the ground. Andy got another 109 in the air. With Pierce and Michaely, we also destroyed a locomotive, rail cars and some barges.

D-Day through October, 31, 1944

June 6 was the invasion. We took off about 2 a.m. in horrible weather. We had to climb about 20,000 feet to get out of the overcast. It was beautiful when I got on top. The moon was bright, and as planes would break out of the overcast, they were in different attitudes from the long climb on instruments. We never did find our assigned flights, just formed up in flights of four. We went to France to make sure that no German fighters could bother the invasion, and to prevent reinforcements from being brought up. After six hours, we came back to the base for fuel. The Group flew eight missions on the day of the invasion. Smaller flights had different objectives.

The next day, Andy, Simpson, Skara and I strafed trains, trucks and military vehicles. On June 10, the Group claimed trains, rail shacks, boxcars, trucks, lorries and barges. June 29 was a good day. I got behind a FW190 and when I started getting hits, he flipped over and bailed out. I used only 40 rounds the whole day. General Kepner issued another commendation for the 357th and the 361st Groups. We destroyed 48 enemy aircraft without losing a single bomber.

On July 29, I chased a 109 to the deck and had a wing in the grass when he blew up. He must have been trying to get to his base because we were close to a German airfield. My wingman, Harold Hand, and I made a pass and destroyed another 109 and damaged a DO217. I went back and got another 109 but I found that I was alone. I asked Hand where he was and he replied, “I am giving you top cover.” Smart fellow.

On August 6, we started on our shuttle mission. I was leading a flight with Cleland, Pearson and Fennel. Jack Cleland was a New Zealand RAF pilot who had flown two tours in Spitfires and came to us to get some experience in longer missions. On his two tours in Spitfires, no mission had exceeded two hours. What a mixed flight – Cleland and Pearson. Pearson was an American who had gone to Canada, joined the RCAF, then transferred to the USAAF and the 357th. About 7 hours later and after several dogfights on the way, we landed on a grass field in Russia.

The 357th had sent some mechanics as gunners on the bombers so they could service our planes. The trouble was, the bombers landed at a different field and the mechanics never got to our P-51s. The Russian crews put the wrong octane fuel in some of our P-51s and caused a lot of trouble. I was assigned a cot in a tent that came complete with a blacksnake in the cot. When I saw a P-39 on the field, I asked if I could fly it since I had a lot of time in P-39s. Not a chance. They wouldn’t let me get within a hundred feet of it.

We had one escort mission out of Russia. This gave enough time in Russia to find some beet vodka. We thought it was better than potato vodka and decided we should take some along with us. I offered to leave my ammunition behind to make space for the vodka. That was fine until we ran into some 109s on our way to Italy. Naturally, we went after them, but they ran away. However, we got close to the last one and he rolled over and bailed out. Since I was the closest plane, I could have claimed another 109, but I did not want to claim the only enemy plane destroyed with vodka! Now all I had to worry about was to make a smooth landing in Italy to safeguard my precious cargo. Our mission from Italy was a real thrill. We escorted C-47s to Yugoslavia to pick up downed airmen collected by Tito and brought to a small airfield. The C-47s took turns landing and picking up a load of men, then taking off. The amazing sight was as the fellows jumped into the C-47, they were throwing out their shoes, clothing, etc., for their rescuers. I guess everything was in short supply, and our airmen wanted to help those who had helped them. All that was left of the shuttle mission was the return to England. That took about 8 hours. How do you think Cleland, whose earlier missions had not exceeded two hours, felt by then?

I remember many exciting missions. On one, a 109 blew up when I was too close. Pieces of the 109 came into my cockpit and landed in my lap. I still have that piece of extremely light and strong metal. On another, I saw a 109, in a shallow dive after the pilot bailed out, crashing into the side of a factory. Then the engine itself came out the other side of the building, sliding down the street. On still another mission, a cannon shell came through the side of my canopy. It took the canopy, oxygen mask helmet, gave me a haircut, and a bad burn on my neck. Everyone knows you can’t hit a 90-degree shot very often, so I still wonder who the German was shooting at. At least I knew why my canopy was missing. Kit Carson lost his canopy on a mission and was angry with his crew chief until the crew chief took him over to the plane and showed him the bullet holes that caused the canopy to leave. Kit didn’t know until then that he had been hit.

On September 3, 1944, Ed Hiro and I went to a base where they had a B-24 stripped down but loaded with explosives. A pilot had to take off, then bail out when the radio control from the “Mother Ship” took over. By radio control, the bomber was flown in the sub pens and blown up. The sub pens were under heavy rock formations that had resisted bombing from the air. But when the explosion was inside, under the rock cover, significant damage was achieved. Our job was to make sure no enemy planes bothered the mission. My mission log for this day is marked “SECRET.”

This is when the OSS asked me to fly for them. They were already operating almost a regular airline to the Free French behind enemy lines. We picked up airmen downed behind enemy lines, collected intelligence, and provided supplies to the Free French. Soon I was grounded again, and ordered back to the States. What a Halloween present for my family!

I bow my head. Deap. A real risk to take to save a few pounds.

Obit...

Major General John Alison
Major General John Alison, who has died aged 98, was an American fighter "ace" and one of his country's most decorated pilots; he later fought behind enemy lines with the Chindits and is recognised as the father of US Air Force special operations.

A combat veteran with seven enemy aircraft to his credit, Alison was appointed at the end of 1943 to join his friend, Lt Col Philip Cochran, to form the 1st Air Commando Group, a secret and highly innovative flying unit.

Alison's composite wing of fighters, bombers, transports, gliders, and helicopters was assembled to support Major General Orde Wingate, the unorthodox British commander of the Chindits long-range penetration force, who planned to land a force of 9,000 men almost 200 miles behind Japanese lines in Burma.

Alison trained his air transport and glider-towing force in preparation for this mission, codenamed Operation Thursday, and the assault took place on the night of March 5 1944. Men and mules were carried in Waco gliders towed in pairs behind C-47 transport aircraft. Alison had only flown a glider on two previous occasions, and never at night, but was determined to participate in the landing of Wingate's force.

He piloted one of the gliders in the first wave, taking 15 men of the assault team. After casting off from the tug aircraft, he brought his glider down safely on the rough "Broadway" landing ground before grabbing his rifle and a sack of grenades and leaping out to join battle with the enemy.

After three weeks in the jungle he was recalled. To get back he flew a damaged C-47 transport aircraft from a jungle airstrip, despite never having flown the type before. On arriving over his destination airfield he had to ask for instructions on how to lower the undercarriage and landing flaps. For his services in support of Operation Thursday, King George VI awarded Alison the DSO.

Alison was immediately summoned to Washington to report to General "Hap" Arnold, Chief of the USAAF, and General Eisenhower, to debrief them on the success of the air commandos; he was then instructed to form four more groups. In the event, only two were formed, and Alison was sent to command the 3rd Air Commando Group in the Pacific, where he participated in the landing on the Philippines and in the air operations at Okinawa.

John Richardson Alison was born in Micanopy, Florida, on November 21 1912. He graduated from the University of Florida with an Engineering degree and joined the US Army Air Corps in 1936.

Before the United States entered the Second World War he served as assistant military attaché in England and helped RAF pilots convert to the P-40 Kittyhawk fighter provided under the Lend-Lease scheme. Not content with a training role, he soon became involved in operational tasks when he recognised that the RAF had much to teach him and his colleagues. In October 1941 he travelled to Moscow to train Russian pilots to fly the aircraft provided under the sensitive US-Soviet Lend-Lease programme. After ten months his repeated requests for a transfer to a fighting unit bore fruit.

In June 1942 he reported to the China-Burma-India (CBI) theatre to join Major General Claire Chennault's 14th Air Force as the deputy commander of the newly formed 75th Fighter Squadron. On July 30 1942, operating from Hengyang in China, he was credited with the first night kills in the theatre. For his experimental night interception work, he was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. In early 1943 he demonstrated his aggressiveness when he took off during an attack on his own airfield. He engaged three Zero fighters and probably shot one down. He then vectored arriving reinforcements to the battle, after which he made a stern attack on another enemy fighter at close range, shooting it down. His aircraft was damaged and he was forced to make an emergency landing in a river bed. His gallantry and fighting spirit earned him the Silver Star. Ending his tour as commander of the 75th Fighter Squadron, Alison left as an ace with seven confirmed victories and several further probable kills.

After a brief spell in the USA, Alison travelled to Burma in late 1943 to take up his post with No 1 Air Commando.

He resigned from the USAAF in 1946 as a colonel, having added the Distinguished Service Medal to his earlier gallantry awards. He was recognised by his peers as an outstanding pilot. One commanding officer commented: "John Alison has the greatest pure flying skill of any pilot in the theatre – a touch on the controls that knew no equal. His talents were matched only by his eagerness for combat."

After the war Alison held key positions in government and industry, serving as the youngest-ever Assistant Secretary of Commerce for Aeronautics, and sat on the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics and the Civil Aviation Administration. He resigned as Assistant Secretary in March 1949 to become president of the Transit Van Corporation.

In 1950 Alison re-enlisted in the USAF and served in Korea, retiring in 1955 as a major general in the USAF Reserve. He was a senior vice president of the Northrop Corporation until 1984 and was secretary-treasurer of the Air Force Memorial Foundation. He was also a former president of the Air Force Association, an independent non-profit organisation that promotes aerospace education.

A slight figure, Alison was quietly spoken and extremely modest. Greatly admired for his diplomatic skills and his courage in combat, the Air Force Association designated him its "All-American Airman" and named its highest award for industrial leadership, established in 1992, in his honour.

John Alison died on June 6. He is survived by Kathleen, his wife for 60 years, and their two sons.

Geoff Bryson Fisken, DFC, the Commonwealth's most decorated pilot in the south Pacific in World War 11, died peacefully in Rotorua at the weekend. He was 96.

Flying Officer Fisken was a masterful pilot, registering 11 kills.

He started his war years in Masterton, his celebrity, modestly held, while piloting the P-40 Wairarapa Wild Cat.

Such was his fame that on request he regularly visited the United States for reunions. He did not merely rub shoulders with the celebrated actor Eddie Albert, who also flew in the Pacific, and Admiral Nimitz; they rubbed shoulders with him.

Flint-eyed but with the hint of a larrikin, Geoff Fiskin was hewn from the rugged Wairarapa coastline. As a boy he mustered on the unforgiving tussocky terrain, where a muster of one paddock took up to eight to 10 days.

Because he was in a 'service' industry critical to the economy of the war effort, Mr Fisken's bid to enlist was rejected.
Eventually, he persuaded his employer he would be more useful in the air (he made his own glider aged 11 and learned to fly by 14 ) than on the land. To the amazement of his employer, the precocious Fisken once mustered the craggy Wairarapa hills from an aircraft.

Bluff and squarely built, F/O Fisken had a deadly eye in combat flying Buffaloes and Catalinas.

Anxious for active service, like many of his time Mr Fisken was frustrated at the 30-hours a month flying time imposed on NZ pilots.

Eventually attached to 243 Squadron, RAF, squadrons were at times shredded after each scramble, Mr Fisken saw combat in Malaysia (where he contracted dengue fever five times) and Guadalcanal.

His physical toughness became legendary.

Once, following a sortie, Mr Fisken's mechanic fainted when he alighted from his aircraft with a shrapnel protruding from his hip.

''I didn't know it was there,'' Mr Fisken related to the Rotorua Review in 2000 in a rarely accorded interview.

''It felt sore, with blood all down my leg. I tried to pull it out with a pair of pliers at the hospital but it was still too sore. They cut it out and put on some sulthalimide, strapped it up and I was able to fly again in three or four days.''

At most times, allied aircraft were outnumbered roughly 16 to one, Mr Fisken said.

''It was nothing to see 200 or 300 Japanese aircraft in the sky,'' he recalled.

''Anybody in Malaya who tried to dogfight was just a bloody fool.

''It was supposed to be all right in England where there were dogfights all the time, but in Malaya you were dead in five minutes. The Japanese could out-manoeuvre you quite easily with their Zeros.''

Zeros were attacked diving from on high, then flying in an arch from below for a second short in a three- or five-second burst providing the requisite height had been reached. Allied planes would then head for ground when it was realised the Zeroes would not follow.

''Some said the propellers came off the Zeros (at certain velocities) but I don't whether that's true. Whatever the reason, they would never follow you down. But if they were strafing low and saw somebody coming in to land they'd have a go at you _ it was common.''

As his fame grew with his mounting tally, Mr Fisken was sought out by the celebrated Admiral Nimitz at Guadalcanal. Usually, he did not leave his ship but made a concession on learning Fisken was town.

''They gave me five cases of Canadian Club whisky, in little bottles, so I put them in tents for the boys.''

It was American Independence day and Fisken had shot down three enemy aircraft.

The Americans preferred New Zealand pilots as escort cover.

Once covering the cumbersome Catalinas, which were used on rescue missions, Mr Fisken found the flight took them to within 120-130km off the Japanese-occupied land. Relations between the two allies worsened when the New Zealanders found the Americans were farewelling the natives on the island.

''We could have been killed,'' Mr Fisken said. ''The Cats flew only 50 feet above the water and we were less then 500 feet, so we would not have had a show. I asked the Americans if they would pay the bill for our dirty underwear!''

Mr Fisken lived in Rotorua for 31 years. He and his wife Rhoda, who died 14 years ago, had six children, five boys and a girl.

After he sold his Masterton farm, he worked as a manager for TemCo, representing the then Egg Marketing Board. He had also lived in Tauranga and for a short time farmed in Te Puke, retiring in 1976.

Born in Gisborne, Geoff Fisken served from 1941 to 1943, medically discharged but not before he received his DFC in September 1943.

While Mr Fisken said his number of kills was 11, the number can differ between 10 and 13 confirmed victories against probable kills.

He was, however, throughout his life regarded as the highest scoring British Commonwealth pilot in the Pacific.





The notion of "best fighter of WWII" came up again recently on rec.aviation.military. The Buffalo was nominated because it created one ace for every 13 airframes. To which somebody replied: "But weren't they all Finns?" The answer:
"Not all.... Three British Empire pilots became aces flying the Buff. Geoffrey Fisken (a New Zealander with No. 243 Squadron) had six victories in the Brewster, and two others had five."

Well, I checked Christopher Shores, and sure enough in Aces High he credits Fisken with a Ki-27 "Nate" on 12 Jan 1942; three A6M Zeroes on 14 Jan, 21 Jan, and 1 Feb; and two G3M "Nell" bombers on 17 Jan while flying the Buffalo. Here's what Shores has to say about him

"Geoffrey Fisken was born in Gisborne, New Zealand, on 17 February 1918, and was a shepherd prior to the outbreak of World War II. Enlisting in the RNZAF, he was posted to Singapore on completion of his training, initially to join 205 Squadron, RAF--a flyingboat unit. Instead he was trained by 21 RAAF Squadron to fly one of the newly arrived Brewster Buffalo fighters, and was then posted in March 1941 to 67 Squadron which was just forming; from there he moved to the new 243 Squadron when 67 was sent to Burma. As a slightly more experienced pilot at the outbreak of war, he was one of three men detached to Ipoh on 12 December to fly with 21 RAAF Squadron. Returning to Singapore a few days later, he took part in the defence of that island during January. On 31 January so few aircraft remained available to the unit, that the survivors were amalgamated into 453 (RAAF) Squadron together with their pilots, Fisken included. During his final engagement on 1 February he was shot up by two fighters as he was claiming a third shot down, and was wounded in the arm by a bullet and in the hip by a cannon shell fragment. Evacuated before the fall of the island, he returned to New Zealand where he was commissioned, and was subsequently posted to 14 Squadron, RNZAF, to fly Kittyhawks as a Flying Officer."

In three weeks in the Solomons, Fisken ran up his claims to 11, making him the leading Commonwealth fighter pilot against the Japanese. He was awarded a DFC and invalided out of the air force in 1943, whereupon he went back to farming.

Spitfire diaries: The strange life in Dublin's PoW camp
An attempt to recover a Spitfire from a peat bog in Donegal will highlight the peculiar story of the men - both British and German - who spent much of World War II in relative comfort in neighbouring prisoner of war camps in Dublin, writes historian Dan Snow.
In Northern Ireland in 1941, a routine Sunday afternoon sortie by a pilot flying one of Britain's Spitfire fighters runs into difficulties.
Returning to base after flying "top-cover" for maritime convoys off the coast of Donegal, the Rolls Royce Merlin engine overheats and fails.
The pilot yells into his radio "I'm going over the side", slides back the bubble canopy, releases his seat straps and launches himself into the air.
The air flow hit this particular pilot like a freight train and tore off his boots. Luckily he was able to deploy his parachute and landed in a peat bog. His aircraft smashed into the bog half a mile away.
It sounds like a typical wartime accident but it was anything but. It was the beginning of one of the strangest incidents of WWII.
The pilot was 23-year-old Roland "Bud" Wolfe, an RAF officer from 133 "Eagle" Squadron, a unit entirely composed of Americans.
Bud himself was from Nebraska, one of a number of Americans who had volunteered to take up Britain's cause. Since the US was not yet at war with Germany when the men volunteered, the American government stripped Wolfe and others of their citizenship. These pilots were a mix of idealists and thrill seekers.
When Wolfe was found by the authorities he realised his, already unusual, situation was much more complicated than he had guessed. He had crashed over the border.
Since the South was neutral it had been decided that all servicemen of any belligerent nation that ended up on Irish soil through navigational error, shipwreck or other accident would be interned for the duration of the war.
Wolfe found himself heading not back to his airbase, RAF Eglinton, now Derry International Airport, in Northern Ireland just 13 miles away, but to Curragh Camp, County Kildare, 175 miles to the south.
Here, a huddle of corrugated iron huts housed 40 other RAF pilots and crewmen who had accidentally come down in neutral territory. They were effectively prisoners of war.
It was an odd existence. The guards had blank rounds in their rifles, visitors were permitted (one officer shipped his wife over), and the internees were allowed to come and go. Fishing excursions, fox hunting, golf and trips to the pub in the town of Naas helped pass the time.
But what was really odd was the proximity of the Germans.
It was not just the British and their allies who got lost above and around Ireland. German sailors from destroyed U-boats and Luftwaffe aircrew also found themselves interned. The juxtaposition of the two sides made for surreal drama.
Sport was a notable feature. In one football match the Germans beat the British 8-3. There were also boxing contests.
It appears that the rivalry on the pitch followed the teams into the pub afterwards as well. They would drink at different bars, and the British once complained vigorously when the Luftwaffe internees turned up to a dance they had organised.
Anything further from front-line service is hard to imagine.
It may seem to us like a welcome chance to sit out the war with honour intact, plenty of distractions and no danger, but for Wolfe it was an unacceptable interruption to his flying activities.
On 13 December 1941 he walked straight out of camp and after a meal in a hotel, which he did not pay for, he headed into nearby Dublin and caught the train the next day to Belfast. Within hours he was back at RAF Eglinton where he had taken off two weeks earlier in his defective Spitfire.
He could not have expected what was to happen next. The British government decided that, in this dark hour, it would be unwise to upset a neutral nation.
The decision was made to send Wolfe back to The Curragh and internment. Back in the camp, Wolfe made the best of it, joining the fox-hunting with relish.
He did try to escape again but this time he was caught. Finally in 1943, with the US in the war, and the tide slowly turning, The Curragh was closed and the internees returned. Wolfe joined the US Army Air Force and served once again on the front line.
So great was his love of flying that he also served in Korea and even Vietnam. He eventually died in 1994.
But Wolfe's epic story did not end with his death. Thanks to the highly unusual, soft nature of the terrain in the peat bog where his Spitfire crashed, a team of archaeologists is attempting to dig up his aircraft.
This week I will accompany them with a BBC television crew and record what we hope will be substantial pieces of wreckage emerging from the bog. The bog defeated the attempt in 1941 to gather up the wreckage, so there should be plenty of Spitfire down there, but it may well defeat us.
The digger has to sit on bog mats, big railway sleepers, to spread its 20-ton weight. But even they may not be enough to stop it sinking in. There is also a danger that the hole will simply fill with water or the sides cave in.
It is one of the most difficult excavations that an experienced team have ever faced. Whatever happens, I will be updating Twitter minute-by-minute as the excavation takes place.
Hopefully we will find the physical evidence that will shine a light on the events of that November night 70 years ago and also provide us with a connection to one of the most bizarre moments of the war


by Dan Snow, BBC website 28th June

wow...that is interesting and something i did not know. thanks for posting gilly and keep us updated in the spit recovery. would be good to have another one in the air.

Thank You
 

Not much to read apart from a Big "Thank You" bobbysocks and other Authors for what you do on these pages..........:)

Most days I get home later after my family have had dinner.....so gone is the day's I would sit at the kitchen table alone eating.....I now look forward to grabbing my feast and nestle myself at my Pc workstation and read the latest offerings from "In thier own words"...

If I could get one to you.....here is a pint of good English Ale......Cheers !! ;)


WildBoar.

I live right beside eglinton aerodrome i learnd to drive there and flew from there many times . there are lots of ww2 aircraft still lying around . There was a spit lying in the mud at the end of the runway for years until they lenghtend the runway also a bolton paul defiant ,corsair ,barracuda and many more . Many aircraft crashed into the sperrin mountains because their compasses were being altered by the metal ores in them .And i've heard plenty of stories about german uboat crews socialising in donegal and the west of the free state. During the war the guns of the free state all pointed towards the North. They also offered hitler sanctuary near the end of the war

journal notes ( long but interesting)

FIRST LIEUTENANT WILLIAM A. MALONE
Navigator- 8th Air Force
303rd Bomb Group
(Hell's Angels)
427th Bomb Squadron
Molesworth England

THE PLANE ASSIGNMENTS


099 "Ole 99"
423 "Jigger Roche"
060 "Pogue Mahone"
527 "Earthquake McGoon"
569 "Means Special" (finished up in it)




REMARKS
Six raids on Munich caused riots in city and Gestapo had to forcefully put down people's desire to sue for peace. On third raid to Big M pleas were intercepted on radio to send firefighting apparatus from Stuttgart which is close to 80 miles away. Apparently incendiaries started huge fires which could not be brought under control. Because of the number of raids on Munich the trip became known as the M-M Special (Molesworth to Munich Special).


The two raids to Cherbourg started ground forces on lightning-like offensive out of St. Lo. Later raids to Paris and Brest supported this offensive.


On raid to Berlin ( Big B ) saw huge palls of smoke rising from our target, which was the Damier-Benz aircraft engine works on southern edge of Berlin. Huge columns of smoke were also seen in heart of Berlin, in Brandenburg (just outside of Berlin), at Hamburg Kiel and Wilhelmshaven, where other Groups bombed.


Raid to Peenamunde was very successful as target was blasted effectively. On way home Group got an ME 210 which made fatal mistake of coming in too close.


Both raids to Merseburg saw great clouds of black smoke at target. Saw a number of B-17's, P-51's and enemy aircraft go down in flames. It was a horrible but fascinating sight to see parts of planes plummet earthward in flames and explode when they hit the ground.


The Brux raid was first real air battle for crew. As result of fight Miles Bruce was killed. Group got at least 4 fighters and lost 1 ship. Other Groups got quite a few. Our fighters finally arrived and must have gotten quite a few more. I believe I got one ME 109. After taking a constant pounding for six straight missions our Squadron has only 4 ships fit for operations. Personnel casualties were comparatively light, but that didn't save Bruce or Newton's crew. Bruce was buried September 14, 1944, in Cambridge National Military Cemetery. The crew was present at his funeral.


Raids on Eindhoven and Hertogenbasch paved way for paratroop landings in Holland--also were in support of drive to outflank Siegfried Line.


Raids to Ruhr and vicinity to cut production, supply and transportation for front lines to a minimum. Cologne, Essen, Munster, Osnabruk, Duisburg and Dortmund are all more than half destroyed and the heart of the Ruhr (Gelsenkirchen, Battrop, etc.) is also pretty well smashed.


Two days less than 4 months was the time span for my tour which started on July 8 1944, and was terminated November 6, 1944. Now I can really start thinking of home!


RAIDS



07/08/44 - 04:30 - Etaples, France - No flak - No fighters - Bridge - Trouble with rendezvous - Hit target - Johnny was co-pilot, rest of crew was Keating's.


07/09/44 - 06:05 - Tours, France - Light flak - No fighters - Bridge - Target was socked in, so hit airfield N.E. Tours as last resort - Bombing good - Flew with crew, Johnny as co-pilot, Schwalow First Pilot - M. DuMont stayed home.


07/11/44 - 09:00 - Munich, Germany - Intense flak, no injuries - 8 holes - No fighters - City - 1 hole in nose - Hit city - Flew with strange crew.


07/12/44 - 09:45 - Munich, Germany - intense flak, no injuries - No holes - No fighters City - Hit city hard - Bomber in Purple Heaven Corner blew up over target just below us - No chutes seen - Flew with crew.


07/13/44 - 09:30 - Munich, Germany - Intense flak, no injuries - 5 holes - No fighters - City - 1 hole in nose - Hit city - Fighter exploded in mid-air below formation but pilot got out OK - Flew with crew.


07/21/44 - 08:45 - Stuttgart (Air Depot N.E. of City), Germany- Target socked in so Group hit Chemical Plant at Mannheim as alternate target - Intense flak - No injuries - No fighters - Chemical Plant at Mannheim - Flew with crew in 099. Engines overheated before I.P.; lost altitude and airspeed. Couldn't bomb primary target because of clouds and had to salvo bombs before Mannheim to catch up with formation and maintain altitude. Dwindling gas supply made whole crew anxious. Landed with about 4 minutes supply left. Really earned flying pay on this one. Group passed target, but our bombs raised hell in small German village.


07/24/44 - 05:15 - Cherbourg (St. Lo), France - Moderate flak - No Injuries - No fighters - No holes - Target was enemy troop concentrations just ahead of American lines - Raised hell with Germans - Flew with crew.


07/25/44 - 04:40 - Cherbourg (St. Lo), France - No flak, no injuries - No fighters - Enemy troop concentrations just ahead of our lines at St. Lo - Blasted positions accurately and big push started immediately after bombing.


07/28/44 - 08:40 - Leipzig (Merseburg) - Intense flak at target and at several places along route - Fighters attacked 2 formations behind us but didn't bother us - No injuries - 8 holes, 1 in plexiglass and 1 in nose - Target was synthetic oil plant 21 miles west of Leipzig at Launa. Seemed to be in flak area for 5 minutes. The longest 5 minutes of my life. Bombed P.F.F. and our Group missed target but preceding Groups hit because huge columns of smoke rose from target. Flew with Hamilton and crew.


07/29/44 - 08:25 - Leipzig (Merseburg) - Intense flak at target and moderate at several places along route - Fighters in area - No injuries - 3 holes - Synthetic oil plant at Launa was target. Blasted hell out of target and columns of thick black smoke rose for 15,000 or 20,000 feet above target. Flew with crew.


08/04/44 - 09:10 - Peenamunde - Moderate flak at target and several places along route - 1 fighter (ME 210) - No injuries - 3 holes - Target was experimental station and laboratories - Huge smoke columns seen and seemed to indicate good results ME 210 got too close to formation and was shot down.


08/05/44 - 03:15 - Pas de Calais (flying bombsight) - No flak - No fighters - No injuries - No holes - Element leader failed to make rendezvous, so bombed an airfield in France as last resort target with fair results. Would have been duck soup for German fighters. Flew with crew.


08/06/44 - 08:25 - Berlin (Genshagen) - Intense flak at target and moderate at several places along route - No injuries - 4 holes - Enemy fighters seen but did not make a pass at our formation. Also saw new jet-propelled aircraft for first time and they scared hell out of {us} for a while. Target was Damier-Benz Aircraft Engine Plant at Genshagen on southern outskirts of "Big B" - Bomb run was visual and target was hit but good. One flak hole in nose just beside my head; with a little more force my flak helmet would have had a test. Smoke rose for from 15,000 to 20,000 feet above target. Brandenburg, about 20 miles west of Berlin was also a huge pall of smoke at the airfield and ammo dumps and it seemed as if all hell had broken loose. Different Groups also raised 4 towering clouds of smoke at Hamburg, and blasted airfields and different targets all the way from Berlin to the coast. It was a beautiful sight all the way back to the coast and it was a bad day for Adolph and his bums. One B-17 blew up and 9 chutes were seen so it wasn't so bad. A helluva day and place to go on raid #13, but wound up O.K. Flew with crew.


08/07/44 - 05:50 - Paris - Intense flak at target and moderate at several places along route - No injuries - 3 holes - No fighters - Target was a bridge across Seine River at N.E. edge of "gay Paree" No.4 engine oil-cooler hit over target and engine wouldn't feather. Prop windmilled. Couldn't maintain airspeed and fell behind Group. For a while we were clay pigeons for every gunner in Paris, but although flak was terrific and practically had our number we escaped with no serious damage. By this time we had lost our formation and had to come home. Took some ticklish navigating to get past other flak installations and still get home as quickly as possible. We sweat out gas but hit English coast and base for a 0-0 navigation mission. Besecker would have been proud of that one. We were pretty lucky all the way round, but bridge was pasted and we got home O.K. even though we ruined an engine with the windmilling prop. Flew with crew and they were perfect - scared as I was but not excited. We were a perfect fighter target without any support but were unmolested. The plane was "Jigger Roche" ---423, which went down on Frankfort raid.


08/9/44 - 06:45 - Pirmasens (German town between Mannheim and Saarbrucken) - No flak at target and only meager at one or two places along route - No fighters - No holes - No injuries. Target was a last resort target after report came back that Munich was socked in. The target we were supposed to hit was a shoe factory in the middle of Pirmasens. We had RDX bombs aboard and there wasn't much left of town after we left. Hit target and a couple thousand Germans besides. Flew with entire crew except Rohner.


08/11/44 - 06:40 - Brest - No flak encountered but there was some in area - No injuries - No fighters - No holes - Target was a concentration of pillboxes and enemy troops and was really hit proper. Flew with crew.


08/12/44 - 08:50 - Metz (France) - A little flak along route - No fighters - No injuries - One hole - Target was a series of railroad junctions and marshalling yards which were important to Germans for supply land evacuation purposes. Triangular target area was completely demolished by new RDX bombs Flew with crew.


08/27/44 - 08:30 - Esbjerg, Denmark - Moderate accurate flak at target - One enemy fighter seen (ME 110) - No injuries - 3 holes - Started out for "Big B" but thick clouds persisted and went up to 32,000 feet. *General Travis led Group and putzed around over Denmark for an hour trying to get through. Finally gave up after touring up and down Denmark and hit airfield at Esbjerg as last resort. 358th lost three ships but only two crews. Flew with crew. * This is General Travis. Travis Air Force Base, California named after him.


08/30/44 - 05:10 - Pas de Calais - No flak - No fighters - No holes - No injuries - Bombed no-ball target in heavy pea soup. A real milk run. Gee-fix at target showed we bombed at least a mile south of target. Flew with crew.


09/09/44 - 07:35 - Ludwigshaven (Mannheim PFF) - Intense flak at target and moderate from Strasbourg and at Luxembourg - About 50 holes, ten of which were about as big as a fist. No fighters. Tailgunner got slight frostbite - otherwise no injuries. Target was PFF center of Mannheim. Flak was intense and very accurate at target. We were lead of the low element, low squadron, high group. Our No. 3 wingman in the Purple Heart Corner was hit by 2 direct flak hits and went down, breaking up on the way. Over target, flak burst right outside window. A piece came through and missed my arm by scarcely an inch, brushing my sleeve as it passed by. Two holes bigger than my fist in bottom of nose. Entire crew believed that our luck had run out. I believe we were all scared - though no one showed it--by the accurate fire at both the target and Luxembourg. Bombs landed all over the place and probably got a few Germans. Besides 323 going down in our squadron, other squadrons in Group lost about 6 planes. Entire Group got hell shot out of it. This was probably our toughest raid. Flew with crew.


09/10/44 - 07:00 - Stuttgart - (visual) - Moderate flak at target and several places on route, especially Karisruhe - No fighters, no injuries. Towers of smoke rose from many targets around Strasbourg, Karlsruhe, Baden. And Stuttgart. Led high squadron of lead group. Three big holes in plane - none in nose. Target was motor works 7 miles from Stuttgart. Damage unobserved. Compared to the last raid this was a "milk run." Flew with crew.


09/12/44 - 09:15 - Brux, Czechoslovakia - Intense flak at target - Hit by fighters just North of Berlin. About 15 holes - One in nose by flak which just missed Rohner's neck - One casualty. Target was a synthetic oil plant - the largest in the world --at Brux. Believe target was hit hard. Fighters, ME 109's and F.W. 190's hit us just N.W. of Berlin. They came in from nose and went around to tail. Our tailgunner was hit on first attack - whether by German shells or one of our own which strayed is only a matter of conjecture. His oxygen hose was severed and although none of his wounds were fatal he died of anoxia before the attack ceased and we could go to help him. There was nothing we could possibly do to save him before it was too late. We all felt his death was a terrible blow. He was a wonderful fellow with never a cross word and an everlasting grin. I believe I got a fighter in the attack for I saw my bullets make small puffs along the entire fuselage of a 109. Merrill DuMont said fighter went into lazy spin with smoke pouring out. With both flak and fighters this was the worst mission yet. On top of that Gen. Travis putzed around waiting for some other Group on the Czech-German border. We all sweat it out. I was scared as hell of both flak and fighters and Bruce in the tail didn't help matters any. We're all praying that the number of missions is lowered. If things continue this way it's almost impossible to be lucky thirty-five times. Now that war is close to Germany, the missions are getting rougher rather than easier. Flew with crew. Requiescat in pace!


09/17/44 - 05:45 - Hertogenbasch - Moderate flak at target and several places along route near front lines - No injuries, no fighters, 5 holes. Bombed road just north of an important bridge across Maas River and canal. Results excellent. Prepared way for paratroop landings. Flew with crew. (Target in Holland)


09/19/44 - 06:05 - Hamm (Germany) - Moderate flak at target and two places on route - No injuries, no fighters, 2 holes, one in wing bigger than my fist which missed gas tanks. Wasn't worried about flak on this one as much as about a mid air collision since the bomb run was made in thick pea soup. Surprisingly enough we didn't see much flak although we expected a rough time since Hamm is in Ruhr Valley and "Happy Valley" as it is called has close to 2000 ack-ack guns. Results of bombing were unobserved because of weather conditions. Target was the railroad marshalling yards which supply the front lines and traffic products of the industrial Ruhr back to northern and central Germany. Flew with crew and because of bad weather had to land at Bungay near coast.


09/21/44 - 06:00 - Mainz (Germany) - Intense flak at target for about 6 minutes - No Injuries - Enemy fighters seen - 3 holes. Bomb run again impaired by weather but observed results were excellent. Target was railroad marshalling yards which supply front lines and which carry most of Ruhr's products to central and southern Germany. Ran into accurate flak on both route in and out of target. Flak at target was accurate and there was plenty of it. Saw quite a number of enemy fighters but they didn't bother us. Also saw a few jet-propelled craft. A B-24 joined our squadron, which we were leading, and the crew will never know how close they came to being shot down for they didn't identify themselves at all. We are getting "trigger-happy" and Jerry no doubt has B-17's and B-24's and we won't take many chances any more. On way home during let-down from altitude the whole wing formation broke up because of thick pea soup which started at 500 feet and went up to 10,000 feet. Hit field at 0-0, thank goodness. Flew with crew.


10/02/44 - 06:30 - Cologne (Germany) - Meager inaccurate flak at target - No injuries - No enemy fighters - Not sure what we bombed but I think bombardier believed he had poor results and tried to pass off blame on navigator. P.F.F. target was center of Cologne, which I know we didn't hit. We were on course for visual primary which was Ford Motor Works 3 miles north of city. Cologne is in the heart of the Ruhr and it really surprised the hell out of us to get a free ride through. Nine to go ---four if they lower it to thirty. Flew with crew. I think we sweated out no flak almost as much as we do when there is intense flak.


10/03/44 - 07:00 - Cologne (Germany) - Intense accurate flak at target, meager inaccurate at Coast in - One injury - No enemy fighters - Not sure of target but believe we were after "G.H." Primary. Results were unobserved. We were hoping the impossible could happen twice in a row but " Happy Valley" was again in true form. The ack-ack had our range and altitude with the first burst and all hell really broke loose. Flak tracked formation right along and just after bombs away, Rohner was hit high up in the back of the thigh. It knocked him head-over-heels out of bombardier's chair but I thought he was only scared by a close miss. The inter-phone was knocked out and it took me a minute or so to find out he was really hit. The piece of flak went through his coveralls but not through his pants. The wound bled very little and resembled a puncture. Nothing serious but he is now the "Purple Heart Kid." We were both lucky because a couple bursts missed being direct hits by a matter of a foot or two. The chin turret was all banged up and nose had quite a few holes. One piece went right through waist --in one side and out the other. Wings were also pretty well perforated and so was tail. Flew with crew. Only eight to go but they get worse instead of better. Navigator in lead was worst I've ever seen, and our Group Leader doesn't deserve to fly a P.T.-19. They really did a miserable job and Johnny had a really rough time trying to keep our Sqdn. out of trouble. Flew lead, high squadron, high group. Saw Adolph's famous V-2 for first time and got coordinates of the launching site of his super rocket bomb. Fighters will probably blast it to Hades in a hurry.


10/04/44 - 07:20 - Cologne - Moderate accurate flak at target - Moderate accurate flak at battlefront near Koblenz - One injury - No fighters attacked, but were seen and attacked lead wing - Bombed Ford Plant by G.H. - Results unobserved. Flak at target was accurate again but we got through O.K. However, when we crossed battlefront they threw up everything but the kitchen sink. It was so accurate that the first burst was just above our nose and a piece hit the bombardier. The wound was slight but if this keeps up the bombardiers won't fly with us. Two in two missions is too many. Again, there were too many close ones that just missed being direct hits. Al Monnig also came awful close to getting it. Flew with crew, except of course, tailgunner and bombardier; latter was Lt. Haakonsen.


10/14/44 - 06:40 - Saarbrucken (Germany) - Meager inaccurate flak at target for us - No fighters - No holes - No - injuries - Bombed important R.R. marshalling yard supplying front lines. Believe we passed target. On bomb run, some fool almost collided with us. Both the pilot and co-pilot were putting on their flak suits and missed us by only an inch or so. The only thing that saved us was quick action by Johnny and Merrill when they shoved the stick forward and dove us out of the way. I guess everyone on the crew hit the top of the plane when it dove down but there were only a few banged heads and skinned knees to show for a close call. Flew with crew except Rohner. Haakonsen was bombardier.


10/18/44 - 07:00 - Cologne - Moderate accurate flak at target, Koblenz and battlefront. No injuries, no enemy fighters. Two holes (big ones--one in nose). Target was Ford Motor Works, but results were unobserved although heading was perfect. The flak was close but this was the closest thing to a "milk run" we're going to have anymore. Saw a couple of those new rockets (supposedly V-2) and I got a pretty accurate position on both. The fighters will probably take care of the rest. Weather again gave us a hard time. Merrill and Bill didn't fly with us but Johnny was pilot and the rest of the crew was along.


10/19/44 - 07:05 - Mannheim - Intense, accurate flak at target - No Injuries, no enemy fighters for us - About 10 holes, three in nose. Target was German "Tiger" tank works at Mannheim. Results were unobserved. We expected a very rough mission on this one, but it wasn't quite as rough as we had figured on. Flak was right in the groove, but Griggs crew was lucky again with quite a few awful close misses. There was a hole bigger than my fist above my head and flak sailed on through the partition nearly getting Merrill. There was a big gash in the chin turret and another in the nose. One very large piece put a hole in the wing, just missed the gas tanks, and took about a foot of the main wing spar off. Still another piece went through the No. 3 nacelle and came within a half-inch of the ignition system. After the target, Jerry tossed up a couple phosphorus shells but did no dam- age. Four to go - things are getting brighter. Flew with crew except Bruce.


10/22/44 - 07:25 - Brunswick (Braunschweig) - Moderate accurate flak at target - Intense observed several places on route. Enemy fighters were in area and hit one Group but our fighter cover was perfect and we didn't see any. Target was oil refinery but results were unobserved. Sweat out flying more than flak and fighters. O'Leary was squadron lead and when we most expected fighters he had us flubbing around a mile or more from our Group. Got a few minor flak holes but nothing much to speak of. The co-pilot, Droll, finished up on this raid. Flew with DuBose and crew. Rohner flew with Flesh. Johnny and our crew were stood down except for Duff who flew with DuBose in the ball. Three to go --the end of the tour draws near!


10/25/44 - 06:50 - Hamm - Moderate inaccurate flak at target - Meager accurate at Osnabruk Intense observed at Munster. Two holes --one in nose--the only two in Group. No injuries - Fighters in area. As we understand it now, it was pretty nearly a milk run. Target was marshalling yard, which I think we pasted, although results were unobserved. Flew with crew and then taking off on seven-day leave.


11/04/44 - 05:35 - Battrop (heart of Ruhr) - Flak was intense but mostly low, thank good- ness. Fighters were seen in distance, but P-51's our Guardian Angels, chased them off. No injuries. About 20 holes, 3 in nose. One hit my foot, went through my flying boot, but my G.I. Shoe stopped it. Lucky! Didn't tell anyone, no sense worrying them. We were in flak for about 15 minutes, which I found out, is one helluva long time. B-24's saved the day for us. They went in about 22,000 (their highest altitude) while we were at 28,000. They got the better part of the flak. Target was oil refinery.. I'll swear G.H. navigator made a mistake and dropped at least a minute and a half early. Results were unobserved. Flew with Davis crew.


11/05/44 - 06:30 - Frankfort - Flak intense and accurate at target. Fighters were in area, but P-51's put the fear of God in them. No injuries, about 10 holes ---three in nose. Were in flak for about 7 minutes and it really had us bracketed. How we ever got through we'll never know. One B-17 got a direct hit in number 2 engine. Plane was under control for about 4 minutes and then really flamed up. Apparently pilot tried to dive ship to put out fire but it was no soap. Ship dived under control for another 30 seconds and then went into a lazy spin. It spun and spouted flame for another 30 seconds, then tail and wings broke off and rest finally exploded. At least 5 men got out. However, I think others probably got out too, because they had all the time in the world. Target was marshalling yard in Frankfort. Results unobserved. Flew with crew except Merrill, and of course, Bruce. Merrill flew as First Pilot in 885.


11/06/44 - 05:25 - Battrop (extra mission because of abort when Flux-Gate and radio com- pass went out, and no Gee Box). Flak moderate and accurate as hell at target. No fighters. About 15 holes, most of them pretty big. Every burst of flak that came up was right in the formation. If there was as much thrown up as the last time, we would have had it. One piece of flak came in just below Johnny's half of windshield and hit him in leg. However, it had spent all its force going through bulkhead partition and a couple of other things and hit him just hard enough to scare hell out of him. Target was oil refinery again. Several holes in wing were just outside gas tanks - thank God! One piece went right through tailgunner's cubby hole and missed his head only because he bent down to fix his boot. G.H. navigator dropped exactly on my E.T.A. and his heading was perfect. Results were unobserved. However, we either got the oil plant or a bunch of Germans, and right now I don't much give a damn which it was. Flew with crew except Merrill, who showed Peterson, a new boy, the ropes. I'm first of the crew to finish. Amen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MY FIRST MISSION
from the journal of 2Lt Carroll 'Ted' Binder
KIA 24 May 1944, his 28th Mission,


There was a loud knock on our door, and it was opened noisily. A moment later the lights were napped on and four sleepy combat men were blinking at a harassed looking corporal in the doorway. We knew what his mission was -- I, at least, had been lying awake for over an hour, worrying about the day ahead as I used to do before an exam at Harvard -- and so it was no surprise to us when he read off: Lt. Hofmann; Lt. Binder; Lt. Israelson. Flying with Lt. Gorman in ship 739--Pugnacious Peter. Breakfast at 0330. Briefing at 0430.

We had known, too, that Jim Gorman, a veteran of fourteen missions, would be our pilot on our first expedition. It was squadron policy to break in new crews with experienced pilots, so we had already had a week with Jim in the pilot's seat and Lt. Ray Hofmann, our regular pilot, in Lt. Calvin S. Brothers' regular spot on the right hand side of the cockpit.

The room was cold as we rolled out of our warm, comfortable beds, so cold that our chattering teeth throttled any inclination to talk we might have had. But uncomfortable as it was, I could think only of the things I knew I mustn't forget. Dog tags? Yes, I must have put them on when I first got up. I could feel that cold metal against my chest. Wallet? Yes, I'd remembered to take that out of my pocket and hide it in my bureau drawer. Money? The intelligence officer had said that English pounds could perform miracles in occupied Europe. I felt in my flying pocket suit to make sure that the five pounds I had put there were still in place. Papers? Yes, my pockets had been properly purged of everything that might interest the Hun. As far as I knew, I had thought of everything.

At breakfast it was interesting to note the different expressions on men's faces as they ate. Lt. Jack W. Watson, (of Yankee Stadium fame) who had lost two engines and bailed his crew out in Holland, then brought the ship back by himself, had so completely recovered that he was wisecracking all through the meal. Lt. John F. Henderson, who had to ditch twice in the North Sea and now went on every mission knowing that he was going to die that day (he was shot down three days afterwards), looked grim even when he asked for the marmalade. Lt. J. W. Stuermer, who had completed twelve missions successfully, looked and talked as if he had nothing more ahead of him than a practice flight to Hereford and back (two days later as we were leaving on pass, we heard a loud explosion south of the field. One waist gunner was the only survivor of Stuermer's collision with another Fort). And me, Lt. Binder, who had no idea what was coming, tried to look nonchalant and laughed nervously but loudly when ever anyone said anything.

Another cold truck ride brought us to the main briefing building where crews from all the squadrons were given all the information that could be of value to them that day. Pilots and co-pilots, navigators, bombardiers, and radio operators, each had their own private briefings, with the other gunners lumped together in one large room. After collecting my set of maps, I walked into the navigator's room where the colossal map of western Europe had already been covered with the transparent material on which our mission route was marked. Up to now I had felt the usual first mission jitters, but when I saw the target I felt a strange sense of exhilaration. Berlin was still the Great Untouchable for the Eighth Air Force, but it could not have had more interest to me than Leipzig, which I knew to be one of Germany's greatest manufacturing cities and one of the least attacked of her major war centers. I had expected a short run to a French air field, and I had been afraid. But when I found that it (Leipzig) was to be one of the longest runs yet attacked , my satisfied ambition made me forget my fears, and I knew that I wouldn't be battle shy on my first mission. From then on I positively glowed inside.

Navigator's briefing began with the reading off of a flight plan for all of us to copy. Every course, distance, drift and ETA from departure to return had been worked out by the Group navigator, and if metro (meteorology department) winds proved correct, there would be no work at all to be done on the mission.

Next on the platform was an Intelligence officer who had the latest information on hazards. Every flak town on our route was pointed out to us, along with those airfields which the Germans thought worth defending. At the target, we were told, there were umpty-eight guns, only umpty-six of which could bear on us if we stayed on course. As for German fighters, there were -- hundred twenty single engines, --hundred sixty-twin engine fighters within range of our course. I wondered how intelligence could say that it was sixty-six and not sixty-seven. It seemed doubtful that the best spy network in the world could cut it that close.

A more pleasant subject was the fighter support. We were given the exact points at which we were to be met by our Thunderbirds (P-47's); Lightings (P-38's); Mustangs (P-51's) and the English Spitfires, so that we would not be expecting the various kinds at the wrong times and consequently make the fatal and often-made mistake of calling an FW-190, a P-47 or a Me-109, a Mustang. The weather man was next to be given an audience. In spite of the abuse to which he had been subjected for recent mistakes, he spoke confidently of the 3/10 alto-cumulus clouds to be expected at the target, of the eighty knot wind that would complicate our navigation, of the unlimited visibility in central Germany that day. Each of us was given a weather report to be made out at a specific time to aid in the weather forecasting that night.

I was beginning to think that there was nothing else we could be briefed on when another intelligence officer took over and spent ten minutes describing how to identify the target and how to orient oneself on the bomb run. We were to follow a railway all the way down the run, so it looked like a hard one to miss. The Junkers Aircraft Works factory was certainly distinctive enough to stand out.

Navigator's briefing always lasted at least half an hour longer than anyone else's so we had little time in which to dress. Electric suits, flying suits, life vests (called Mae Wests by both RAF and AAF), and parachute harnesses were on in a matter of seconds. Equipment bags were checked to see that we had the electric shoes, gloves, oxygen masks and helmets necessary for a long flight at high altitude. Then back on the trucks and out to our planes.

We were flying a brand new ship which, for want of a name was known by its call-letter, P for Peter. (It later took on the name Pugnacious Peter.) By the time I arrived on the scene, Ray Hofmann and Jim Gorman had gone over every detail with the crew chief, making sure that all four engines were in perfect shape, that radio equipment was functioning properly, and that oxygen and gas load would be adequate for the long journey ahead of us. Gunners had done their pre-flight work, putting in their guns -- the fifty-calibers they had cleaned the night before, then hand-charging them to make sure they were ready for action. Only Shorty, the ball turret operator (Sgt Ollie G. Crenshaw), was still at work on his guns. The rest had joined the officers around the coal stove in the ground crew's tent.

Noticing that forty minutes remained until engines were ready to be started, I quickly checked my own guns, laid out my equipment, and then made for the tent and broke into the circle around the fire. It was a good feeling being together for a few minutes before going to our separate, almost lonely stations in the plane. I must have sounded like a football coach giving a last-minute pep talk, but I think the others knew I meant it when I said we were lucky to get in on so important a raid, and when I pointed out that with our fighter cover we would not have too hard a time. I don't think I was the only one who left our huddle in the best of spirits.

Outside, daylight had broken and unfriendly-looking clouds were hanging low over the base at Molesworth. We climbed into our ship, and in a moment, one after another of our engines was sputtering, and then catching and throwing out a stream of flame and black smoke.

Before long our plane was on its way down the runway, gaining speed until, the airspeed meter reading 125 M.P.H., Jim Gorman pulled gently back on the wheel and the ship nosed into the air. Around the field once at eight hundred feet, then out on a heading of 310 degrees and up through the clouds at four hundred feet per minute. Every man on the crew was at his station, straining his eyes into the mist to make out the forms of approaching planes. In eight minutes the first traces of blue appeared above us. In ten we had broken through and were skipping along the tops of the higher strata-cumulus clouds. And a minute later we were high enough to see a plane ahead of us turning back toward the field, where we were to assemble around the radio beacon. All we had to do was follow him, for his markings identified him as the leader of our own squadron.

Take-off had been at 0730. By 0835 the six ships of each squadron had taken their positions in neat three-plane V's and the three squadrons had occupied their respective lead, high and low spots in the group.

"Navigator to pilot."

"Go ahead."

"Leaving base on course, two minutes behind schedule."

"Roger."

A moment later, Iz (Lt. Elmer P. Israelson) was on interphone to tell the crew that we were now at 10,000 feet and would have to put on our oxygen masks. In quick succession everyone checked in -- tail gunner, left waist, right waist, ball turret, radio, and top turret. To make sure that no one succumbed to anoxia, either Iz or I ran an oxygen check every five minutes from then on, a precaution that had already saved several lives in our squadron.

Just as our squadron had joined others to form a Group, our group now took up its position with others to form the Wing, and by the time we reached the coast, the wings, too, had taken their assigned posts in the Air Division. It must have warmed the heart of much-bombed Great Yarmouth to see us in the bright sunlight, streaming eastward to avenge the wounds of the free world, and to make it possible for a new and better society to rise. But if it didn't impress Great Yarmouth to see formation after formation head out across the water, it certainly impressed me.

Half-way across the North Sea I went on interphone to tell the crew it was time to test-fire guns. "For Christ sakes watch out for planes when you shoot, and those of you who can, fire into the water." Everyone checked in to let me know the message was understood, and a moment later I could hear and feel -- short bursts fired from all parts of the ship. My own guns barked satisfyingly. It was now time to put on flak suits if we were to be prepared for the enemy coastal batteries, now only twenty miles off. It was time, also, to be looking out for our Thunderbolt escort aircraft, and for enemy fighters from fields that dotted the Dutch coast.

Iz and I helped each other wiggle into the awkward flak suits. They hadn't seemed heavy on the ground, but even at 19,000 feet, a moderate enough altitude, the eighteen pounds of protective armor had become a formidable burden. When I had finally managed to clip mine on properly, I surveyed myself a little ruefully. Holy smoke! The Luftwaffe would be the least of my worries. Flak too for that matter. My real problem would be just to move amid the tangle of wires and tubes that were necessary to keep me going -- the thick, awkward oxygen hose, the wire to my throat mike, the wire to the earphones sewed into my helmet, the plug attachment for my heated suit. Yes, it would be a battle to get through today even if I never saw a German plane or a flak burst.

"Flak at twelve o'clock low," I called nervously on interphone. An equally nervous "Roger" came from the cockpit.

It didn't look like much to worry about -- not much of it and too low to hurt us. So I forgot my initial fear and pressed my face against a window to get a good look -- that thrilling first look -- at enemy territory. Just off our right wing was Haarlem, where our pilgrims first experimented in living abroad and where they made their history-making decision to sail for the new world. On the coast near Haarlem was Ijmuiden, where a year before a dozen marauders (B-26's) had attacked and a dozen had been shot down. And off in the distance at two o'clock, bordered by rivers, canals, and the Zuider Zee, now nearly four years the capital of a nation in chains, was Amsterdam. Knowing that the crew always like to know where we were, I got busy on interphone with the latest bulletin. "Navigator to crew. We're on course just north of Amsterdam. That's the Zuider Zee ahead of us. "Let's all check in." Everyone was really on the ball now. I don't think it took three seconds for the six gunners to answer. It was a good sign.

I was just beginning to wonder where our fighter escort was when I heard Jim Gorman's husky voice on interphone. "Contrails at nine o'clock high." And sure enough, there they were. Too far out for the planes themselves to be visible -- I could make out three groups of vapor trails, thin wisps of white against the deep-blue February sky. The wisps seemed to be extending themselves parallel to our course.

I had hardly focused my eyes on the fighters to the north of us when our right waist sang out: "Contrails at three o'clock high." I could see these, too, and they were close enough for me to make out four wisps in each flight of planes, a little black speck at the head of each wisp. Let's keep our eye on these babies, " called our battle-wise pilot. At Oschersleben the Germans had flown along parallel until our Fort gunners, thinking they were friendly, began to relax. Then they had come in closer and closer, finally committing themselves and attacking when it was too late to stop them. The January 11th communique had reported: "From these operations, sixty of our bombers are missing."

So long as the sky remained cloudless and visibility unlimited, I knew that I had no need to worry about navigation, so I put my maps aside and strained my eyes out into the distance, looking for a speck that might prove a fighter. Occasionally my glance would wander to the ground, or rather to the water of the Zuider Zee. It was now possible to make out a convoy of small ships making their way up the stream shore.

The country of the Zuider Zee was flat, honeycombed with canals, and covered with light snow not quite deep enough to reflect the bright sunlight. There were brilliant flashes now and then, though. They came from the guns at Zwolle.

We had left the Zuider Zee fifteen minutes behind us when I called the crew to report we were now in Germany, four minutes behind schedule. I had worked out a hasty ETA for the initial point and target, now told the crew how much longer we would be carrying our bomb load. "In another hour and forty minutes, we'll be getting the lead out of our pants," I said, and for a reason I cannot now comprehend, I felt quite witty and proud of myself.

Moving across to the other side of the nose, my eye fell on my log, and I noticed that I hadn't had an entry in fifteen minutes. Pacing off roughly forty-five miles with my glove-covered fingers, I looked for a landmark that would pin-point me quickly. There was a good one about fifty miles from my last check point, a big forest with a railway along its eastern edge. I looked out my left window, and there it was off our wing. We were going faster than I had calculated. "We're now over the Teutoburger forest," I called on interphone. "A Hun named Herman licked the -- -- out of the Romans here."

"What is this, a Cook's Tour?" moaned the bombardier.

"O.K., I'll shut up. Just wanted to let everyone know we're in fighter alley now. Let's all stay right on our toes because for the next two hours we'll be in range of the Berlin fighter defenses. The chips are down, so let's give 'em hell."

A minute later the bombardier spotted two fighters at eleven o'clock low. By the time I had picked them up, they had attacked the group ahead of us, peeling off and diving just before they reached the lead plane. They were a mile below us, well out of range, before we reached the scene of battle. Iz fired a couple of hopeful bursts their way, but I confined my activity to entering two silver Focke-Wulfs in my log. We were now crossing the Weser river, so I took advantage of the lull to work out a good ground speed and a new ETA to the target. Just a – – secretary, I thought to myself.

Then an exciting thing happened. Three Mustangs that had been circling high above us dived on the planes on our left. The odds were even numerically, but the Jerries high-tailed it for home, two of them dodging away from their faster pursuers. The third exploded with a bright yellow flash, leaving a cloud of black oil smoke where he had been. So thorough had been the explosion that not a fragment of the plane was visible, and I knew that little pieces of Hans would be floating down river to Bremen for days. It was two minutes after twelve when I entered Hans' demise in my log. Fifty minutes to the target.

Fighters were all around us now, most of them attacking other formations but still near enough to shoot at us if they veered toward us for ten seconds. How I cursed the flak suit that weighed me down as I followed planes from side to side.

The group ahead of us really seemed to be getting it now. One Fort dropped out of formation with a wing on fire. Seven chutes came out of it before a blinding explosion finished off the plane and crew. Another “Seventeen” which must have had a hit in the gas tank exploded while still in formation. Fighters, too, were going down; a few from Fortress guns but mainly from combat with other fighters. Our Mustangs seemed to have the upper hand, pursuing FW's and Messerschmitts right down to the ground and then climbing up for more action. There weren't enough of them to keep all the vultures off us, but they could break up any attempt at a mass attack. That was what really mattered. So long as the Jerries couldn't sit out of range and fire rockets into us, or queue up and come in simultaneously from several directions, we were fairly safe (especially when they were concentrating on someone else). It was strange how detached from the whole battle I felt. I experienced no more emotion when I saw a Fort with ten men in it blow up than I used to experience when such a scene was enacted in the movies. I just couldn't feel I was part of the drama going on in the arena around me.

I had seen Magdeburg as we passed it – I'd even remembered that it was the laws of Magdeburg that German settlers carried to eastern Europe centuries ago and retain to this day. I'd seen Berlin off in the distance to our left, and wondered when we would be going there. (It would be exactly sixteen days later.) But it was only when we had turned south toward Torgau that I realized how quickly the time had passed.

Hastily I called the bombardier and pilot to tell them we were now ready to turn on the “initial point,” then I made sure that the waist gunners were ready to throw out the chaff because I'd been told by old combat men that it did wonderful things to the Jerries below, hampering the aiming their flak guns.

The lead group, a little ahead and to the right of us, was turning. A moment later we were swinging sharp right to keep pace and regain our position. There were no enemy fighters to harass us now, so it was easier for the pilots to concentrate on getting into bombing position. A lot depended on concentration of the formation during the bombing pattern. From the minute we turned at Torgau it was possible to see Leipzig off in the distance. Smoke had risen from the city to well over 15,000 feet, a black cloud foreboding future evil as well as recording previous disaster. Fresh streams of smoke poured from every part of south Leipzig, good evidence that the fires started in the night's R.A.F. raid were still blazing. I found myself hoping that we could do as well.

Bomb doors on the lead ship were swinging open now, followed moments later by the doors of all the other planes.

“Five minutes to the target,” I called on interphone. “Let's start throwing that chaff out now.”

Waist-gunners came back with quick “Rogers.”

I had hardly spoken when I realized that it was well I hadn't put off the signal any longer. Not far ahead of us, at the bend of the railway line we were following on our bomb run, I could see distinctly the outlines of our target, streamlined looking factories in a group just north of the city. And directly above the target hung a seemingly impenetrable wall of flak, an almost solid cloud of little black bursts. My flak suit didn't feel so heavy after all.

Everyone was tense now. The lead ship, which had been doing mild evasive action, now settled down to a straight and level course, making only one perceptible correction as the bombardier picked up the target in his bombsight. We were sitting ducks for the flak gunners and we knew it.

I don't believe I'll ever live a day that seems as long as those last two minutes before bombs away at Leipzig. The bulk of the flak had lowered, forming a kind of floor of black puffs below us, but our chaff had not had its effect on several batteries, which continued to pump quantities of lead into our formation. “Easiest thing is not to look at it,” I thought to myself, so with unaccustomed zeal I proceeded to record heading, altitude, and air speed. I didn't envy Iz, who had to sit up front with his eyes glued to the lead ship lest he miss the moment of bombs away. But then my curiosity got the better of me, and I leaned over Izzy's shoulder to get a good look at the target. Yes, it certainly looked as if we were heading right for it. But of course it was impossible to tell at this altitude.

Just then came the long-awaited moment. A swarm of bombs streamed out of the lead ship, and almost before they had cleared the plane, Iz had flicked his toggle switch and our own bombs were on the way. His relieved voice called triumphantly “Bombs away” on interphone, and a minute later Berman (S/Sgt Seymour Berman, our Radio Operator) called to report that the bomb doors were closing.

Meanwhile the group leader, who had almost run into four flak bursts as the bombs were released, had swerved off to the right and led us through evasive actions so violent that it was all Jim could do to keep us near our squadron. In less than three minutes we had drawn out of range of the last 88 millimeter guns and were all heaving a sigh of relief, so heartfelt that even Pugnacious Peter must have sighed with us. It was only a matter of seconds before we had tightened up our formation and turned our course for home. The temptation to feel that the danger was over was almost irresistible even though I had a flight plan in front of me that told me we still had two hours and a half over enemy territory.

For half an hour after the target we plowed south and west toward the Rhine river without encountering a single fighter, friend or foe. Then, just as the undercast was beginning to break a little, Blakeney (S/Sgt William R. Blakeney – our Engineer and Top-turret operator) spotted four, then eight black specks in the distance. We watched them carefully as they approached, climbing to get well above us. According to my gun-sight they were just over a mile away when they flipped over on their sides to give us a good look at them. They could hardly have been mistaken. They were our own lovely P-38's.

It was only now that I dared relax enough to check in the crew on oxygen, something I hadn't done since the target. All seemed to be well.

Then I noticed two things almost simultaneously. One was that I had to screw up my face in a funny position in order to breathe – had, in fact, been doing it every since Magdeburg. The other was that I felt terribly tired. Checking my oxygen mask, I found that all I had been breathing for the past hour had been the thin air at 19,000 feet – my facial contortions had not let me breathe through my mask, but around it. The mask itself had frozen solid and not a pinhole was left for air to come through.

The realization that I should now be in a state of collapse made me twice as weak as I had been before I'd thought about it (like people who faint an hour after donating blood). I suddenly found that my flak suit was more than I could carry, so I sat down. Knowing that the air at that altitude was not enough to keep me going, I made vain attempts to break the ice out of the sponge pores in my mask and to suck air through them. And knowing that I must now be in a state of collapse, I looked at my fingernails and found them blue.

By now I was just sitting still, breathing hard but thinking little. But I finally got the bright idea of tapping Iz on the shoulder and showing him my predicament. As on every other occasion in the air Iz knew what to do. We had an extra mask, and he tried that. It turned out to be a high pressure type mask, did no good with our low pressure oxygen system. So Iz reached for the outlet hose, held it to my mouth, and turned on the emergency handle. The pure oxygen that poured into me was so effective that within a minute I was transformed from a useless grinning idiot into a navigator reasonably able to keep up with his job – as able, at least, as he had been at the beginning of the mission.

It had taken much “wind” to describe all this, but it was only a matter of six minutes from the time we saw the first P-38's to the time I was back on my feet again. The rest of the mission I was as good as ever, gulping pure oxygen for a minute or two and then breathing this air until I felt too weak to work.

It had seemed like much more than that, but according to my watch it was just an hour and half after bombs away that we had another brief visit from fighters. We were crossing the Rhine, just north of Koblenz when we saw half a dozen ME-109's queue up just out of range. A flight of P-38 Lightnings saw them too, and they were on them in a matter of seconds. One Jerry dived for the ground, two 38's on his tail. We saw him explode less than a mile below us. Two others also dived, then flipped over as the German pilots bailed out. The planes spun to the ground, and were out of sight before they crashed. Meanwhile, the remaining three ripped through our formation, under fire of both our Fortress and Lightning guns, and while they may have been hit, they showed no sign of it as they disappeared to the south.

The rest of the trip seemed terribly dull after what had gone before. Just inside Belgium we were met by swarms of Thunderbolts, and from then on we were always in sight of at least a dozen of them. Occasionally, too, we caught a glimpse of Spitfires which, three miles below us, were keeping a constant patrol around German fighter fields.

A layer of strata-cumulus clouds lay on the ground, so we got only an occasional look at Belgium. Only at the coast did we get a good view of the ground, and what we saw was a fitting climax to an exciting day. Below, and a little to the left of us, were the beaches of Dunkirk, spotlighted by the afternoon sun shining down between the clouds. I looked carefully, and I could almost visualize armies of half-dead men hiding behind the pathetic little sand dunes as they waited for the next boat –or the next bomb. Occasionally I could see the flash of a flak gun, but it only served to emphasize the contrast between the hammer blows Germany was striking at our side in 1940 and the puny little pot shot she could take at us now.

There's no question that the German flak guns were ineffective that afternoon, but nevertheless I felt mightily relieved when, Dunkirk safely behind us, I was able to call the crew and announce that flak suits could now safely be discarded.

“Hallelujah,” said the tail gunner.

“Amen,” said the left waist.

And the others echoed similar sentiments. I myself felt as I used to feel after putting down my canoe at the end of a long portage, so light my feet hardly seemed to touch the ground.

Across the channel to Clacton, our point of entry back in England, we kept a constant look-out for planes, but we knew that the fighting was over. The day when Hun intruders could wait for tired Fort crews over England had long since passed. A Spitfire or a Mustang was now safer than a Focke Wulf over Brussels, let alone London. So we joked on interphone all the way across the water, stopping only occasionally to call off Thunderbolts or Spitfires. By the time we reached England we had dropped to 7,000 feet, so oxygen too was no longer necessary. The mission was all over but the shouting, and we munched sandwiches the rest of the way home.

We were back over the base at 1715, on the ground ten minutes later. We piled out of our planes like a football team leaving the field after a great victory – very tired but very happy. A moment later a truck was whisking us away to interrogation in the main briefing room, where our yen to tell the world about our mission was satisfied by an intelligence officer with a lot of questions to ask. Sipping coffee or tomato juice, or gulping the shot of Scotch issued “for medicinal purposes only,” we chattered like high school girls, telling all we knew and more, about flak, fighters, enemy installations, and bomb damage. Shorty, (Sgt Ollie G. Crenshaw) who had never spoken an intelligible word from his ball turret, now had some astounding information to reveal. He had seen the bombs hit “right on target,” no small feat when the target was covered by clouds when our bombs hit; he had seen rocket-firing JU-88's, unobserved by anyone else; and he had counted a hundred enemy planes, while others had been so blind to see only twenty or thirty.

Interrogation finished, we piled back on our truck for the rough ride back to the plane. It was only now that we got a chance to look over Pugnacious Peter. With extreme pride we counted those nine flak holes! Yes, we'd really been in combat. And with what astonishment we surveyed the fifty-caliber hole in our horizontal stabilizer! But it was when we found out what had made the hole that we really got excited.

It appeared that when we were experiencing fighter attacks in the Magdeburg area, a Focke-Wulf fighter had come in on us from about four-thirty low–out of range for the tail gunner but a perfect shot for the ball turret, and a fairly good one for the right waist. However, the ball turret guns were not operating, and when Sgt. Jensen found that he was the only one firing, he kept “peppering” until the attacker peeled off a hundred yards out, and in tracking, Jensen failed to notices that our tail surface was dangerously close to his line of fire.

What disgusted us was not Jensen's understandable over-enthusiasm, but Shorty's unforgivable failure. We knew that, barring cold conditions not even approaching that day, guns would operate if properly cared for, and we were furious to find that Shorty had never succeeded in firing a single round from either gun, even more furious to see that, far from apologizing, he was now strutting like a peacock, telling the ground crew what it was like to be fighting the war. Under normal conditions, at least one of us would have taken a crack at Shorty's too-active jaw, but we were so tired that we let it go at a warning that a similar incident had better not take place again. Shorty said something about our always picking on him and sulked off to remove his guns.

In ten minutes everyone had taken his equipment out of the aircraft, piled it on our truck and climbed in himself. After a brief stop to deposit our guns at the armament shop, we took another and final truck jaunt to the equipment room.

It didn't take us long to change clothes. We were in too much of a hurry to get to our first meal in fifteen hours (unless two ounces of chocolate and a jelly sandwich can be called a meal.) It was only a matter of minutes before we were in the chow line pleading with the K.P.'s to give us good pieces of chicken. But regular Sunday dinner had been held an hour before, and all that was left for combat men was necks and backs. We made all kinds of profane remarks about paddle feet, but they did no good. So we had to be satisfied with a good dinner of vegetables.

It was 2015 when we finished our meal, and for pilots and co-pilots that was the end of the day. But Iz and I, like all other gunners, still had guns to clean. We found the armament shop too crowded to do them immediately but within a half an hour our guns were stripped and we were busy with brush and gasoline. By 2200 hours we were back in our room undressing.

I was more exhausted than I had ever been in my life when I finally climbed into bed. But I was happier than I had ever been, too. I knew that at last I was part of a war I had wanted to fight every since the International Brigade first stopped the Fascists at Madrid, Spain. And, almost equally important to me, I had a feeling that I was not a coward.

i would love to see tempests and typhoons in the next game. trust me i love all the old birds of that era. so, with that in mind here's a link to comments from tempest pilots. scroll down.....its copy righted so i wont/cant post it. but it is worth reading.....

http://www.wwiiaircraftperformance.o.../temptest.html

Cool Beans as we say.......thanks bobbysocks.......Sadly I dont think they will be included ?? :(:(:(


Read something the other day from the book by Chris Thomas & Chris Shores " The Typhoon & Tempest Story".....this really made me sit up and think "my god".........

On 22nd January 1944 , a flight of eight Typhoons from 263Sqn were led on a "Ranger" sweep by their Commander Squadron Leader Geoff Warnes . When crossing the French Brittany coast near Vannes, the flight flew into 10/10th snow cloud and turned back from the primary mission attacking airfields in the Kerlin / Vannes sector and took on the secondary mission of shipping reconnaissance. The weather made visual ID almost impossible as snow and rain squals made formation almost impossible, at about eight miles north west of Guernsey, Squadron Leader Warnes reported that his engine was running rough followed by a further broadcast stating he was going to ditch. The Flight orbitted over head and Warnes was seen struggling to get to his un-inflated dinghy in the icy waters below. In what must be one of the most calculated acts of bravery and despite being ordered not to, a young Australian pilot Flying Officer Tuff was not prepared to see this very popular Commander struggle alone and announced he was going to bail out to help Warnes. Leaving the relative warmth of his cockpit, Tuff bailed out into the freezing snow swept icy waters below in the faint hope of bring aid to his Squardon Commander.

Despite a very good fix and low level ASR search until fuel dictated that the other 263Sqn Typhoons returned to base, Squadron Leader Warnes and Flying Officer Tuff were never found again.......


The "my god " factor.........? how was PO Tuff's act of sheer gallantry recognized ?


Pilot Officer Tuff was only ever mentioned in a despatch......no award, no medal......

Now that to me is bravery........



.

Ron Marlow
Rear Gunner on Lancaster Bombers
50 Squadron
Skellingthorpe Lincs


In all my ops an enemy night fighter never once came near me, they always stayed away and left me alone. I came to the conclusion it was because they were scared of me and my 4 brownings, and that helped me get through each op.

Ron completed his tour of duty and then went on to training potential new air gunners.

Flier in Libya Mourns Absence Of Pumpkin Pie
Freeze at High Altitudes In Middle East

WASHINGTON, May 23, 1942 — Flying Officer Ian Spengler, R.C.A.F., who comes from Windsor, Ont., and has been flying big Wellington bombers out of the western deserts on raids into Cyrenaica, Greece, Crete and Rhodes has a complaint to make.
"The grub is good out there," he says, "but you can't get good pumpkin pie."
Along with a fellow-Canadian, Pilot Officer Lloyd Warriner, R.C.A.F. and three other Empire airmen he was here yesterday. Both Canadians, who hope to get home for a visit, say there are a good many Canadians out there in the Middle East and they are giving a good account of themselves.
They don't like to talk about themselves but both of them who have flown both in Europe and in the Middle East have seen a lot of action. What's the difference?, you ask.

ALMOST FREEZE
"Well," said Warriner, "when you fly over Germany you meet a lot of ack-ack and the fighter opposition is heavier but you get your job done a lot quicker. Out in the Middle East, you may be eight hours on a run — and don't believe them when they tell you that the Middle East is a hot climate — not when you are flying. You almost freeze at those high altitudes."
Spengler, who has seen a lot of action and has been shot down, smiles when you ask him to talk about himself.
"Can't you know," he said, "the less said the better."
For twelve months he has served as navigator with Squadron Leader John Alexander, D.F.C., a blue-eyed British lad who has served through the Norwegian campaign and who was here with him. Like Spengler, Alexander it a bit tight-lipped about his side of the show. Asked about the Nazi anti-aircraft he said, "It goes cracking along."
Most interesting personality in the team was Squadron Leader Clive Robertson Caldwell, D.F.C., with bar, Polish military medal, a trim young Australian who was once an insurance broker in Sydney. They call him "Killer" because in the course of operations in Libya he has destroyed 20 enemy aircraft.
In one engagement he shot down five planes, deprecated this accomplishment cheerfully in these words, "it all depends on the opportunity, you know, and how your ammunition lasts out. I happened to run into a group that were flying in close formation. When I shot down one, the others obligingly moved over to take his place — they are a bit strong on regimentation you know."
Fighter pilots out there have established a three to one superiority over the Nazis in the air fighting because of the greater flexibility of our planes.

P-40 WAR'S BEST FIGHTING PLANE
Used By 26 Nations Besides U.S.
Accounts For 13½ Enemy Ships For Every One Lost
By JACK STINNETT, 14 December 1944, Washington (AP) — It happened in Buffalo the other day, but only in aviation circles here and among Army fliers scattered over the world did it cause any stir.
What actually happened was that the Curtiss-Wright plant there turned over to the Army Air Forces the 15,000th and last of the P-40's.
It was a P-40N Warhawk, 14th model of the fightingest plane in this war, but now a casualty of wartime aviation progress. The assembly line has been torn down. The cavernous Curtiss-Wright factory there is temporarily as empty as a barn. But in history and in the minds of thousands of pilots, the P-40 will live on for many years.
In something over three years, the P-40's hung up a fighting record that may never be equaled. For a long time, the P-40 was Gen. H. H. "Hap" Arnold's baby. Col. Robert L. Scott, author of "God Is My Co-Pilot" and "Damned to Glory," not long ago summed up many pilots' views when he said "Give me my old P-40 and I'll go back to China any time and slap the Japanese back where they belong."
The P-40 originally was designed as a pursuit plane, but in the hurry-scurry to catch up with the blitzkrieg of the aggressor nations, it became probably the most versatile fighter plane in the skies.
The famed shark-mouthed "Flying Tiger" planes in China were all P-40's. But what isn't generally known is that the P-40's or their "daddys" — the P-36's — chalked up more "firsts" than any other type of fighting plane. For example, they shot down the first ME-109 over France in 1939; the first enemy aircraft downed by Allied or American airmen over Pearl Harbor, Iraq, the Philippines, Australia, Java, the Aleutians, Russia, Africa, Italy and Yugoslavia.
It is claimed that more Army aces to date have flown P-40's than any other plane. Among them, at least, are Wing Commander Clive "Killer" Caldwell, the Australian ace who is credited with 20 and one-half Nazi planes; Col. David Lee "Tex" Hill who dropped 18 Japanese planes in the Chinese theatre; Maj. Kenneth M. Taylor, who sent the first Japanese plane over Pearl Harbor plummeting to death; and Col. Scott, who commanded Gen. Claire L. Chenault's fighter force in China and himself bagged 13 Japanese planes.
In addition to the United States, 26 other members of the United Nations have painted their insignia on P-40's. The P-40's, despite their original design as pursuit planes, have served as dive-bombers, photo-reconnaissance ships, ground strafers and just straight bombers carrying up to a ton of deadly missiles.
In a cross-section made in all theatres, it is estimated that P-40's have accounted for 13 and one-half enemy planes for every one of their own shot down. That estimate based on 457 planes that engaged 1,257 enemy planes, undoubtedly would be cut down considerably in an overall picture, but it still is a record that may never be approached.
As far as production is concerned, the P-40 is gone, but it will be a long time before it is forgotten, either by our Army pilots or by our enemies.

LIQUOR FOR EQUIPMENT
Allegations at Court-Martial
SYDNEY, Wednesday, 17 January 1945 - "There was a dearth of equipment for my command at Morotai, and I learned that the only way to secure equipment for them was to trade liquor to the Americans for services rendered. They had no regular supplies or stocks of liquor, and depended solely upon supplies that could be brought in from time to time."
That explanation was contained in a statement read by Mr. J. E. Cassidy, K.C., counsel for Group-Captain C. R. "Killer" Caldwell, at the court martial at Bradfield Park today on behalf of his client, who declined to give evidence on oath.
In the statement, Group-Captain Caldwell said he was able by such means to obtain heavy earth-moving plant and other equipment from the Americans, who had plenty of equipment at that stage, but no liquor. He further claimed that it was the recognized practice at Morotai, where he commanded No.80 Fighters' Wing, to trade liquor for equipment, but he denied trading for money.
The wing had a total strength of 3000 officers and men. He claimed that owing to his trading in liquor to obtain equipment, the morale of his men remained very high, and they worked with plenty of enthusiasm. Discipline was completely satisfactory.
The statement added that the prices charged for the liquor were high according to mainland standards, but they were the ruling prices at Morotai, and other officers were doing the same thing to help their units. Orders affecting the carrying or sale of liquor by R.A.A.F. personnel were generally ignored during the period covering the charges, and it was not a secret that liquor was being brought in by service aircraft for trading purposes.
On two occasions in September and October 1944, two flights of Kittyhawks made sweeps over Tanimbar Island, and then went on to Darwin. There were seven planes in the first sweep and eight in the second. They each returned to Morotai with liquor. The sweeps had no operational value and were designed solely for the purpose of obtaining liquor at Darwin and bringing it to Noemfoor where the head quarters of the 1st T.A.F., under Air-Commodore Cobby, were located. Those flights were formally authorized by 1st T.A.F. head quarters, and to enable large quantities of liquor to be brought back, the aircraft were stripped of armament and ammunition at Darwin to increase their carrying capacity.

Voennoe Delo: Man at War. Soviet Fighter Pilot of WW II. (English subtitles)
contains brief nudity..... :rolleyes:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJdTH8I6ub8

You may have seen this, but I post it anyway...
 

David and Goliath-2d Lt. Owen J. Baggett

By John L. Frisbee

Many extraordinary encounters took place in the skies of World War II but none more bizarre than this.

The Tenth Air Force in India was, 5 throughout most of its life, the smallest of the AAF’s combat air forces but with a large geographical area of responsibility and an important mission. It was responsible for helping to defend the supply line from India to China and for interdicting the Japanese supply net running from Rangoon, Burma, to the north of that country. Its heavy bomber force – consisting of a few B-24s – was the 7th Bomb Group, based at Pandaveswar, northwest of Calcutta, whence it flew very long missions to targets mostly in Burma. On March 31, 1943, the 7th BG’s 9th Bomb Squadron was dispatched to destroy a railroad bridge at Pyinmana, about halfway between Rangoon and Mandalay and near two active enemy fighter bases. The formation was led by Col. Conrad F. Necrason, 7th BG commander, The B-24 on his right wing was piloted by 1st Lt. Lloyd Jensen whose copilot was 2d Lt. Owen J. Baggett. On that mission, Baggett was to earn a distinction believed to be unique in Air Force history. Before reaching the target, the B- 24s were attacked by fighters. Colonel Necrason was severely wounded, and Jensen’s aircraft was fatally damaged. Oxygen bottles were shattered, intensifying a fire in the rear of Jensen’s bomber. Nineteen-year-old Sgt. Samuel Crostic slid out of his top turret, grabbed two fire extinguishers, and fought the fire in the rear of the aircraft while standing on a catwalk over the open bomb bay. The plane still was under attack by enemy fighters, taking many hits along its fuselage. To help defend the aircraft, copilot Baggett took over the top turret until Sergeant Crostic had emptied his fire extinguishers, giving the crew time to prepare for bailout. Smoke and fumes filled the 8-24. Jensen ordered the crew to bail out.

With the intercom inoperative, Baggett hand-signaled the gunners to hit the silk and, nearly overcome by fumes, put on his own chute. He next remembers floating down with a good chute. He saw four more open canopies before the bomber exploded. The Japanese pilots immediately began strafing the surviving crewmen, apparently killing some of them and grazing Lieutenant Baggett’s arm. The pilot who had hit Baggett circled to finish him off or perhaps only to get a better look at his victim. Baggett pretended to be dead, hoping the Zero pilot would not fire again. In any event, the pilot opened his canopy and approached within feet of Baggett’s chute, nose up and on the verge of a stall. Baggett, enraged by the strafing of his helpless crew mates, raised the .45 automatic concealed against his leg and fired four shots at the open cockpit. The Zero stalled and spun in.

After Baggett hit the ground, enemy pilots continued to strafe him, but he escaped by hiding behind a tree. Lieutenant Jensen and one of the gunners landed near him. All three were captured by the Burmese and turned over to the Japanese. Sergeant Crostic also survived the bail-out. Baggett and Jensen were flown out of Burma in an enemy bomber and imprisoned near Singapore. In the more than two years he was held prisoner, Owen Baggett’s weight dropped from 180 pounds to ninety. He had ample time to think about his midair dual. He did not at first believe it possible that he could have shot down the enemy while swinging in his chute, but gradually pieces of the puzzle came together. Shortly after he was imprisoned, Baggett, Jensen, and another officer were taken before a Japanese major general who was in charge of all POWs in the area and who subsequently was executed as a war criminal. Baggett appeared to be treated like a celebrity. He was offered the opportunity of and given instructions on how to do the "honorable thing" – commit hara-kiri, a proposal he declined.

A few months later, Col. Harry Melton, commander of the 311th Fighter Group who had been shot down, passed through the POW camp and told Baggett that a Japanese colonel said the pilot Owen Baggett had fired at had been thrown clear of his plane when it crashed and burned. He was found dead of a single bullet in his head. Colonel Melton intended to make an official report of the incident but lost his life when the ship on which he was being taken to Japan was sunk. Two other pieces of evidence support Baggett’s account: First, no friendly fighters were in the area that could have downed the Zero pilot. Second, the incident took place at an altitude of 4,000 to 5,000 feet. The pilot could have recovered from an unintentional stall and spin. Retired Colonel Baggett, now living in San Antonio, Tex., believes he shot down the Japanese pilot, but because that judgment is based on largely indirect and circumstantial evidence, he remains reluctant to talk much about it. We think the jury no longer is out. There appears to be no reasonable doubt that Owen Baggett performed a unique act of valor, unlikely to be repeated in the unfolding annals of air warfare.

Thanks to Colonel Baggett and to Charles V. Duncan, Jr., author of B-24 Over Burma.

AIR FORCE Magazine / July 1996

Interview with Vladimir Mikhailovich Mukhmediarov

I, Vladimir Mikhailovich Mukhmediarov, was born in Moscow in 1923. There I lived with my parents and there I went to school. My parents were simple labourers. Family was large, there were five children – four sons and a daughter.
The school I was studying in was supervised by «Pravda» publishing house. From there I went to pioneer camps. Approximately at the age of 16 I entered aeroclub…

— Did you apply yourself, or were you sent by a directive?

I did it my self. When I finished aeroclub, I was younger then 18 years old, and because of this I was not accepted to a military flight school. Later, from winter 1940, I started flying in Zheleznodorozhniy aeroclub.

— What’s your education status?

Secondary school and flight school. I finished the seventh grade. I finished evening high school later, in the army. I had junior officers education and I had to have high school finished.

— What did you study in aeroclub?

There was a program in aeroclub. Theory at first, then flight practice. We flew Po-2 with instructor, take offs-landings. Then maneuvers in the zone. Loops, all kinds of combat turns, zooms. That’s with instructor. Then instructor would allow solitary flight. A bag of sand would be placed in the rear cabin in order not to change weight balance…

— How many flights did you make before your first solo flight?

About fifteen with instructor. In the second aeroclub I flew solo on the sixth flight already.
In the beginning of 1941, in February, perhaps, instructors from Chernigov military flight school came. They examined how everyone was flying, and the best were listed as candidates.
After that my file was sent from the Voenkomat to the flight school. I came to Chernigov flight school in the beginning of April.
I passed medical commission, but at vesting commission they said:
— You are not 18 years old yet. You should go home.
I replied:
— I will be eighteen in the end of April.
— Fine, we will accept you.
And they allowed me to pass. I studied from 1941 until 1943. When the War broke out, we begun studying with increased speed, by a shortened program…
At first we studied on I-15bis and I-16. There also were I-5, but we did not fly them, only taxied and trained holding direction on take offs and landings. The fabric from the wings was torn away, so that no one would take off. It was done because we had no twin control I-15Bis.

— How did you find out about the war?

It was announced.
We started walking with rifles and gas masks. Airplanes were dragged away from the airfield to the forest. At first we knew nothing. Then we noticed an airplane at an altitude of about 1500 meters. We couldn’t see if it was ours or enemy airplane. Then something fell out of it. Somebody said:
— Are they dropping leaflets?
Suddenly those “leaflets” started wining… For increased effect on moral Germans made whistles it the bomb stabilizers. In order to make more noise. Bombs fell to the taxiway. Three men were killed, ten men were wounded.

— When approximately did it happen?

It was in June. Just as war begun, in it’s first days… Their reconnaissance airplanes flew over Chernigov even before the war. I remember how I-16 took off to intercept one, but couldn’t catch up. Junkers flew away – it had good speed.
Shortly after, we were evacuated to Rostov, where we were based at turf airfields. One squadron was at Mechotinskaya, another in Yegorlykskaya. And our squadron at station “Verblyud”, that’s Zelenograd…

— Were you evacuated with your planes?

Yes, with planes. Planes were at flat carts, we were in cargo carts, where beads were made…

— From many other schools airplanes were taken to the frontline units. Was that so in your case?

No, we always were with our planes. Near Rostov we flew a little bit, but when Germans got close again we had to evacuate for the second time. This time to Central Asia. Many schools were sent there. Some were sent to Baku, from there further to Central Asia. We were taking the long way: via Saratov and Stalingrad. We were going at winter 1941–1942 and it took a long time. Via Kazakhstan and Tashkent we came to Kyzyl-Arvat, that’s Turkmenia. No other schools were nearby.
Main squadron stayed in Kyzyl-Arvat and so was all school staff. Other squadrons were spread out in the field bases. We flew a lot. We were trained faster by shortened program. There was a shortage in trained pilots.
I finished the flight school in 1943. Instead of supposed four years of training in took two years. Training was weak. Only piloting, in general. At first I-16. UTI-4. I almost completed full program. In 1942 we received Yaks. They were built in Saratov. I finished Yak-1 training program, again take off-landing, and zone practice.

— Your attitude towards I-15 and I-16?

Neither speed to catch the enemy, nor to escape...

— What was your attitude towards Yaks?

Of course, Yak was much more powerful then I-15 or I-16. It could be felt even on take off…

— Which plane was easier to master? What advantages I-15 and I-16 had? What about Yak-1?

I-16 was a difficult airplane. It was very strict on landing, and in the air it could always spin out of control, when one was performing aerobatics. This spin was not a maneuver, it was rather wide.
Germans were afraid to fly them. Before the war there was some agreement and our pilots tried out Messershmitts, while Germans were offered to try out I-16. They flew, and considered it to be very tricky.

— Everybody said that it easily came out of spins.

Usually it came out easy. But sometimes it was delayed. It would enter dive, and then it would come out…
Yak was easier on take offs and landings then I-16. Yak was landing before its wings got critical angle of attack. I-16 landed at critical angle of attack. If one would pull the stick just a bit more, it would fall to one side…

— When you came to the flight school, what kind of uniform did you have?

Cadets uniform… Like a soldiers uniform, only insignia and emblems indicated that we were cadets. Oh, yes, and the “birds”.

— How you were fed?

Sufficiently.

— When you moved to Rostov how you were fed there?

Not excellently, but also sufficiently. Flight crews have to be fed well, or they will loose conscience in the air. We were fed poorly in Central Asia.

— Was there entertainment in the school: concerts, movies?

In Chernigov there was a Palace of Culture, we went there to see movies. But it was on rare occasions.

— Did you know that our bombers dropped their load on Berlin in 1941?

In 1941 cadets woke up early, gathered near radio and listened to the news broadcast. Then, in August 1941 it was announced that Il-4s bombed Berlin. It was a well-accepted news. They bomb us, why we can’t bomb them?
Il-4 is more of a crow, than a plane. But they made it, and bombed Berlin. Then Germans captured Estonia, and no our aircraft could reach it.

— Did you change uniforms in Central Asia? For example, did you get panama hat?

No, they were not even available during the war. They appeared after the war.
In Central Asia we did not get high boots, just low boots with wrappings. There was some accident somewhere and a conclusion was made that a wrapping jammed controls. It was decided that it is unsafe to get inside a plane in wrappings. There was one pair of high boots for all squadron, when it was a time to fly we would get them on and fly.
Mostly we were fed by rice. There was also a “shrapnel” as we called barley. Meat was lamb and camel. Food was in short supply. Sometimes, when flights were long, we received a second breakfast - sandwiches…
In Kyzyl-Arvat we lived in barracks made of clay, we built them our selves. The roofs were made of hay…
At the Kodzh airfield we lived in summer tents, that’s near Kara-Kum desert, railway station Kodzh. There was one water well within 18 kilometers. Then it became cold, and we installed winter double-layer tents. We made heaters with a long pipe, almost around entire tent so that the exhaust was already cold. That’s how we lived…

— Did you have at least a visiting mobile movie service?

We saw movies perhaps couple of times there. But I remember an actress Shulzhenko. For the first time I saw her performance there. It was a «Concert to the Front», I think that was how it was called.

— In the area of Kyzyl-Arvat there were no airfields…

Airfields there were 10-15 kilometers in length. There, in Turkmenia, nothing was growing. It was flat cracked earth spreading for dozens of kilometers. To the right from us were mountains, there was Iran…

— Where there salt mines?

We went there to get some firewood for our kitchen. Early in the morning, before sunrize, we went to sands to find vegetation for the kitchen. Then we were flying because it was too hot to go to the desert during day time – very hot, up to 40 degrees (Celcium) in the shadow.
There was one well. Depth – fifteen meters. Water – very cold. Then we, starting from about eight o’clock, begun flying, and flew until eleven. After that all movement stopped. It was a period of day when no one was able to do anything.
Airplanes were semi-dug into the sand. We were afraid of the strong winds, which were called “afghanets”.
On Yaks training program was very brief: takeoff – landing, zone. And a bit of formation flight training.

— Route flights?

We did not fly route training, and we did not train to shoot neither in the air, nor on the ground. I believe, never before such training existed.

— During training time, how many flights did you make?

Before I got to the front? A few. They are listed in my logbook. Here: U-2, 57 hours flown. UTI-4 – 24,5…
I finished the school in March 1943. Our group graduated. My friend I and were sent to Saratov, to the ZAP. I went there for three days, once again through Kazakhstan. Airfield was in Bagai-Baranovka. There we were supposed to be trained in ZAP… But mostly we were fooling around there, because there were no airplanes. Then we were sent to Leningrad Front.

— At which rank did you finish the school?

Junior Lieutenant.

— When did you receive Lieutenant rank?

I received Lieutenant rank when I already was in 14th Regiment. After the war ended, I think.

— How pilots were chosen to be sent to Leningrad?

There was no choosing. Pilots were sent where there was shortage of them. In September 1943 I was sent to the headquarters, there I received a directive… I went through Moscow, then Kobona, from Kobona we crossed Ladoga Lake on a ship to Maryin Nos, and finally to Finlandskii railway station. In the Air Army Headquarters, located at Dvortsovaya Square I was directed to Volkhov.
I crossed Ladoga on another ship to Kobona. Then hitchhiked a truck from Kobona to the Plekhanovo airfield. There were two regiments stationed there: the 159th Regiment under command of Pokryshev (equipped with Lavochkins), and the 196th Regiment equipped with Airacobras. It was commanded by HSU Andrei Chirkov.
I was assigned to the ranks of the 196th regiment. I started conversion training on Cobra. It had a front wheel, it’s landing was a bit unusual… But first I flew a Kittyhawk, in order to get used to the instrument panel. It was not common in our aviation: feet, miles… we had to recalculate constantly in our minds. Landing characteristics were very close to Yak, and the only purpose of these flights was to get used to instrument indications.

— How would you compare Yak with Kittyhawk?

Hawk was crap in comparison with Yak… In terms of flying qualities Yak was better. But Hawk was well equipped, excellent radio, good view from the cabin. I made several flights in it. Then I flew in a dual-control fighter. Pilot-instructor was an Estonian. For some reason he couldn’t get to the fighting readiness, and his task was to train young pilots on a dual-control planes.

— Dual control Kittyhawk? Was it a field modification?

I don't know the details, but if I remember correctly, they were rebuilt by our engineers. And when engine hours were exhausted, they installed our M-105 engine.
After several flights on a double-seat fighter, instructor transferred me to the Cobra.
I familiarized myself with Airacobra, performed simulated take-off and stopped, just to feel it on take off. Then I took off, everything was fine. When you land, you shouldn’t pull the stick all the way, and it will get on the nose wheel all by it self. Visibility was good; engine was behind the pilots seat. I believe that Alison was a great engine, I remember it to this day, but airframe was way too heavy. Armament: 37 millimeter cannon shooting through spinner, two sincronized large caliber machine guns firing through the propeller, and four Colt-Brownings in the wings. When one pressed the trigger, it was a firework…

— There are rumors that Cobras was prone to spins?

I’m already coming to this.
All our planes weighted around 3 metric tons. Yak weighted a bit less. Lavochkin weighted a bit more. Cobra had a take off weight of 6 metric tons. (Take-off weight of P-39 Airacobra was about 3.5 tons – I.G.) A lot of armament, a lot of ammunition, a lot of fuel. Heavy airplane. We were stationed with Lavochkins, but especially for Cobras there was an extended runway. Because it required longer runway for a take-off. (Required runway for P-39 was about 500 meters from a grass field and less from a concrete, La-5 required runway 450 meters long with a take off distance 550 meters – IG)
By the way, division commander Matveyev once came to us:
— What’s this plane like? I’m going to try it out.
He tried to take off not on the runway, intended for Cobras, but on the one used by Lavochkins. We saw that he was rolling on the strip and rolling. The strip was almost over. I thought, that was it, he will crash. But he managed to lift off, wings were shaking, but he did take off. Gained some altitude. Landed normally, taxied to the parking area, spitted to the ground and went away without speaking to anybody.
I once was going in a commuter train to Pushkin with him, to the museum of the 275th Division, and asked him:
— How did it happen that you almost crashed in a Cobra?
— You never warned me that I had to extend flaps before take off!
Chirkov didn’t tell him, he thought that division commander would know it himself. He was a subordinate and it is not a subordinate’s business to tell his superior what to do…
Cobra easily entered any kind of spins. Both into simple and into flat spins. It also had bad landing characteristics due to the fact that it was tail-heavy. (This is very unusual comment as most accounts praise Airacobra for its excellent landing characteristics due to tricycle landing gear – IG). There were two of us, who came to train on Cobras, we already mastered take offs and landings. Then they told me:
— Now go to the zone for aerobatics. And look after your tail, Germans are close by, they can shoot you down…
So I flew, sharp turns first, then half-loop down… What’s going on? Earth is so close now? But I was flying at 3 000 meters. In a half-loop I lost 1 500 meters, Yak would loose 600 meters. What a heavy airplane, I thought.
I gained 3 000 again… Zooms, combat turns, half loops, barrel rolls… Then I flew in formation with my friend, with whom we came from the flight school – Sergeant Vladimir Pavlov. He flew very well, he was an excellent pilot. But he did not make it to combat-ready status, got killed in a Cobra.
It happened before my eyes: their pair flew from Volkhov to the airfield at an altitude of approximately 2 000 meters. Leader begun diving, dove, dove, then he pulled out very sharply. His aircraft lifted its nose and then begun falling like a leaf. Chirkov shouted over radio:
— Bail out!
We heard no reply.
— Bail out!
No reaction.
— Bail out!
Airplane fell into the bushes…

— Who was it?

Pavlov. (TsAMO: Pavlov Vladimir Ilyich born 1922, Sergeant of the 196th IAP. Was killed in P-39 accident on 2 February 1944. Burried in Plekhanovo).
He wanted to fight so much… We buried him at Plekhanovo…
Engineers for a long time were investigating the cause of the crash, their conclusion was that stabilizer mount broke on high G maneuver. Aircraft exited the dive with extremely high G load, pilot lost conscience, further on it was uncontrolled fall…
There were a lot of accidents and catastrophes on Cobras...

— People who flew and fought on Cobras have polar opinions about this plane. What is your opinion?

It was not good for fighting.

— That is, you did not like it?

I didn’t like it. But I read a book called “I fought on Cobra” recently – a lot of other pilots liked it.
But there were too many non-combat related losses on them…

— Which fuel did you use? American?

It should have worked on American B-100, which we did not have. On our B-89 engine lost power, and airplane couldn’t give all it was built for. I never flew it fuelled with B-100, and I never fought on Cobra. I only mastered it.
As I completed training I was transferred to the 14th GvIAP equipped with Yaks.

— If you already were combat ready on Cobras, why were you transferred?

This regiment did nothing at a time. Some pilots left to Novosibirsk to bring new airplanes, which came from Alaska. Those pilots that remained at Plekhanovo were doing nothing. Meanwhile, the 14th regiment suffered severe losses, and I was sent there.
I started combat missions on Yak-7TD — it was called “Tyazhelyj Duboviy” (heavy and oak-like – Oak-like is idiomatic expression characterizing such features as being slow and clumsy I.G.). It had four wing fuel tanks and was built for escorting bombers to large distances.
I finished the war on Yak-9U with M-107 engine. Its engine life was 50 hours only. There also were a lot of accidents with this airplane. At high power connecting rods would break. We lost one pilot after the war. Engine on his airplane stalled over Ezel. He decided to belly land, Yak’s nose was long, and he couldn’t see anything directly in front of him, so he hit a large stone. Pilot’s head was smashed against gunsight.
I also had to belly land it. When I was thrown around the cockpit I grabbed gunsight trying to hold on…

— When were you transferred to the 14th Regiment?

In the end of 1943 I think. In April 1944 near Gdov, at the airfield Chernevo regiment commander HSU Svitenko tested me and allowed to combat. We then flew to Narva, Tartu. Then fighting near Narva ended. In the beginning of summer 1944, we went to Karelian Isthmus. In the fights over it our regiment was completely torn to pieces.
Not only our regiment suffered losses, but the entire Division too. Serov Vladimir also perished then. (HSU (posthumorously) Senior Leitenant of the 159th IAP was killed in action on 26 June 1944).
We covered the 943rd ShAP over Karelia. Twice HSU Georgii Parshin served there. We fought alongside with him all the time.
We were based at the airfield Maisniemi. It was a large, grass airstrip. On one side sturmovicks were parked, on the other – our fighters. Every day there were fierce fights… We lost a lot of men. When we entered the battle, there were 55 planes in the regiment. When we finished fighting, hardly a squadron – 10 airplanes were airworthy. All others were lost. We suffered losses everyday… there was too much work to be done…
There is a museum of our Division in Pushkin. I was going there on a train with a General, former commander of our Division. I asked him:
— I’m sorry, General, but why did we suffer so many losses over Karelia?
Former Division commander answered:
— We did all the dirty work. That’s why we lost so many.
That’s his words. Major losses were suffered by the 159th, 14th, 196th regiments and the 29th Guards Regiment. The 191st regiment was equipped with Kittyhawks, so they flew rarely.

— Did you fly escort missions only?

No. As the General said, we did all the dirty work there. When ground fighting begun, I escorted Tu-2 bombers, reconnaissance Pe-2 were escorted by a pair. We also flew close air support…

— Wasn’t Pe-2 faster then you?

No, it couldn’t overrun us. It could outdive us. We were returning from a reconnaissance flight.
— Well, — he said, — goodbye!
Pushed the stick — and went down… We couldn’t catch up, he easily escaped in a dive.

— Were there cases when Yaks wing skin was torn in flight?

I heard about such cases in the flight school, but not in the combat regiment.
In my opinion, and I participated in 25 fights, best fighter of WWII was Me-109G2.
Our planes were called Russfaner by Germans. Yaks were built out of wood. Only when Yak-3 appeared we got an upper hand over Messer. Otherwise Germans were always higher then we were because of more powerful engine. And if they were higher, they were faster.

— Could they be above you only because you were given precise tasks with predefined altitudes?

Yes, this too, but we always were at the limit. Even if you banked too much airplane would loose altitude. They would come in higher then we could fly, and hit us out of there.

— When you came to the 14th Regiment, how you were met?

Normally. HSU Svitenko was the Regiment commander.
— Well, let me test you in the air in a dual-control fighter.
He tested me, and made a note in my logbook – «Flights to the combat missions allowed».

— You are a Tatar by nationality. Were there cases of racial intolerance?

Never.

— You were one of the youngest pilots in the regiment?

Speaking of young pilots. I’ll describe my first combat mission. Squadron commander HSU Zelenov and flight commander Vasiliy Derevyankin took two of us, to show where was what.
We were stationed near Gdov, airfield Chernevo. We took off:
— Look here, there is one airfield, there is another one. Now we are going to the front line, to Narva.
We gained 3 000 meters, and went to Narva. We saw explosions on the ground… Most important for youngster is to keep on the tail of the leader…

— Who was your leader?

Vasiliy Derevyankin. (Leitenant Derevyankin Vasiliy Dmitrievich was shot down in aerial combat in Vussami area on 10 October 1944).
Second youngster was Gordeev, his leader was Zelenov.
We were going back at an altitude of 3000 meters. Suddenly, a radio message came from the ground:
— Go to Gdov! Gdov is being bombed!
Zelenov replied:
— I’ve got two young ones in the flight.
— I order to go to Gdov!
There were a lot of planes over Gdov, Ju-87s, FW-190s… The city was burning. I remember how Vasiliy was shooting… Then I noticed a pair of Fokkers on my tail. I begun tight turn, they followed me, but Yak had a much tighter turn radius… We were chasing each others tails over Chudskoye Lake. I almost caught enemy wingman, but his leader saw it, turned over wing and they escaped.
I noticed the direction they went to, and decided that I should fly in opposite direction. You know, I simply forgot to look at the compass. I flew from the middle of the lake, it seemed that aircraft was not moving at all. Then I noticed a Yak ahead. I flew after him, while he tried to outrun me. It was known that Germans flew Yaks and shot our unsuspecting pilots down.
Anyway, I caught him and made formation. So he led me to Chernevo airfield. We landed, taxied to the full stop. I asked:
— Where is Gordeev?
— He’s over there, in a forest.
It turned out that he was shot down, all cooling liquid had vaporized, so he tried to return to the airfield. He was trying to land his plane, when an engine stalled over pine forest… aircraft suddenly lost altitude, caught pine trees tops and fell to the Ground. But Gordeev stayed alive!
That was my first mission at the front. Then everything seemed as usual…

— Zelenov once was court martialled for loosing 6 Pe-2s on escort mission. Do you know what happened exactly?

No, I know nothing about it. I know that he was sent to our 14th Regiment as a penalty.
Pilots used to say about our regiment that it was a penal regiment. If somebody did something wrong, he was sent to the 14th GvIAP for “rehab”… There were different pilots. Some of the Heroes wanted to stay alive too much…

— Have you heard anything about penal squadrons or regiments?

There was nothing close to infantry. There were no true penal units in aviation. If a pilot did something extra serious, he would be sent to infantry to a penal unit.

— What can you say about Zelenov?

He flew a lot of missions, but he became too cautious in the end of the war. What I heard about him and felt it myself: he wasn’t too keen on entering a fight, and he didn’t care about his wingmen… wingman is a shield of the leader, he covers the leader. Any shield is the first to receive a strike. Zelenov lost many of his wingmen.

— You flew your first mission with Zelenov. Who was your next leader?

Then – with many different pilots… But mostly with Maxim Glasunov. After the war he worked at LII (Flight research institute) – test-flew new Yak-25 in Saratov. He was a good pilot. I flew a lot with him. I flew a lot with other pilots too. If somebody would loose their wingman, I would be appointed to his pair.
In 1944 we experienced heavy losses. Regiment commander should take off and check, what was wrong, why losses were mounting… But regiment commander did not fly. It’s not good, people keep dying. He was a HSU, but he must have decided for himself that he had flown too much, enough is enough. Maybe he was right – they got their share of fighting.
In 1944 our flight of six had escorted Marshall Govorov to Moscow. We took off from airfield in Karelia. He was flying on board of Li-2, and we escorted him to Moscow. He went there to receive his Marshal’s Star. He received his star, we spent a night in Moscow, and then we escorted him back.

— You were still flying Yak-7TD?

Yes, Yak-7TD — this same heavy-oak-like…
On Yak-7TD and Yak-7T there was a 37mm cannon and two large caliber machine guns. That was their basic armament.
Aviation plant in Novosibirsk at first built Yak-1s (Yak-1 was built only in Saratov and not in Novosibirsk – IG), then they begun building Yak-7. Some of them were equipped with 37 mm cannons. Yak-9s also came with 37 mm cannons, for example Yak-9U with a VK-107 engine.

— Was there any visual difference to tell that this Yak was equipped with 37 mm cannon?

They were almost identical in appearance, but you could tell it: in a Yak-9U there was a radiator on the belly behind pilots seat. Yak-7 had a beard – oil radiator under the engine…

— We stopped when Germans were chasing you over Chudskoye Lake…

You mean, I was chasing them.

— You chased them. What happened after that fight?

Then we were liberating Estonia…

— Did anything interesting happen there?

When we were based at Chernevo airfield on 14 May 1944, squadron commander Ivan Baranov had made a head-on ram.
This is how it happened. Ju-88, covered by Fw-190s came to bomb our airfield. There were about 25 Junkers bombers and 12 FW-190.
Only one flight managed to take off when bombs begun falling, and fighting ensued. We, those who did not take off, were looking from the ground. Focke-Wulf was going down in a shallow dive. Our Ivan Baranov was gaining altitude. They were shooting at each other, no one willing to turn away. They collided head-on at an altitude of 100-150 meters…
It was horrible. There was a huge explosion! Our Yak burned out almost completely. The nose part of Focke-Wulf was totally destroyed and he fell into the forest just outside of the airfield boundaries (According to German records Uffz. Heinz Buschan of 6.II.JG54 flying Fw190A-5/F3 was killed on 14.05.44 while colliding with Yak-9. Had previouselly claimed only one Il-2 as shot down on 28.04.1944).

— How often did Germans attack head-on?

It depended on many factors. Some times it happened in a fight. We came in at almost 0, firing at each other, but somebody would turn away – no one wanted to die. It was much better to cut enemy’s tail in terms of rams…

— What do you know about pilot Bibin head on ram.

Yes, Georgiy Bibin. I do not know when he carried out this ram. He came to our regiment when the war ended, we were stationed at Hapsala in Estonia. He told us how it happened.
At the last moment he pulled the stick. Usually it is bad, because then you open the belly of an airplane, and it becomes a good target. Because of this usually you try to push the stick forward, just not to let the enemy see your belly…
He told us:
— I pulled the stick just a little bit, then there was a noise, engine begun shaking. Then it stalled…
He used to be an instructor pilot, very good pilot. Airfield was close to the front line, so he managed to glide from an altitude of 6 000 meters. He landed normally, technicians found bits and pieces of a German fighter in a water radiator… I do not know where he fought. Some where in Ukraine… For head-on ram he was awarded an Order of Red Banner. Georgiy had passed away already…

— What were your thoughts about ramming?

It is highly risky business, you may die yourself, but your enemy may survive. If you are in a dogfight against fighters, there is no true reason for ramming. If you are attacking a bomber, then you may come from below behind and cut his tail by propeller. Without tail control he will fall. If you have no ammo but this bird has to be shot down, you may ram him. But you should do it carefully, to stay alive yourself…

— How many missions did you fly per day?

At Karelia: five, six, even seven. We took off at sunrise and landed at sunset.

— How much time technicians required to prepare airplane for next sortie?

They worked fast. I did not note, but about twenty minutes, refueled, reloaded, and it was ready.

pt 2

— Were pilots satisfied by technicians work?

Yes, they worked excellently.

— Were there cases when they did not do everything right?

No, it would be a case for court martial. With an outcome in a penal unit. No, everything was fine… By the end of the war, in winter, they all had frostbitten fingers…

— In your logbook there are notes: «Me-109 shot down, FW-190 shot up». What is the difference between Shot down and Shot up?

If Shot down – it means that there was a confirmation from ground forces. If I know where and when it fell, a representative officer from our regiment would go there and collect confirmation from the ground troops in this area. Then everything was clear…

— Was there a need to attach wrecks to a report, or was a report itself enough?

Only a document was brought to the regiment… About “shot up”: it happened like this. We flew escort for Sturmoviks. I noticed that a 190 flew past me.
I fired at him from all guns. There was a thick black smoke. No flames, just smoke. “Humpbacks” saw it all. But it did not fall right here, it went in a shallow descent with a trail of smoke. We went on at our target, so no one could say what happened to it…

— Because of this it was recorded as “shot up”?

Yes, shot up.

— Were you payed for a messer that you shot down?

Yes. A fighter cost 1 000 roubles, a bomber was 1 500. I also received a payment for 50 accomplished missions.

— How many mission did you fly?

I flew 85 missions.

— What was considered a combat mission?

A combat mission was when you had a mission to accomplish, even if there was no fight. Dogfights were accounted for separately.

— Were you paid for Focke-Wulf?

It did not fall.

— How did you shot «109» down?

It was a very bad weather. Cloud cover was at approximately 600 meters. We were flying close air support over the front line near Vyborg. There were four of us.
Messers also came in a flight of four. They flew in and out of clouds. Germans were cunning, they were looking for convenient position. When he saw that he could kill you without any risk, be sure that he will do so.
Then I saw – one got out of cloud and is heading almost straight at me. Right into my gunsight! I just pressed triggers and fired all my guns at him... I even thought that we are going to collide. But everything was quiet. Then somebody said over radio:
— Look, Your Messer is going straight down in flames.
That’s how I shot it down.

— In 1944 there shouldn’t have been Germans on “109”s in Karelia. Most likely those were Finns?

No, Germans. At spring 1944 we fought at Narva. At summer we commenced fighting to liberate Karelian isthmus. Here we met those same Germans we fought near Narva. Those same Germans on those same Fokkers and Messers. They flew over the Gulf of Finland to the bases in Finland.

— Did you meet Finns in combat?

Yes. But they did not have Messers. They had Brewsters and some other Fokkers, not 190s. They were no match to our planes.
At first, when we only begun fighting for Karelia, we saw them, then, quite soon, they stopped flying completely. They were very slow, like our planes at the beginning of the war.

— Brewster was quite close to Yak-1.

No, Yak was much better.

— Could you have told by flying signature was it a Finn or a German in the air? Finns had Messers at their disposal.

Finns had their markings: white circle and fashist swastika inside. But we never saw them. We met Germans with black crosses, yellow wingtips, yellow spinner, a bit of the tail was also yellow. Our Yaks had white spinner and tail.

— You mean rudder?

Yes, it was done to easily recognize friend or foe. At large distance silhouettes were similar…

— What was the meaning of camouflage if these yellow bits were clearly visible?

They were no so big. Yellow parts at the wingtips were about 10-15 centimeters in width, and yellow spinner. It had almost no effect on the camouflage.

— Did camouflage work at all?

Of course. It worked against ground. Which one was better: ours or German? I can’t really say.

— Germans had Gray-Dark gray camouflage by the end of war?

Yes, we had Green-Dark green. (By the end of the war Soviet fighter planes had grey – dark grey camouflage and green – black camo was standard prior mid-1943 – IG). Camouflage was needed to hide against earth. If you look upwards you will see airplane in any camouflage. It does not help…

— A lot of our pilots believed that ammo load was not enough on Yaks?

It was enough for a usual dogfight. There were 30 rounds for 37 mm cannon. Can’t say about machine guns.

— At which altitudes did you usually fly?

Combat air patrol at 5 000 meters usually. At this altitude we could fly and fight. Above it M-105 engine lost power dramatically.

— Did you use oxygen mask at 5 000 meters?

No, not yet. No one used them. We took a mouthpiece, sucked it and that was all. Oxygen mask did not allow for a good situational awareness. Situational awareness is everything… If I saw the enemy, I already had 50% chances to win the fight… You have to twist head all the time…

— Did you fly with open or closed canopy?

With closed. If you open it, you will lose a bit of speed… Some flew with open. For example Dubovik, Deputy Regiment commander. When we flew close air support, we often saw that his canopy was almost always open. It was not completely transparent, so the view was a bit obscured.

— Was there an armored glass?

Armored glass was in the front. Behind us was an armored metal plate, about shoulder high, and the rest was armored glass, for viewing of what was happening behind. Our first Yaks were produced with full metal armored headrest. Then it was decided that glass was needed. But the view at long distances was still bad – armored glass was sandwich-like, so visibility was distorted.

— Was there a rear view mirror?

We had them on Spitfires, not on Yaks.

— You flew against Messerschmitts and Focke-Wulfs, other pilots also recall that Messer was a better fighter.

Yes. But it would be more correct to compare Focke-Wulf with Lavochkins. They both have air cooled engine.

— But our pilots always recall that Messerschmitts were much better then Fokkers. They say that Focke-Wulf was nothing but rather average fighter… Germans, on the other hand consider Messerschmits as an obsolete construction.

But they improved it all the time.

— But it was getting heavier with every modification and lost it’s handling characteristics.

Messerschmitt was much more maneuverable. If it, for example, went upwards, it would escape. Focke-Wulf was heavy. It even had a turn radius larger then Messer.
The only serious advantage Fokker had over Messer was the amount of guns. That is, if it hit – it’s a kill. Messer had only three guns. But… If you are at the tail and shoot from 200 meter, there is no need in so many guns. Cobras had 7 guns, and that was thought to be too much. Our pilots asked to remove the wing guns…

— We broke the Karelian defense line, captured Vyborg…

Then we went to liberate Estonia. To the airfield Krikovo near Kingisepp. We were stationed there with Humpbacks, from there we flew to Narva. Then there was airfield Smuravievo. From there we also flew to Tartu and Narva. Then we were based near Hapsala – airfield Ungru. Quite commonly we were based with sturmoviks. It was very convenient to be based alongside, we always had a chance to listen to complaints, to decide how we are going to interact in the next mission. We took off and landed together, there was no need to wait for each other. Tactically it was very convenient. When we came back we met the sturmovik pilots in the canteen.

— Were there complaints that fighters abandoned the sturmoviks in flight…

We escorted sturmoviks all the time, and there were no complaints. How can I leave them, if we live together, and even eat together? Abandon sturmoviks? For that you would be court martialled.

— But, you must have heard about such cases… Zelenov was sent to you…

Anything could happen. It was war. We could have shot down many planes, Germans could shoot down many of our planes. This is war and how situation will turn – who knows?

— Have you seen how sturmoviks were shot down?

Not a single one fell before my eyes. I was returning to the base with serious battle damage and a humpback was also returning with damage. I formed up with him, and we returned together…

— How were you shot up?

We were flying with twice HSU Parshin. He flew the lead of a nine sturmovik formation. Our four fighters were escorting them. When they were flying back they usually flew at tree top level, so they would be protected from below. We flew a bit above and behind. This time we flew right over Oerlicon position. That’s small caliber AA guns. We got in such a melee! It was like in the mid of a firework, they shot at us, and there was nowhere to maneuver. Tracers everywhere… They got me. My plane turned on its back and I half-rolled back, and saw a hole in the wing. They tried to finish me off…

— How large was the hole?

I easily went through it myself. Almost all of the center of the wing was knocked out. It was a little bit to the side from the fuel tank. If they would have hit it, my plane would have blown up…
Aircraft flew sideways… They tried to shoot me down, but they did not hit me…
I came back, taxied to the parking space. I came to the earth through the hole in the wing. Well, I thought, it seems I’ll have some rest from fighting. In the morning I came to the airfield – my plane is waiting for me fully repaired. Technicians worked all night. I couldn’t even find where the hole was! As if nothing happened.

— You showed us a detonator from a shell or from a large-caliber bullet…

A Fokker hit me, this time at the beginning of fighting for Karelia. We flew escort for sturmoviks. They did their job and we were returning. Sturmoviks over tree tops, I was flying behind and above. Everything was quiet, nothing looked like trouble... Then, suddenly, fireballs appeared at the side of my cockpit. I automatically gave foot in… When I looked around, there was no one... Well, I missed them. Fokkers attacked me from the sun. I got relaxed, and they caught me off guard…
Engine was working, airplane flies, but there was severe smell of fuel…
They damaged the stabilizer, fuselage and wing. I noticed that a hole was close to the flaps.
I thought that if I will extend damaged flaps, I could roll over, and have no time to recover…
So I extended them at an altitude of 600 meters. Everything was normal, so I landed safely... Landed, taxied to the parking.
The detonator was near the fuel tank. Technician found it later and gave it to me as a present.
We were going to sleep that night. I took off my high boots – they were just issued to me, brand new. Small shell fragments pierced my wraps so it reminded laces. My foot was fine, not even a scratch! I looked attentivley and found small holes in the boot. I was still wearing it after this.

— What did you see when you missed the attack?

Red fireballs flew past cockpit side. And four smoke trails after them…

— That is, tracers helped enemy to aim and at the same time it warned you about attack. If you did not notice it they could have performed second run on you?

Germans usually attacked only once. From about 400 meters. It is almost impossible to hit anything from larger distances. From closer distance it is also dangerous – what if enemy plane would start to disintegrate. But I never actually saw how planes disintegrate; they usually went down on fire.

— Was Yaks armament of 37mm cannon and two machine guns enough?

Usually only first three-four shells would hit a target, then you saw nothing.

— At what distance would you train your weapons?

At 400 meters.

— Did you have armor-piercing rounds?

The belt was armed as following: armor-piercing, high-explosive, high-explosive-incendiary, and tracer. Tracer always, so you could correct your aim… Same as for American planes.

— A lot in a fight depends on luck… According to this: did you have any superstitions?

I had no superstitions.

— How about your regiment? May be pilots did not shave or get photographed before taking off?

Everything was a lot simpler — there was no staff photographer. You could make a photo when there was nothing to do. About shaving – nothing special…
But there was something... Yes! There was no number “13” plane! “12”, and right after it “14”…

— Were there slogans or paintings on the fuselage sides?

There were people who liked to paint. But it was done usually after the war. There was no time to do it at the front.
I remember, when I flew Cobra there was an order of Alexander Nevskii drawn on its door.

— Did you see any “nose art” on enemy planes?

I saw a heart pierced by an arrow with blood drops on a Messer. And a word KAPUT. I saw it after the war on a trophy plane at the airfield near Saratov. (Description matches Karaja aircraft)

— Did you know anything about German aces?

54th Geschwader commander was Hauptmann Fillipp. He was an ace, and Germans treasured him a lot…

— Did you fight in Estonia for a long time?

When we liberated Estonia we transferred to an airfield near Hapsala. I made my last sortie to island Ezel from there. The island was almost completely liberated, but there was a small appendix occupied by Germans. We escorted sturmoviks there. We could see Libava from there, and ships in the port. I wanted to take a look at the port, as long as sturmoviks were doing their job, and everything was calm. I turned towards those ships. Well, I was fired upon from all weapons! I immideatley rolled over and dove away. They decided that I was going to attack the ships, and their AAA opened fire from all ships…
There all our fighting was over. We were sitting in Hapsala and tried to intercept enemy reconnaissance airplanes.

— Were there a lot of reconnaissance planes?

They overflew us maybe 2 times. No one really even tried to intercept, since they were too far, too high and too fast. There was no sense in chasing them.

— Did you fire at ground targets?

We never flew to strafe, our task was to cover sturmoviks. But if everything was clear… I chose targets at will. I once saw a house and strafed it with 37 mm cannon. I clearly saw how my tracers disappeared in the roof…
There was one case.
We went to escort sturmoviks to the frontline. They strafed more or less normally. And then some wise guy from the ground radioed that everything was quiet in the air and we should descend and take part in strafing. There were a lot of sturmoviks, and then we dove… It was a mess — about 40 airplanes overall. Two our fighters collided. Gordeev and Klepikov. There were so many planes in the air, that we had to look after each other trying to avoid collision. They both died. (According to TsAMO on 28 June1944 airplanes of Junior Leitenant Klepikov Aleksey Ivanovich and Sergeant Gordeev Sergey Petrovich collided in midair over the target in Vyborg area).

— Did you end the war in Estonia?

Yes, our war ended in Estonia. Later I was sent here to protect Leningrad sky in Spitfires. I was transferred in it in 1947.

— When it became clear that Leningrad will not fall?

They lived through blockade, a Road of Life appeared. Then they captured a piece of territory and arranged train communication.
But everything was still blocked. Starvation. Pilots were also poorly fed. But they have to be fed well, or they will loose conscience in the air…
Technicians did not get enough food. I used to take extra piece of bread for my technician; I knew that they were in bad condition.
When we fought in Karelia, it was almost normal. Blockade was lifted. We had rice, technicians had barley and millet.
I was fed up with rice and asked:
— Give me «technical» millet.

— You were at the Volkhov Front, how you were fed there?

There it was normal.
I'll tell you one more story. When we were in the Volkhov area, at Plekhanovo airfield, all of a sudden Division on Li-2 commanded by Grizodubova arrived. Li-2 was an excellent night bomber. They were conducting raids on Tallin and Helsinki. Usually they were flying at night. We came to the canteen in the morning and they all are sitting there. We have no room to eat. Than we saw one of their crews are almost crying, they were drunk. We asked what happened.
They flew to Helsinki. They took 4 bombs externally under the belly and small bombs inside the fuselage. So they reached the target and their navigator issued a command to drop bombs. They opened a door and started to drop small bombs. At this time Messershmitt 110 got on their tail, turned his lights on and started to attack. Of course, the pilot of Li-2 initiated evasive maneuver. And mechanic with bombs and without a parachute fell in the open door. Parachute was bulky and interfered with operations when dropping bombs, so when they dropped them they took the chute off.
So they where were grieving about their mechanic.

— What do you think about our and German strike aircraft, which were better?

Our sturmoviks were more effective. We used to say: they worked so much, that they got a hump. Sturmovik pilots were very serious people. But they suffered a lot of losses. Ju-87 was a close support bomber, but it was not even a close match for Il-2.

— Your opinion of bomber aviation?

German was more effective. Their most common bomber was Ju-88. It was a tactical bomber.

— Did fighters shoot down their own aircraft?

I know that Germans were flying our Yaks and I know that ours were flying Messers. I learned about it after I attempted to fly next to our Yak over Chudskoe Lake in order for him to lead me home. And he was scared of me. Cases that one of us in our own regiment will shoot down somebody of our own – no, that did not happen.

— Did strafing by fighters require formal orders in writing?

No, that was done on our own initiative. We helped. Sturmoviks are strafing, all is calm in the air. And then what? Would I bring my ammunition home? Why did I fly?

— Well, you look and there is no enemy. When you go for strafing and here they are, falling on you...

Than we will fight, what else can you do?

— And if you have no ammo, if you expanded all in strafing?

Well, it’s a risk because it is war. Otherwise I will bring all my ammunition back home. I'd better expand it on the ground targets. I can see them.

— How did you learned that the war is over?

We went after new Yaks to Kharkov. We were loaded in Li-2. We came there, and suddenly somebody announced:
— The war has ended!
Everybody opened fire…

— You ended fighting in Estonia. It was the end of 1944. Did you feel bad that people are still fighting and you are sitting in the rear, that you were not going to storm Berlin?

It was no difference, somebody was fighting, but not everybody could be there.

— Did you fly after new planes often?

No, others flew. Ivan Sclyarenko flew to Moscow. He told us that planes were at the Central airfield, right in the town, next to the Dinamo stadium. There, in the canteen he saw how Pokryshkin and Kozhedub were shouting at each other. Kozhedub said:
— All aircraft that I shot down are on the ground, you can count them with no problem. All yours – in the water. Go find them!
I later flew airplanes to Kharkov, we brought planes from there when the war was over.

— Right after the war ended there were a lot of accidents and catastrophes. A lot of planes were destroyed, famous HSUs were killed…

We begun training for a flights in complex weather conditions then. A lot of pilots got killed in such flights. Second wave begun when we started utilizing jet planes. At that time I already flew a transport plane and had to bring coffins to their home towns. Those days it was common to bring perished pilots to their relatives.
A lot of pilots got killed in MiG-15 — engines stalled, spin characteristics were bad… My former wingman got killed in a spin in MiG-15…

— In 1947 you received Spitfires. What can you say about it?

Excellent airplane. There were different versions. There were removable wingtips. If you need to go to a higher altitude a wingtip could be added, it would add about 1.5 m to wing span. We flew mostly with these wingtips – high altitude variant. And if you need to fly for manevering, then the wingtips were removed.
Then wings would look like cut.

— What kind of fuel was used?

Engine Merlin 66, but we flew on our fuel, and it did not give best results. The seat belts were of great construction… If you sit normally, they would follow you, but if you moved sharply they would hold you in place. Like in modern cars.

— Did you use seat belts when you flew Yaks?

Mostly waist belts. I did not use shoulder belts because they limited movement. Of course the risk in case of belly landing increased, but we never thought about it. Most important was that you had to see everything.

— Where was the visibility better: in Yak or in Spitfire?

About the same.

— How Spitfires were painted?

Same as Yaks…

— Did you use drop tanks on Spitfire?

Never seen them.

— What about armament in the wings being further from the center line? Was it a problem?

No, our Spitfire IXs had either 4 cannons or 2 cannons and 4 machineguns. I flew and fired at the cone target. (Spitfire LF.IXE had 2 cannons and 2 .50 machine guns – IG)

— Many pilots recall that they had a problem with propeller pitch regulator when they flew Yak…

Yak had an automatic propeller pitch regulator. If I remember correctly ARV-41 or 44…

— What about Spitfire?

There you could do it both manually and automatically.

— Spitfire had rather narrow wheel base. Did you encounter problems during take-off or landing at side wind?

Of course at strong side wind direction of take-off and landing would change, otherwise one can brake an airplane.

— You flew Spitfires. What was next?

Then a special squadron was formed to train antiaircraft gunners. I was flying at the range as a target.

— Did they really shoot at you?

Well, no. Firing was organized as follows. They aimed at me but the barrels of their guns were turned sideways 45 degrees. Therefore, explosions were on the side. But the quality of aiming could be judged based on the location of these explosions. They would ask: « How do you see an explosion?» I reply: « Saw explosions at my altitude, all is normal». I flew a lot because as one unit will complete their shooting another one will start it over again.
Once I flew to the range and was flying over it again and again. I got bored, and decided to descend rapidly. I turned and went in a dive. I had some nasal congestion. My ears were hurt during the dive. I was swallowing and shouting to clear them up as usual, but it did not help. My ears started to bleed. I ended up in a hospital. I spent almost a month there. My ear failed. I lost hearing on that ear completely. On medical exam they told me:
- You hear nothing, what kind of a fighter are you?
I went to Moscow, to specialized hospital. There I was transferred to transport aviation. I was flying as ship commander on Li-2 and later on Il-14. There were various special assignments. I was flying all over the country. I even delivered C-47 to Krasnovodsk. They brought all obsolete airplanes there, put them on autopilot and shot at them air-to air missiles from fighters.

— Where you offended that you, a fighter pilot, became a hauler?

And whom to be offended at? At myself, at my own health? And I enjoyed transport aviation. A fighter pilot is like a circus performer. They turn around, all this aerobatics and that is all. I liked transport aviation. You engage autopilot and go. I flew at various weather. I liked to fly in clouds and between them. It was interesting. Down there it was totally dark but as you get to the altitude, here is the sun and you fly and enjoy all this beauty.
In the Far East I flew over Kuril islands, Kamchataka, Sakhalin, and Chukotka..

— Which of the transport planes did you like the most?

Of course Il-14. It was not afraid of side winds. It had a tricycle gear and at take-off you practically do not feel wind. With Li-2 it was like a sale and wind influenced it trying to spin you. Il-14 had more powerful engines. It’s a pity I did not have a chance to fly turboprops. I was decomissioned for health reasons.

— What did you do later?

I completed my service in Khabarovsk, came here to Leningrad and became an apprentice for repair of photo and camera equipment. I liked it, and I still like to tweak cameras and lenses.

Porfiriy Borisovich Ovsyannikov

The formula of battle is simple:
You should see the enemy first;
Altitude is the guarantor of victory;
Plus speed and steel nerves.

De facto I was born on 29 February 1924, but de jure on 1 March 1924, in a remote settlement in the center of Russia, in Kursk oblast. The name of the village was Ovsyannikovo, and accordingly my family name is Ovsyannikov. I was a hereditary peasant; my father became a carpenter and a laborer, and my mother was a kolkhoz worker.

How did you get into aviation?

It was simple in our Soviet time—club members worked for free. I considered aviation to be the “profession of the elites.” We ran behind the pilots with open mouths, believing that this profession was incomprehensible.
It was in September 1940, at the beginning of the school year; I recall it like it was yesterday. The 15th of September was such a good day, with light clouds. I was in 10th grade at the time. The school was 5 kilometers from my house, in a former monastery—the [monastic] cells were made over into classrooms. It had an enormous garden, an apple orchard. We had one long break a day—20 minutes. We were running round the garden. Suddenly an aircraft appeared overhead—a U-2, flying so low we could see the pilot. We looked—the airplane was turning around. It made only one circuit and then the bell rang. Like a disciplined student, I ran back to class. The late-comers ran in and announced: “The airplane landed! In the field, close by.”
We were in literature class and whispered back and forth. When 15 minutes remained to the end of the lesson, the door suddenly opened and Fedor Yakovlevich Senkevich—the school principal—walked in. He was a tall man, and with him was the pilot, a man of average height. He was wearing a raglan jacket and carrying a mapcase. He removed his helmet, no earphones, just a helmet, with goggles.
Of course, we greeted him: Zdras’te! [Good day]
He asked: “How are things with you? What are you doing for your lesson?”
The teacher responded: “Now we are reviewing previous reading assignments and checking how well it was mastered.”
He replied: “Then I will take up your time to the end of the lesson. Is that alright?”
“Yes, yes, please do.”
This is when I saw the pilot for the first time. The director declared, “Kids!” (He always referred to us as “kids.”) A pilot from the Kursk aero club has flown to us. He wants to converse with you.”
The pilot gave a brief evaluation of the international situation—the war. It was 1940 and the war was already underway. The Germans were fighting in France, the Maginot line, and so on. Speaking briefly, he said that a supplementary call-up had been declared in Kursk, and they were bringing in boys. Then some of our girls raised their hands:
“What about girls?”
He replied: “Ladies! The government has forbidden the selection of young girls. Before this we had [female] pilots. Young girls were trained. But the government has issued a regulation that this is not women’s business. There are other clubs—radio, parachute class... Help yourselves!”
They grew quiet. The lesson ended and debates began. We had 15 young boys and 15 girls. All the boys gathered: “Well, how about it! Should we go? Let’s go!”
Only two did not go. One of them was our idol. His name was Valka Tutov. He was tall, well-proportioned, and the best student among us. He could make a complete revolution around the horizontal bar, and we still hung like sausages. Overall, he was a strong, developed young man. He said:
“Guys, the medical commission will not accept me. I can’t see out of one eye.”
The second guy was, well, not too bright. You might even say he was retarded.
At the established time, we all raced into town. Only two of our group made it through the medical screening. The remainder, including me, were “thrown overboard.” The surgeon probed me and said: “What is this you have—a left-side abdominal hernia!”
Well, that was all for me.
He said: “I advise you, young man, to go to the polyclinic and get a consultation for the hospital.1 Let them do a relatively simple operation on you. After that, we will look at you again.”
Our village was very religious; so were my mother and father, especially my mother. But she was also quite illiterate—she could neither read nor write. They had suggested to her before that I have an operation. But my mother responded:
“Cut on him? No way!”
Now I went to her and said: “Mama, I am going to the hospital, and they will do the operation!”
She protested, but I went anyway. They did the operation. I went back to school in about two weeks. It was late fall by now. My schoolmates who had been selected for the aero club in early November got their head gear somewhere, and showed them off. Well, we were around 17 years old then. They called themselves pilots.

You said that your village was religious. How did they regard Soviet authority in the village? And how did Soviet authority relate to the “believers”?

The village was Old Believers.2 As they used to go to prayers before the revolution, they kept going after. We did not have a church in the village, rather a prayer house. How did the people relate to Soviet authority? I could talk for a long time on this theme. Briefly—we lived the same way as we used to. Kolkhozes were formed. Peasants hardly wanted to go at first, later they “tried it out.” Nobody complained much; they got used to it. And as before, they crossed themselves and prayed.

So, in the larger sense, Soviet authority did not interfere with your lives?

No. Absolutely not.

Was there a party organization? A Komsomol organization?3

Not in the village. There was one in the school. I was an Oktyabrenok [pre-Pioneer]. On holidays, I participated in the religious processions; when I returned, the other boys teased me. But I was terribly religious, and could not argue with them.
But in all, we were happy and lived an interesting life. From my childhood, as long as I can remember, I participated in religious services and performed my duties for all the holidays. We were brought up with our own idiosyncrasies. For example, the railroad track was 5 kilometers away, and we could hear the whistle of the steam locomotives. Well, they preached that when the locomotive whistled, we had to cross ourselves. And we did. Locomotives were considered as anti-Christ manifestations. Airplanes were beginning to fly — an airplane flew over our village, a passenger airplane. It was flying, I think, from Kharkov northward to Moscow. In one of the sermons, I heard them say:
“It is written in the Bible — iron birds will appear in the sky. The noise they will produce will be the anti-Christ, the voice of the devil.”
And further: “You should not look at them; close your ears and cross yourself.”
This is how we lived.

Meanwhile, an airplane landed at your school?

This happened later. When I went to school, I already had begun to break away. What was the cross about? I had begun to argue with my mother.
“I do not believe in God!”
Of course, she was distressed by this.
But we digress. The young men who had joined the aero club came to the school and said to me:
“They have declared a supplementary selection. Do you want to join?”
“Yes, I do!”
So I went to the doctor again.
“What’s this you have?”
“A scar.”
“What did they remove?”
“Remove” was not exactly the right term—they “took in.” Well, in general he understood. Perhaps it was the pre-war situation and the requirements had been lowered. But in the end, he gave me a satisfactory evaluation.
So we began to go to the aero club, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. As soon as lessons ended, we went from the school into town. Exercises began there at 1800 and lasted three hours. We returned home sometime around midnight. It was 10 kilometers to the town, but we were young.

Tell us what kind of equipment you had in the classes.

Nothing special. Well, of course we had posters and cutaway engines. We studied aircraft and aerodynamics, meteorological issues. Everything was laid out for us in an easy manner. I remember it all to this day. Our instructors must take credit for that. Our first flight was in May, with an instructor, of course. By the way, I had a female instructor. She was the wife of the flight commander—Yelena Karayskaya. She was pretty. My instructor had, I think, 10 or 12 students. So, we flew for the first time. I glanced down and there... I was accustomed to a single stream near the village, and I saw many streams! Well, I had no idea where I was, but overall I liked it. The credentials committee came to us, and everyone passed it: none of us were from a kulak background—we were all peasants.4 We made our flights very early, at 0600. We made four flights in a day, no more.

Did they take you out of class on flight days?

From lessons? No. Examinations had already begun at school. We flew from 0600 to 0900. After 0900, as a rule, they released us and we walked to school. They greeted us with the words:
“The pilots have arrived!”
Our flight program was extended. When demonstration flights began, it was possible to be out for a day. During the first flights, we observed the pilot and did not touch the controls. We also flew on Saturday, Sunday, or days off.
One time my father came home on a Sunday. He worked as a foreman or team leader; he was building something somewhere. Well, now they call them handymen. My father was one of the first in the village to buy a battery-operated radio. He had only a fourth-grade parochial school education. He began to teach me church-Slavonic. We had a Bible at home.
I remember to this day, “Az, buki, vedi...”[the first three letters of the church-Slavonic alphabet].
It was Sunday, and we were still lying in bed. Mother awakened us from the kitchen: “Get up! It’s time to eat!”
It was already 10:00, I think. Father turned on the radio. Some kind of music was playing, over and over, and then they announced, “All radio stations of the Soviet Union are working!” This was the sign-on announcement.
Then Vyacheslav Molotov began speaking, and he declared, “Early this morning, the German Army violated the border... They bombed our cities.” He listed them: “Odessa, Kiev, and Minsk.”
Father listened, then he cried out, “Mother, trouble! Mother, trouble! War!”
Mother wailed, cried, and ran outside. The sun was already high. Everyone in our village learned that the war had begun from us.

Had you finished school by this time?

No, both the aero club and school continued to function. One day, some I-16s landed at our aero club airfield. On the other side of the town, in the south, was a large airfield with a concrete runway. Some SBs were stationed there. Why didn’t they land there? I don’t know. Two of I-16s broke their gear during the landing, I think. They came from Chernigov. Some Messerschmitts harassed them in the air. The war was on, and we were training. Back in June, before the war I think, I took off on my sixth flight solo. Everyone was going through the program, but I was the first to solo. I don’t know why, but everything was going my way, and I was the first among all of our young men. We flew only on the U-2. We also had a UT-2 and a UT-1, but only the detachment commander flew them. I remember how we looked at it; it was such a beautiful small airplane, a miniature. I finished school; we had a graduation party.

Did you have finals right before the war?

No. When our final exam was scheduled, a German airplane flew over. We rushed out of the schoolhouse. It had its own unique sound. It was in the evening, probably; it was a reconnaissance aircraft heading past us for Moscow.
Studies ended and they issued us our papers. Sometime in July, around the 26th, we finished aero club. They gave us a certificate of completion for aero club. “Komsomol, forward!” and we rushed off to the front. Quickly, independently, without any summons, we went to the voyenkomat [military commissariat—draft board]. To the front! We are already pilots! Send us to the front! They received us at the voyenkomat and said, “We are not sending you to the front, but to further flight training!” They sent me and two of my comrades to Chuguev Aviation School.

Did you call it “Chugunok” among cadets? [Chugunok in Russian is a cooking vessel that was used in a traditional Russian oven.]

Not at all. We did not call it “Chugunok.” I heard this the first time from you. Its name was Chuguev School.
On 29th of June, my father and younger brother accompanied me from Kursk railroad station to Kharkov. This was my farewell with my parents. Already on the 6th of August, I was enrolled as a cadet in Chuguev School. The school was large, with seven squadrons. Initially they had a terka there as well.5 We studied the UT-2 and I-16. Later we entered a flight program on the UT-2. We began to fly. We flew without any special strain, and there was no shortage of gasoline. We had not even begun solo flights when suddenly, sometime in early September, around the 10th, I think, flights were curtailed. They prepared all the aircraft that were capable of flight.
We began walking guard, securing the aircraft, with a rifle and bayonet that together were taller than we were. We had one captain, Pavlov, the chief of personnel and supply records. He issued us our instructions. “Be vigilant!” He provided a review of events: spies killed someone here, they blew up a bridge there, and saboteurs landed somewhere else. He described the real situation to us. The nights... The nights are dark in Ukraine. We walked around the airplanes, which were spread out with about 30 meters between them. You are walking, and a gopher scampers from under your foot. “Whew!” And you have some unspeakable feelings… Your senses are on full alert. You are pumping adrenaline. In the morning you hear that in another squadron, sentries shot a horse. Someone shouts: “Halt! Who goes there?”
It keeps walking. Well, it turns out the “walker” was a horse. We had such episodes.
A rumor went around that they would evacuate us. The unserviceable airplanes were burned. On the 15th of September, we set out in a march column. We rolled up our greatcoat and shouldered our rifles and gas masks. We formed up and moved out. Where? For what? The answer to every question was the same—“Forward – march!” With all of the school’s squadrons. Our squadron walked from Blagodatnyy settlement. The squadrons were dispersed. We walked about 40 kilometers on the first day. We moved in this manner on foot 500 versts [approximately 500 km] to Kalach in Voronezh district! The Germans were at Smolensk. At night they flew over us to Kharkov, which they bombed.

Did your instructors stand Alert-1 in the cockpits of the I-16s to intercept enemy planes?6

No, They did not stand watch. At Kalach they mounted us in rail cars. Where were they hauling us? It was a secret! They were correct in concealing our destination, by the way. There was a lengthy delay at Rostov while they permitted a hospital train to pass. I remember that well. They let it pass, and then the Germans bombed it.

Did it have the cross markings, in accordance with all the international conventions?

Yes, red crosses everywhere. But who looked at that? Oh, God! “In accordance with the Geneva Convention…” Oh, come on! They just dropped their bombs.

Did our pilots bomb their medical facilities?

I don’t know. But try to spot the crosses from an altitude of 6,000 meters.

Perhaps the Germans did not see the red crosses?

I don’t know. But that was not my point. I simply said that if we had not let that train pass, then it possibly would have been us and not them. We crossed the bridge over the Don. They transported us to Baku and there transferred us to a steamer. When we were crossing the Caspian Sea, I became seasick, perhaps for half a day. I was thinking, “God! It’s a good thing that I ended up in aviation. Thank God not in the Navy!”
We arrived at Krasnovodsk. The electricity was flowing! There was no blackout, it was as if there was no war going on! They placed us on a passenger train to Chimkent. A [flight] school was based there. The squadrons were being dispersed throughout Kazakhstan and Turkestan. One squadron was in Dzhambul. Ours was in Arys, a railroad hub north of Chimkent. The school was set up on a base for troop ammunition storage facilities.
By the way, Ivan Kozhedub was at our school. One day they held a formation and read a citation to us about Kozhedub. He flew at low altitude and hit something, and then made a forced landing. I have forgotten the details.

What types of aircraft did you have?

We were supposed to graduate on the I-16. We flew the UTI-4, that’s a dual seater. Before that we were supposed to master the UT-2.

Did the UT-2 have straight or bent wings?

Straight. What else?

Were you afraid of it? Was there talk that it would spin?

Indeed, it was complicated in that respect. It would go into a flat spin. At the beginning, for some time, we were forbidden to execute complex aerobatic maneuvers. I will tell you about spins later.
We began to train, and simultaneously constructing the airfield. The Kazakh steppe, gophers, burrows. We leveled the hummocks with shovels—no heavy equipment was available. Summer is dry there, and autumn—you can sink in this soil. Spring there is like a carpet! Initially tulips, later poppies. In mid-May, large flocks of sheep come. What they ate, I don’t know. Everything has dried up, everything is parched. Only camel’s thorn are green, and they remain green all summer.
We built the airfield and began to fly. By now it was 1942. Stalingrad. We finished with the UT-2 and went on to flights in the UTI-4.
After the U-2, when I took off in the UT-2, I began to work the stick abruptly. My flight instructor almost killed me after my check ride: “Do you want to kill me? What were you doing?”
I’m describing how maneuverable it was.
The UTI-4 was small—you could reach out and touch the wingtip, it seemed. In the rear cockpit you could say that your back was resting against the fin. Well, in short order I completed a total of nine flights. Right there it had begun, and just as soon it ended: they took a portion of our instructors to the front, along with the operational I-16 aircraft. Only several crippled airplanes remained. Some even had spreader bars between the wheels to keep the chassis from collapsing. They divided the cadets into two parts: we had four groups in the detachment—114th, 124th, 134th, and 144th. These they divided in half, and only the 114th and 124th flew. I was in the 134th. So I and my comrades spent many unhappy days on the sidelines. While they began to fly an accelerated program, we walked guard, spent a day on guard duty, and the next day worked in the kitchen. They flew and we “licked our lips.”
By now it was November 1942, and I was on guard duty. A call came from the entrance to the dugout. The chief of the guard took the handset. I heard him say:
“Roger!” [Understood!]
He then informed us:
“The squadron commander just came through the checkpoint.”
I was replaced at my post, and a person replaced at his post should then stand watch over the guard house—the awake shift. I was standing on top of the dugout; it was cold, I was wearing a sheepskin coat. I was holding such a long, long rifle—longer than I was tall. Major Yusim walked up. He had his own distinctive stride—he did not raise his head, he looked down all the time. He came up even with me, raised his head, and asked the question:
“Ovsyannikov! Do you want to fly?”
“Yes, comrade Major!”
Then he said to me from below (from below, because I was above him, on top of the dugout):
“An experimental group is being formed, which will, bypassing the UTI-4, go through the program on Yak-7s, which have arrived at the school. We will issue the Yaks immediately. What do you think about that? Well, we will give you an additional course in the UT-2, including high-speed landings and maneuvers in zone.”

Were they dual-control or single-seat Yaks?

The Yaks were both single- and dual seat. We practiced takeoffs and landings and aerobatics in the Yaks. But we also performed this training in the I-16. Also spins. You had only to pull back the stick and it would spin. The Ishak [donkey, the nickname for the I-16] was demanding. But on the other hand, it came out of the spin immediately.

They have told me that the I-16 spun in an unusual manner. Everything normally spins evenly, but the I-16 rotated 360 degrees—slowed, rotated 360 degrees again, and slowed again.

I will not lie about the I-16—I did not fly in them. I flew the UTI-4 [a two-seat version of the I-16]. The Cobra spun in a jerky movement, and the MiG-19...
But let’s return to November 1942. As soon as the squadron commander left, the chief of the guard jumped up: “Are you an idiot? Do you want to be arrested? They will give you ten days of arrest!”
Being on guard duty, I did not have the right to talk or respond. But what kind of question was put to me? It was a provocation! I returned to my barracks after the shift change, and they were already waiting for me—my former flight commander, who trained me in the UT-2, and my instructor, Lieutenant Viktor Polesskiy. They began to train us in a special program. We worked on high-speed landings. You get close to the ground—level it out, and at level attitude carry on for perhaps a kilometer. Well, perhaps this was not necessary, I can’t say, really.
Then we moved on to the Yak-7. In July 1943 they graduated us; we “chased down” the group that had already completed in the Yak-7, but after the I-16. Well, we were like the guinea pigs—test animals. In July they commissioned us with officer rank—junior lieutenant. Before this they graduated as sergeants.

What did you think of the Yak after the UT and UTI?

Well, the Yak was a good airplane. As I began to take off, my back was pressed into the seat—it had a lot more power! As far as manipulating the controls—it was a normal airplane.

Were there breakdowns? How often were they damaged from unskillful flying?

I never had any myself; but in general, well, I don’t remember.

What color were they painted?

The UT-2s, I think, were white and one with a red stripe. The I-16s were greenish. Well, I’m not very selective in my colors, but it was closer to greenish.

Upon graduation, how many total hours had you flown?

Altogether 100 hours, including the aero club. About ten hours in the Yak at flight school. The program was local flight—circuits around the airfield and in the local area. One time we flew cross-country as a pair.

Did you have any examination or test for graduation?

Yes, there was an examination. It was flying around the local area with an instructor. I don’t remember whom I flew with. They also tested us in theory. I finished flight school in July and they issued us canvas boots. Before us they sent out sergeant pilots in puttees, and collected up any new greatcoats among us. Well, we ourselves exchanged them, and no one lost his. They issued us a certificate that said we were officers, and with this certificate... They had just introduced these ranks. Initially we were junior lieutenants. It was different for artillerymen—they held lieutenant rank for six months of their training. Well, Timoshenko was not really fair to us aviators.

Talk about how they fed you during training.

They fed us normally. It was sufficient.

Everyone with whom we have raised this subject has said: “We were not fed enough until we reached the front lines.”

Well, I can attest to that as well. For example, they did not give the instructors a supplementary breakfast. So we gave them supplements from our rations. We were not starving, but if they had given us seconds, we would have gladly eaten them. No, I would not say that we were hungry, no. Our ration was normal, but strictly controlled. Do you understand? It was according to norm.
One time we were sent to sort rotten onions from good ones in a vegetable storage base and we tried to eat them. We had young stomachs.
Well, we went to Moscow. We arrived at the personnel department and, instead of the front, they sent our entire group to Ivanovo—to be transitioned to the Cobra. On the one hand it was unfortunate, but on the other hand perhaps we were lucky. Initially we were upset. Well, we were officers and we were eager to get into the fight.
We arrived in the town Ivanovo at the 22nd Reserve Air Regiment. We went through another “terka” and transition training. There were no dual-control Cobras. They checked us out in Yaks. The food was worse in the reserve regiment than at flight school. I don’t remember the norm number. At the front, you could eat as much as you wanted for dinner. At the training regiment you could eat only as much as they gave you. Don’t ask for more! We were young then, and constantly wanted to eat.

Were they paying you then?

Yes, 550 rubles. But in the market a loaf of bread cost 100 rubles and a bottle of vodka 400 rubles. I recall one time we went together and bought vodka for someone’s birthday.
But more importantly, in essence, we frittered away our time. Flights occurred infrequently and we could have finished transition more quickly. We went dancing to keep ourselves busy and learn how to dance. The dances were free at the local circus.

What was your first impression of the Cobra?

My first impression of the Cobra was that it was a remarkable airplane. I liked it. Why did I like it? I will tell you. You sat in the cockpit and you could see everything, because it had a nose wheel. I did not fly the Lavochkin; I did not fight in the Yak; but I flew it, and I will tell you that the Cobra had good visibility.

What model of the Cobra were these—the “D” or the “Q”?

There were many variants. I do not recall specifically how they were divided up. We even had some with electric drive to change the propeller pitch. Later they were hydraulic—variable-pitch propellers.

Describe the program for transitioning to the Cobra.

What did we do in the Cobra? First, circuits around the airfield, then a program of flights in zone where we worked out the techniques of piloting the airplane. We did as our instructor directed—there was no dual-seater.
Before the completion tests, that is, toward the end of the program, I had an assignment: fly out, then go to a [gunnery] range and fire my machine guns at ground targets. I took off, flew out as required, and then decided I would do a slow barrel roll. I began to execute the roll. While in the inverted position, I somehow moved the stick slightly away from myself. What does this mean? My buttocks came out of my seat and I was hanging in my seat and shoulder harness. While I was dangling there, my airplane went into a flat spin. I began to recover. The first attempt... the airplane did a revolution and the nose came up suddenly, above the horizon. I thought, “Well, now it will recover!” But it went back out of control. Then I collected myself and thought, “What did they teach us?” They taught us well. I applied stick in the direction of the spin. You understand? At the moment the nose dropped, I pulled back on the stick and applied opposite rudder. I looked out and it had taken hold. I recovered. I flew straight home—no gunnery range—straight home. I had the thought, “Bail out!” I’m not lying. I thought, “I will jump!” What will I tell them? I had failed in my flight mission.

What did they say to you about this?

No one said anything, because I didn’t tell anyone about what had happened.

But you didn’t complete the gunnery task.

Think about it. Who was there to monitor it? So it went unnoticed.

What were the armaments on your Cobras?

The two extra wing guns were removed. What remained were two Colt-Browning 12.7 mm [.50 cal.] machine guns and a 37 mm cannon. It had 39 shells in the cannon system, but we snuck in 40. How 40? We loaded one directly into the barrel.

It’s a good thing I was unable to correct you. I was thinking, the cannon has a drum, each shell has a spot... What about the Cobra’s engine?

It was good, but weak in terms of engine hours, and not very good if you flew with too much throttle. I will tell you about it. This was not a fault of the airplane, but ours. Because our gasoline was not suitable.
We flew on our fuel—B-78. The Cobra had a limiter [governor]. The normal supercharger pressure on the Cobra was 67 pounds per square inch. They set the governor on the Cobra so that it would not exceed 45 pounds. Kinematics supported this; it was ours, already developed. It would not give any more with our fuel. Therefore, if one were using our fuel, the connecting rods in the engine would snap.
That’s not all. They glued a piece of paper on the throttle slot. Paper, ordinary paper. You could set the throttle to get only 40 pounds. Maximum 40. But in combat it was possible to get 45 pounds, but only by tearing the paper. Then you had to report this to the mechanics later. They could see this themselves; they then would remove the filters from the engine to check for [metal] filings.
What was dangerous about the Cobra? Its coolant fluid was Prestone [antifreeze], and it burned better than gasoline. In the event connecting rods would snap, a fire would break out. And in most cases—right away.

They said that, even under such conditions, these Allison engines did not last the projected number of operating hours.

Well, you know, this did not affect me—the mechanics worried about such things.

At the front, did you fly on our gasoline? What about at the training center?

At the front. More precisely, at both places. There was no other choice. The American gas was B-100. They could deliver it some places, but we never received any. Perhaps Pokryshkin flew on these aircraft.

Radios. What type was installed in the Cobra?

Very good radios. They were good for those times. At least there were no complaints about them. In general, we had good communications. There were earphones, not helmets, but earphones. There were no helmets. We wore our pilotka [garrison hat] and earphones. We also did not take our [oxygen] masks. In place of an oxygen mask we used a mouthpiece. Like a cigarette holder. We breathed through our mouth and this did not interfere with our ability to see.

How did the Cobra handle in flight? What were its optimal operating altitudes?

I don’t recall. In my opinion, it would even reach 12,000 meters. It was capable of fighting at all altitudes. It was a good airplane, an aerobatic machine. I liked the Cobra, but I did not fight in our fighters, so I can’t compare it to them.

It is well known that at one time the Cobra had a very weak tail section.

This is absolutely true. But we did not crumple our tails, because ours were reworked. Here’s the story. In our regiment, I think two Cobras twisted their tails, and the pilots bailed out. This was before my time. Our diplomatic representatives delivered a complaint to the manufacturer. They sent out the parts to strengthen the tails. Our technicians strengthened the aircraft. We riveted two plates around the tail portion of the fuselage.

We are interested in how your Cobras were painted.

Ours were green in color. Perhaps we did not over-paint ours. They painted only specific portions of the surface—the regimental markings. In our regiment we had white spinners, and I think the rudders were also white. In the 72nd Regiment, they were red, and in the 68th Regiment—sky blue.

What kind of art did they paint on your airplanes?

We decorated them. Stars [denoting victories] were painted on the nose. In our regiment we had Alexey Semenovich Smirnov, who later became a Twice Hero of the Soviet Union.7 When I arrived in the regiment, he was a squadron commander and Hero of the Soviet Union. The young generation arrived and among them was a pilot who drew well. He drew a “joker,” like on playing cards, on the rudder of his plane. There weren’t any other such art cases or attraction to drawing.
Our aircraft were not repainted in the winter. We flew them in green. The stars on the wings? I don’t even remember where they were, but I think they were only on the bottom. The serial numbers remained on the fins, but I don’t remember their color.

Do you remember your tactical number?

I remember one—42. This was already after they had shot me down and I had changed aircraft.

Let’s return to the ZAP.

The reserve air regiment… I was the duty officer for the airfield. The telephone rang:
“A colonel is arriving at your location in an UT-2. Meet the airplane and put it in the hangar.”
I did as instructed—I met him. He climbed out, but he was not wearing the Caucasian fur cap which was given to all officers starting from colonel as a part of the uniform, rather an Astrakhan fur cap. “The ‘merchant’ has arrived!”8
This was sometime in February 1944. We had already completed transition training.

Was there a sense that the war was coming toward an end and you might not make it to the front?

The situation was not that clear yet. Some of the country’s western republics were still occupied.
I will continue. The guest—the “merchant”—turned out to be Colonel Ivanov, the commander of a front-line corps. He was a pilot, as they say, “from God.” He flew in spite of his general’s rank. The only thing he could not fly was a broomstick. He died in a crash after the war in a small German liaison aircraft, the Siebel. I believe that at the time he was a PVO commander.
So, I met him and sent him to the headquarters. I came from the airfield and everyone was already assembled. It turned out that everyone had already been “sold”! I was surprised, but my name was already on the list. In the morning, we were supposed to turn in our belongings and sign out. I gathered up my linens and mattress and carried them on my back to the supply room. A fellow student behind me, from Chuguev flight school but from another squadron, was shouting:
“Ovsyannikov! Wait! Don’t leave! Come back! I am going to go in your place! Captain Sarkisyan will explain everything to you.”
He was the adjutant there. I no longer remember what detachment or squadron. I went up to him indignantly:
“What’s going on?”
He replied:
“Listen! You will still get there! What do you get—550 rubles? He only gets seven rubles.”
This guy, Boris Sosna, was a handsome man. We became friends, we exchanged letters, and he just died last year, in the south, in Pyategorsk. Back then he was a “string puller,” who had gone AWOL on at least one occasion. Because of this they gave him starshina rather than lieutenant. Therefore as a starshina he received seven rubles salary.
“Why am I being held back?”
“It’s all been decided. You’ll still get there.”
So I laid out my mattress again. It embarrassed me to tears.
It was the end of April before another “merchant” showed up. It turned out that they assigned me to the same regiment as my “friend-rival”, as I called him at that time. So at the end of April I left from Ivanovo and ended up in the same corps. But now instead of a colonel, a major general received me. We had a conversation, and from our group he sent me and one other comrade to the guards division. In our corps we had two divisions, one guards and the other not guards. They called it the 180th “wild” IAD. This division was also in Cobras.

How did you get there, to the regiment, from the school in Ivanovo?

Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. They told us how to reach the regiment: “Go to this station, and there you will find your way.”
This was in Valday rayon, the village Somenka, and Somenka airfield. [The 5th Guards Fighter Air Division, 6th Air Army, Northwest Front was stationed at Somenka airfield from March to May 1944. I.S.]
Aha! Right away! There was nothing there.
We arrived at the station with a friend at night, crawled out [of the conveyance], and it was cold. It was spring, the month of May, but still cold. An old woman was stoking a small stove. We asked her:
“Please tell us, how do we get to Somenka?”
She replied:
“Down this path. Go this way. You will get there by daylight.”
“How far is it?”
“Six kilometers and a little bit.”
How much over six kilometers she did not specify, and like fools, we didn’t ask. We found the path and set off. We walked and we walked, and there, to our left and then to our right, the black grouse uttered their mating calls. We walked three-plus kilometers past the six she told us, and the road ended! The road just ended. It was an overcast day, with fog and low clouds. We reached a stream. On the other side was a settlement. The stream was wide, with a log in place of a bridge. We went across and stopped at a peasant hut.
“Does anyone live here?”
An old woman answered: “Yes, Yes, come in.”
We asked her:“Where is Somenka? We have to get to Somenka.”
“Somenka? Yes, I have been there, to a wedding.”
“How far is it?”
“Six kilometers and a little bit.”
Again that little bit!“Which way?”
“Go this way.”
We walked farther. We walked and we walked. Suddenly the overcast lifted and we saw an airplane fly over. It was a U-2, one pass. It dropped down and was hidden by the forest. We walked and we walked; we saw a stream, half full of water. The ducks flew off. We approached the stream and a man was walking, in a dark blue jacket. He was an aviator with a pistol. Perhaps he was duck hunting.
“Look here! Where is the airfield?”
“It’s over there, ahead of you.”
I took off my canvas boots and trousers. My friend Pasha walked straight into the stream and got all wet. I put on my dry clothes and he wrung the water out of his; then we waited for them to dry out. We made it to the airfield. We asked where the division was, and it turned out that the division headquarters was also on this same airfield, in a dugout.
Well, how did they greet us? We reported in the normal fashion. They directed us, I don’t really remember, either to the commander or to the personnel department. It turned out that they left me at this airfield, in the 28th Guards Regiment, in which I fought. My friend was also sent to a guards regiment—the 72nd. This was almost in the opposite direction, but he was lucky—they took him there in a Po-2.
Well, we walked out of the division headquarters, and this same Boris Sosna was walking toward me: “Ah, friend! Come on! Have you eaten? Let’s go eat!”
He took us to the dugout where the canteen was located. He was a regular there already.
“Hey, girls! Reinforcements have arrived! Feed us something!”
What food they had there! We were accustomed to rear-area rations. Here they brought out enormous portions—fried potatoes, a huge cutlet, and compote. I thought to myself: “One could live well here.”

When did you receive a personal weapon?

I arrived at the regiment and was issued a TT. We all had TTs. They gave us uniforms, weapons, and maps. I ended up in the 2nd Squadron. My commander was a major, Petr Ivanovich Isaev. He fought in the Finnish War. We called him “Grandpa.” He was over 30 years old. Later my flight commander became the squadron commander. And so began my front-line journey. They checked my piloting skills. My flight commander checked me out in a dual-control Yak. Later I took off in a Cobra. I flew around the airfield, made several flights, and later in the zone. Then we began to maneuver in pairs. This was to work on our so-called coordination. I established a sort of rhyme with my lead:
“I am your lead,” he said to me,
Looking me straight in the eye.
“Now remember, in your sleep,
You should be close to me!”

Tell us, did you conduct any practice aerial engagements?

Both coordination and training aerial engagements. They trained us well. We fired at both ground and aerial targets. The aerial target was a fabric sleeve towed behind an airplane. They used Cobras to tow it. They rolled it up in a ball, then cast it out, and it fully deployed. My time came to shoot at the sleeve. I sat in my cockpit, waiting for the signal to launch. I could already see the towing airplane—it was almost over the airfield. I took off on signal, raised the landing gear, closed the flaps, and gave it throttle. Suddenly, my engine cut out. It was as if I had closed the throttle myself. I was at about 100 meters altitude, no more. This was in Kalinin oblast — we were surrounded by trees. I glanced to my left and saw a small open area. There was a hamlet and a field. I did not have time even to turn or even drop the gear doors and I was there. I landed. I just sat it down. They said to me on the radio:
“Where are you? Where are you?”
I replied: “I made a forced landing. Everything is okay. Six kilometers out, perhaps.”
Well, the truth was that they had to drive around for 15–20 kilometers to get me to the airfield.
They said: “An aircraft is taking off. Direct him to you.”
So I did that.
“Well, any problems?”
I responded: “Everything is normal.”
“Wait there. They are driving out to get you.”
An engineer and some technicians finally showed up in about an hour, perhaps less. They had to go around a small stream. But they finally found me. The flight technician came with a mechanic for the “evacuation,” as they liked to call such operations.
“What happened?”
I said, “I don’t know. It was as if I closed the throttle.”
Already a rumor was going around that we were going to the front, and now this. They had already sent someone from the regiment off somewhere, because he came down and broke his airplane. He crashed a second airplane. Then he left the regiment. At one time he was the wingman for my flight leader. Now I had taken his place, and also crashed.
I left for the airfield and reported in. We arrived at the regiment and reported there. I told my story. In the evening, we left the airfield to rest, to the village where we were billeted. Our squadron lived on the second floor of the building. I lay down.

Did the other men give you looks?

I don’t know. Some did, some didn’t. You know how a person can blow things out of proportion. I did not pay attention to anyone else. I lay there for a long time. Suddenly, it was night, perhaps midnight, the door opened, someone walked in, and came straight over to me. He came up to me and said:
“Ovsyannikov, you aren’t asleep?”
“No.”
“It wasn’t your fault—the fuel pump broke.”
A great load was lifted from me. It was Fedot Aksenenko, the squadron engineer. He calmed me, relating to me in a caring way. He could have forced me to be tortured until morning. He understood what I was feeling.
Everything turned out alright. The regiment stood down for reconstitution: pilots arrived, new aircraft joined our fleet. At the end of June, somewhere around the 18th, we took off for the front.
We flew to the front at low-level, for purposes of camouflage, in order not to be observed. We went at an altitude of 100 meters. We made an intermediate stop at Andriapol. This was also in Tver region. By the way, my home regiment is now based at Andriapol. True, only its name remains there. We refueled at Andriapol, and flew on to Dretun airfield. It was a primitive strip, also in the forest, 18 or 20 kilometers from the front line. It had been registered by the Germans, and therefore was subject to artillery fire. After we landed, they fired on us. It killed one mechanic and burned up one airplane, but not ours. An American Curtiss was left behind from the regiment that occupied this airfield before us. They “unoccupied” this airfield on our behalf and left behind a damaged aircraft. This is the one that burned. A shell burst literally under the tail of my comrade Sergey Korobov, leaving a big crater. But his aircraft suffered not a single hole. It was sprinkled with dirt, and that was all.

pt 2

What kind of Curtiss? A fighter or a bomber?

The devil knows, likely a reconnaissance aircraft.

High-wing?

Yes, yes.

O-52, perhaps.

Perhaps. They called it a Curtiss.9
We made our first familiarization flight somewhere around the 20th of June. It was right before the beginning of Operation Bagration—the liberation of Belorussia. The genuine combat sorties began soon after that, just two or three days later. The mission was to provide coverage of the battlefield. It was my first combat. On the first sortie, I became separated from my leader. But it was not my fault. The fact of the matter is that there were Messerschmitts there. For the first time I saw from the side how shells flew out of my leader’s airplane. I thought to myself, “That’s some kind of smoke. Is his engine knocking?”
He fired at a Messerschmitt and after his attack zoomed upward. There was an overcast, not thick, but scattered. He jumped into a cloud and I behind him. I came out of the cloud and there was no one to be seen. While in the clouds, he turned and went down, and I went up. This was already at the end of our sortie period. We were low on fuel.

What was the duration of flight of a Cobra?

About an hour. What was the capacity of the fuel cells—I don’t remember. Perhaps four hundred liters. I have forgotten everything. Well, approximately an hour, and if you were flying economically, 90 minutes

A question about fuel. Not long ago a film was released, Peregon [ferry flight], in which they described the following situation. Upon landing a pilot pulled the control stick toward himself; the fuel in the fuel cell poured to the back of the tank and the engine died, although ostensibly there was still fuel. Did such a thing happen, or is this nonsense?

Nonsense, raving nonsense. I have heard so many lies. Horrible! Here now they are announcing commentary for an aviation catastrophe... The commentator says: “You know, the tire, when the pressure is seventy atmospheres...” [about 1000 lb/in2]
How much?
“...and when the tire blows, the airplane is penetrated through...”
Yes, the skin can be penetrated, but seventy atmospheres in the tire? When I hear this, I shout, “How is it possible to give this commentary if they don’t understand anything about the topic discussed?” All these journalists…

Let’s return to the past. You got lost and...

Me? Lost? I fell behind! And I heard – they were shouting:
“Back to base! Back to base! Assemble back at base!”
Well, back to base...
I saw that some Cobras were racing toward me. I wanted to turn around and form up on them, but they flew away. I took a course under the overcast. I knew where, in what area I was, and I arrived home normally. There I told them that I had become separated; I told them how it happened.

Did they chew you out?

For what? I didn’t try to lag behind. My leader—he didn’t transmit his plan to me. And in the clouds... In combat, you try to maintain a distance of 200 meters behind. My first aerial engagement was over rather quickly. Later, it just settled down, and sorties were conducted normally.

Tell us, did you immediately begin to get a picture of what was happening in the fight?

What can I say about “getting a picture”? I knew that I had to maneuver, that I had to get orientation. But the main thing that you visualize, that you must understand, is where you are and what you should be doing.
I will tell you a story. In a sense I was lucky, and in another sense I was not lucky.
In the first case, I did not see a single bomber in the sky. Not one. I had 204 combat sorties in slightly less than a year. Of all the young pilots, I flew more sorties than anyone else. I had a large number of reconnaissance sorties. But primarily we were engaged in non-standard missions—we did ground attack. Yes, they hung bombs on us.
Of course, everything came with time; with the passage of time, one visualized better, but it was very important to have good teachers. They did not simply teach us; before they took us into battle, they checked us out thoroughly. They trained us well and told us everything [we needed to know].

Did you consider your overall training, including that which you received in the aero club, in the reserve regiment, and later in the regiment before combat, sufficient or barely adequate?

Of course, it was not enough. When I went to the front, I had only 12 flights in a Cobra.

With whom did you most often fly in pair?

Not “most often,” but with whom did I begin to fly—this was Senior Lieutenant Boris Aleksandrovich Mukhin, my flight commander. I became his wingman. He ended his service as a division commander. I myself became a pair leader somewhere near the end of 1944.

Did you fly escort?

Of course!

What other kind of combat missions did your regiment execute?

First—covering the battlefield.
Second—escorting groups of shturmoviks or bombers.
Third—reconnaissance. This was secondary.
Perhaps one might consider our main mission to be attacks against enemy ground targets. This included airfields, railroads, and road columns.

What was the most unpleasant mission for you?

Escorting shturmoviks.

What was so complicated for you in this mission?

First, I would say altitude. They are firing at you from the ground from every possible weapon. The shturmoviks’ maximum altitude was one thousand meters. When they drop down—say to 500 or 300 meters, the enemy flogs you with AAA. But you have to stay with them.
Second, they didn’t have much speed. For a fighter, speed is the main thing. They flew at about 250 kph—that’s approximate. For us this was slow. And we had to protect them from enemy fighters.
We have clarified the most difficult mission. My favorite mission? This was to escort the female bomber regiment. I don’t remember its number. The young ladies flew the Pe-2, Peshkas. We liked this mission. They held their formation like in a picture. The men—someone would fall back, the formation would be stretched out.
True, I never saw them drop their bombs from the dive. They always dropped level.

Now let’s turn to the Germans. In your opinion, how good were the German pilots, their training, and their conduct of a battle?

With the exception of the first battle, when I encountered but did not engage them, because I was so focused on holding onto the tail of my leader, I did not encounter any Messers and Fokkers. The Cobra was able to fight with them on par and overcome. The pilots? I don’t know. Either I encountered weak pilots or their aircraft were inferior (or rather defective). You should understand that when I encountered them, well, I had three aerial combats myself.
My first happened at Baus. We went out, this was after the 18th of August (Aviation Day), and I had only drunk a little, but my friends had drunk their “100 grams” and perhaps more, if they were able to acquire a supplementary ration.
We were covering the battlefield. Our commander, Captain Mukhin, was somewhat hard of hearing. I was the flight commander’s wingman, and our second flight was flying higher, somewhere at 600 meters higher. I was out on the far left (indicates with hands), here was the leader, and Sergey Korobov was leading the second pair to the right. I spotted a pair of aircraft coming from the left, trying to come up behind us. Then they put out some smoke. Not long before this, we were informed that a Fokker had come out with a supercharger. When they switched on the supercharger, they smoked. I transmitted to my leader, “Pair from the left!”
Then I transmitted the same message again. He paid me no attention and flew straight ahead. Then I transmitted, “Fokkers are attacking us!”
Again, no reaction. What could I do? Perhaps I was the first to spot the enemy. I turned sharply, zoomed up, and began to chase whomever was behind us.
We got into a dog fight. I turned this way and that, one against two. The rest of my flight did not see me and flew off. I was still engaged. It turned out that I began to get on their tail. I fired, but from a distance. They dove and flew off. I turned sharply upward—the Cobra could not catch them in a dive. Then I heard my leader, the flight commander. He later became a Hero of the Soviet Union—Leonid Aleksandrovich Bykovets: Look! A Cobra is chasing some Fokkers!

Did your Cobras have automatic [propeller] pitch control?

Yes we did. It changed the propeller pitch. Well, when I jumped up to a higher altitude, I ended up in the rear of our group. They had not even noticed my absence. This was my first engagement with Fokkers. I drew the conclusion that I could fight on equal terms with them. My second encounter was near Prikula, also in the Baltic area.

This was your first combat with Focke Wulfs?

We had earlier encounters, but this was my, so to speak, first personal combat. Later came my second, again in an unfavorable situation, and again I was able to get out in one piece. Therefore I will tell you that I was able to fight the Germans in the Cobra.

It turns out that the German pilots did not suffer with enthusiasm during the conduct of a fight?

If someone came up behind me, I also would attempt to get away. What’s wrong with that? Who wants to get whacked? What kind of enthusiasm is that?

Tell us, please, what was your score of downed aircraft in the Great Patriotic War?

Two—not a lot but they are mine!

Honestly?

I don’t know.

According to the archives, it was three:
29.10.44, 1 FW-190, Ilmaya station
13.04.45, 1 FW-190, Khalenen Krayts
13.04.45, 1 FW-190, south of Gross-Dirkshkhaym airfield (according to Mikhail Bykov)

Listen to me. I absolutely do not believe those who say: “I was in an aerial engagement, I did such-and-such, and he went down. And I saw where he fell!”
He is either a fool or he is lying. How many aerial combats did I conduct? Regardless of how many times I fired my guns, not once did I say: “Comrade commander! I got him!”
I normally said: “I conducted an engagement, I fired.”
I take credit for two kills. That’s all.

Did you have gun cameras? Were victories confirmed with them?

They mounted them, but they did not use them to count. Or should I say very rarely. They did not believe them. Of course, if the enemy aircraft blew up... But that was a relatively rare occurrence. Confirmation was required. Who could confirm? Another pilot from one’s group could confirm.

From your own group?

Yes, from your own group. Or a ground unit.

Who among you overall in the regiment looked after this? A pilot didn’t fly out to obtain confirmations, did he?

No. We were fighting. Someone in the headquarters took care of this. Reports came in that an aerial engagement had occurred in such-and-such area and there were downed aircraft there.

Could over-claims be made?

Why not? There could be over-claims. But I don’t know of any such cases. It was difficult to confirm. How would one know if he truly over-claimed or not?

Tell us, did they pay you money for downed aircraft?

Yes. What did they do with the money? They did nothing with it, it was deposited on our account.

Was it common practice to transfer these monies to the defense fund?

I don’t know. That isn’t what we did. But I did not see any money. It evaporated into thin air.

So you didn’t receive it after the war?

I received it after the war, but later the government pulled a trick on us with ruble conversion, and it vanished.

Tell us, do you remember a case when they shot down our pilots?

Yes.

Did the Germans shot at men under parachutes?

I know they did because I saw it. This particular pilot survived the experience. It happened over Dvinsk (Daugavpils). We were covering the battlefield. He was from our flight, Kolya Shmelev. Well, I saw how they shot him down. I saw the Fokker, and how, you know, he gave it to him with all barrels — he had six cannons. Kolya bailed out, and the Fokker tried to shoot him still.

Did the Germans come at you head-on?

You know, forget about these head-on attacks. I don’t know how it would be possible to shoot someone down in a head-on approach. I repeat—I don’t know how in a head-on approach, with a closing speed somewhere around 600 meters per second, to even take aim.

Were there cases when a victory was given over to another pilot? For example, someone did not have enough for Hero status, and they gave him a victory?

It’s possible that they gave it to him on paper, but...

The pilots themselves did not do it?

No, I know of no such case. We did not do that.

Where there cases when you fired on your own aircraft, by mistake?

It happened. And they were shot down. Our own Yak shot down our Cobra. But I am not able to tell you the details—it happened before my time.

In what period, in your opinion, did the regiment fight its heaviest battles?

“Intensive” I can talk about, but I can’t say “heaviest.” Intensive combat occurred when we were attacking Koenigsberg. We sortied five times in a day. But heavy? It was never particularly heavy for us. Well, someone was shot down, and didn’t return from a mission.

On average, how many sorties per day did you fly?

Sometimes two, two or three. The maximum was around five sorties, and this was at Koenigsberg. It was two or three days when we took Zemland Peninsula. Our regiment captured one town with ground attacks, by the way.

How did you accomplish this?

It was right after the capture of Koenigsberg. This town was named Palmnicken. You do not know it, perhaps? You might have heard of Yantarnyy?
Our forces captured Pillau, on the Baltic Sea. Palmnicken remained encircled. There was some kind of company there, defending, sitting in fighting positions. They ordered us to “dig them out.” We dug them out. We made five or six sorties. In the end, they came out and threw up white flags. [In early May 1945, a regiment sortie of 29 P-39s under the command of Major B.D. Milekhin and 16 P-39s led by Guards Captain P.D. Uglyanskiy sortied to conduct bombing attacks on an accumulation of enemy forces in the town Palmnicken. The enemy forces concentrated here had retreated from the Zemland Peninsula. Our fighters conducted two bombing attacks and five firing passes on the accumulated enemy troops and equipment. After these crushing blows, the Germans raised a white flag and surrendered. I.S.]

Bombed them with what?

Bombs, strafing. What bombs? Normally we carried 100 kg and 250 kg. Only one bomb; the bomb hanger was under the fuselage. We did not hang bombs under the wings.

Did you have drop tanks?

No. No drop tanks. They might have used them for ferrying.

How did you feel after five sorties?

Normal.

In their memoirs, the Germans often write that they customarily flew 10 or 15 sorties in a day.

Well, I don’t know about that. They also say that they drank schnapps during the flight.

What is your opinion?

Judge for yourself—if they chased after each of our pilots. Let it be 15! Whatever the number, these poor bastards wouldn’t have had time to go to the bathroom.

Are you prepared to believe that a single airplane could shoot down 15–17 enemy aircraft during a single sortie?12

No!

Absolutely, categorically?

Categorically. They did not have sufficient ammunition to accomplish this.

Perhaps they use one [cannon] shell for each kill?

One round per kill—do you know what you are saying? This might be possible in a shooting gallery. After the war we fired weapons in a shooting gallery. We managed there [to shoot at the target] with two rounds with a ShKAS.13

What was your opinion of the effectiveness of your armaments on enemy aircraft?

The armaments on our Cobras were good. If a 37mm shell hit an enemy aircraft anywhere, that was sufficient. And the machine guns—obviously, they were not cannons, but at least 12.7mm machine guns. These were not 7.62mm.

The number of rounds — wasn’t 40 [for the cannon] somewhat limited?

No. You know, its rate of fire was not that great. I don’t remember now.

Do you remember how you shot down two aircraft?

No. I fired, and it was over. The bullets flew. You could see the tracers. I fired a burst and then maneuvered so some other enemy could not come around on my tail. Just like they taught us. And they taught us well.

Were you wounded?

No. But I got a bump.

How many times did they shoot you down or damage your aircraft?

One time. This happened when we were strafing an airfield. My airplane was damaged, but I landed safely. It was a forced landing. Our forces were already near Berlin, the 24th of April [1945]. Koenigsberg and Danzig had already been captured. There were still Germans on Khel Spit.14 They were flying out of there. The spit extended to the north and south from [an area west of] Koenigsberg. Where the spit went south, there was a group of cut-off Germans. They had an airfield from which they were operating. We flew there several times to bomb and strafe. The fight on 24 April was my last over this airfield.
We flew as a regiment—24 crews. We took bombs. I was in the cover group, in the very last pair. My wingman was Nikolai Pivovarov. I made my dive and dropped my bomb on the airfield, and when I was pulling out, I spotted two aircraft under camouflage netting on the bank of a stream. The plan was to make two passes. I was last—the first aircraft had already dropped their ordnance, and the regiment commander gave the order, “We’re done! Assemble, return to base.”
I had still not made my second pass and went in to strafe these two aircraft. I was diving and had just commenced firing. I felt a thump under my wing. I fired a burst and pulled up. I glanced down and my oil pressure was zero. You can’t fly very far without oil. We did not know exactly where the front line was. They had told us that “everything across the Visla is ours.” That was all. It was spring, and the Germans had blown up the irrigation system. All around us was a virtual sea! Chimneys were sticking up out of the water. I was afraid to set it down in the water. The Visla was getting closer and closer. So I flew on, gained some altitude, perhaps 1,500 meters, but I could feel the engine.
I have already told you that if the connecting rod breaks in a Cobra, there will be a fire. But I made the decision to fly on. I spotted the Visla, where our forces might be. Then I saw an enormous field. On the right side, near the tree line, were some structures, probably hunting cabins and not village dwellings. I radioed to my wingman: “I am setting it down in the field!”
I began to turn and spotted a church up ahead. That meant a populated area, I’m thinking; our troops will be there. “Perhaps I can stretch it out.”
I stretched it out, shut off my engine, and glided, but did not reach it. I landed in swampy terrain, with lakes to the left and right. On my belly, of course. Away from an airfield, one should always land on the belly.

I heard from one pilot, true he flew Yaks, that in a forced landing in the Cobra the engine broke loose and drove the pilot into the instrument panel.

Drivel. I made a second forced landing. When I landed, the only thing that happened was normal for all aircraft—it rotated around 180 degrees. Well, I landed. On this occasion the antenna separated from the radio on account of the landing shock. I figured this out later. I pressed on the push-to-talk switch and nothing happened. I crawled out and my wingman was circling above me. I indicated to him, “Return to base!”
He acknowledged with his wings and departed. He had not even reached our own airfield and was forced to be re-directed to a secondary airfield.
I am standing on the wing. Looking around, I am thinking, “What should I do? Where should I go?” In front of me I spotted the high berm of a railroad embankment. Had I flown farther, my nose would have struck this embankment. It was not visible from above.
Three figures are running toward me. One falls to the ground and two are running. Then this figure gets up and runs and they go to ground. I see our greatcoats.
They are running up to a drainage ditch. When they are perhaps a hundred meters distant, they shout:
“Ruki vverkh! [Hands up]
“Whose are you? Come here!”
Don’t think that I was brave, or some kind of hero. I simply was sure that I was among our own forces.
Again they shouted:
“Hands up!”
I said, “Come here.”
They came over to me:
“What is this airplane?”
“It’s a Cobra.”
You have to understand, they thought it was a Messerschmitt. The German airfield was not that far away, and they had seen Focke-Wulfs and Messerschmitts flying around. They came right up to me and I said to them:
“How far is the front line?”
“A kilometer and a half from here.”
Now it came to me—had I not stretched out my glide toward the town, I might be a guest of the Germans. Not a good thing. I was lucky to have had the presence of mind to land there, in the field. It was a good thing I had spotted the church and thought there might be a garrison there.

Did pilots return to the regiment from German captivity?

They did not come to us. Hero of the Soviet Union Ziborov arrived in the neighboring guards regiment.15 They shot him down over the airfield that we were bombing and strafing on Zemland Peninsula. He bailed out and they captured him. He spent some time in the same guardhouse where I myself sat for two days in peacetime. Our forces were advancing quickly and liberated him. He flew for some time after that.

SMERSH didn’t drag him off?

Listen, excuse me. I don’t know if we would have won the war had there not been a SMERSH.
To make a long story short, when my wingman landed, he told them that I had landed and everything was normal! But it seemed to him that I had landed in German-held territory, because when he was circling around, they shot at him from the ground.
The next day, I asked the battalion commander for a screwdriver. The battalion commander gave us permission, and I took the screwdriver and walked out to my airplane. I opened the compartment hatch, checked around, screwed the antenna connection back on, and turned on the battery switch. I sat in the cockpit and listened. In a minute or two I turned on the power. I picked up my book and read. Suddenly I heard:
“[breaking squelch sound] 116, 116, this is so-and-so.”
It’s ours! But they are approaching the reception limit of my radio. I shout:
“This is 115! How do you hear me?”
I did not get a response, as they went into a dive and at a lower altitude communication was lost.
When Kolka (Nikolai) Shmelev returned, he reported: “I connected with ‘Oves!’” [Oves – oat.]
They called me “Oves,” for Ovsyannikov.
“I connected with ‘Oves’. He contacted me and then communications was broken.”
Sergey Korobov requested a Po-2 from the regiment commander in order to find me and bring me out. By the way, he brought out Shmelev from behind enemy lines around Daugavpils when they shot him down and he bailed out. But it turned out that there was no Po-2 available, and he flew out in a Cobra. He found where my Cobra was lying and circled around. They shot at him again, so he flew home and reported:
“Perhaps the Germans have him! Because I saw the airplane, but there is no one there. I saw German positions not too far away and they fired at me.”
Perhaps it got back to SMERSH that I possibly was in the custody of the Germans. By this time I had gathered up my things and departed. However, no one interrogated me and they did not drag me off anywhere. When I returned, I simply reported to the commander what had happened, and that was it. It was over. By the way, on my return leg I came across Marienburg airbase, where some Navy shturmoviks were based. There were also about a hundred different Focke-Wulfs on the tarmac there, some with unusual long noses.

Did you have a SMERSH man or an osobist in the regiment? What did he do?

We didn’t know him. It was some lieutenant who hung around.

Did your political officers fly?

They flew. All the squadron zampolits flew. At the regiment? He seldom flew.

In general, describe their duties.

You need to ask them this question! They were engaged in ideological preparation. They conducted meetings and read lectures. Standard political work.

You flew cover for bombers and shturmoviks. Were you punished when one of your charges was lost?

It depended on what type of loss, in what conditions. Yes, they punished us. My former flight commander Mukhin, before my time, ended up in a penal battalion, in the infantry. The entire flight was punished because they lost five Ils [Il-2 Shturmoviks]. Fighters shot them down. They sent the entire flight to a penal battalion. But perhaps someone up high over there gave it some second thought, and sent them all back to us.

Did you ever hear of a penal squadron?

No. How so? Who is talking or writing about this?

Ivan Yevgrafovich Fedorov, I think, first put out the rumor that penal squadrons existed.

Well, I don’t know.

By the way, do you know this comrade’s story?

I’ve never heard of it. Have you found much confirmation?

So far, none. We have found some Il-2 pilots who were made [rear-seat] gunners for attacking our own troops. We have heard about this. This happened.

I will tell you what I heard. The Germans put out rumors that we were chaining our shturmovik pilots to their aircraft so they could not bail out. You never heard this? I heard it. But I came across confirmation of these rumors. One time I was flying, and something happened to my stomach. It was so hard that I was ready to stuff my pilotka [cap] under my butt. You understand? Well, I really had to go to the toilet. I landed, and I didn’t even make it to my parking spot. I jumped out of the cockpit and I looked up, and a woman was standing there.
“Oh, sonny, is it true, that they tied you in?”
I had a cord hung around me... It was my helmet-microphone cord.
“People are saying that they tie you in.”
It turned out to be even more scary—we tied ourselves up.

Tell us, how you were secured in flight—lap belt or shoulder harness also?

Normally - only the lap belt.

Did you have some kind of system?

What do you mean?

There was a British system, when the pilot was strapped in, a cable ran from his back to the armored seat. Like in an automobile. Did you have this system?

You know, I can’t give you a straight answer. We seldom used our shoulder harnesses. We had a buckle here, at the navel. We could shove our shoulder straps or our lap belts in here.

Were there cases when, for some reason or other, combat sorties were not counted?

I don’t remember if this happened with us. Perhaps it could have, somewhere. We did not have such instances.

Do you know of an instances of cowardice in battle? Refusal to go on a combat sortie? And the decisions of a tribunal in such cases?

We never had any such cases in our regiment. They brought some cases to our attention, of course. These things did happen.

What [uniform] did you fly in?

A flight suit. In the summer it was regular field blouse. I don’t know what color—some kind of gray-brown.

Did you wear your medals?

Some who had them wore their medals.

What about leather?

Leather jacket? Yes. Winter and summer.

Pants?

We also had leather pants. American.

What was on your feet?

Fur boots in the winter, probably. In the summer we wore high boots. We didn’t wear low boots.

Did you have silk scarves?

Yes, I had some kind of multi-colored silk scarf.

Were you short of flight gear items?

No, no shortage.

What can you say about observation of radio discipline? They say that there were constant problems.

Discipline? We did not jabber any longer than was necessary! Jabber about what? Then we had to respond. We did not sing songs. I do not even understand your question. We used the radio only when it was necessary. That was all.

Did you address each other with codes, nicknames, last names?

Codes. There were exceptions; when the division commander, Rykachev, flew, he called himself “Yu. B.”—Yuriy Borisovich.

Can you provide any details regarding the death of Fedor Fedorovich Voloshchenko?

I can’t tell you anything. He was in our squadron. He did not return from combat when we were in the Baltic area. The battle was at Libava.

What about Yuriy Mikhaylovich Chapliev? Ivan Petrovich Grachev?16

They also did not return. How, what? It’s unknown. We used the phrase, “did not return from combat mission.” These were the first losses in the regiment that I can recall.

What can you remember about the regiment commanders?

I had only one regiment commander in the war. Before I arrived in the regiment, it was Lieutenant Colonel Oleg Markivoch Rodionov. Later, his deputy quickly became the regiment commander, Boris Dmitrievich Melekhin. Rodionov left to become Aleksandr Pokryshkin’s deputy commander, and perished in an automobile accident.

What kind of pilots and commanders were they?

Good, normal. I don’t know about Oleg. Of course, he flew less. It seems to me that regiment commanders did not have to fly often and did not need to.

Can you say anything about Aleksey Smirnov?

He was a remarkable person. He was our idol. A fair-haired Adonis, with a burnt face. But it was not visible too much (he didn’t stand out in a crowd). A hale fellow and a jokester.
This happened at Shaulyay, west of Panevezhis [in Lithuania]. Perhaps 20 kilometers from it was a primitive airfield. We always were stationed at primitive airfields. This was a plowed field, with potatoes or something growing there. We were flying there for the first time. Nearby stood a brewery or a vodka distillery.
To make a long story short, we were parked near this plant, and Smirnov had a rifle. It was a German rifle. Someone, somewhere obtained some shells for it. They were German training cartridges. You could fire at something point blank and the bullets broke into tiny pieces, and nothing else happened. So we taxied in and parked, and we were sitting around shooting the breeze.
The flight technician walks up and Smirnov calls him out: “Why are your aircraft not serviced?”
“What do you mean—not serviced?”
Smirnov presses down and releases—there are five cartridges in the clip. They appear to be absolutely genuine. He loaded the five cartridges into the rifle.
“Do you know what they do for this at the front?” Bang! And we all laughed!
“C-comrade c-c-commander! They’re joking, aren’t they?”
We laughed some more.
Well, this was nothing yet. The squadron commander, Petr Isaev, lands. He taxis over to the parking area. Normally he did not fly combat missions, but he ferried any leftover aircraft. We had one with the nickname “Zebra.” It was camouflaged, dappled. It was the only one like that. Where it came from—I don’t know. Very few men flew it, but they ferried it from airfield to airfield. This airplane was like a log, and normally they set it up for defense of the airfield. [To bring the guns level with the horizon] they dug in the front wheel.
So we hear them declare over the radio that he is coming in for landing, and Aleksey says:
“Hey, now we’ll fool the old man!”
The old man comes in and lands. He sets it down, but where he landed the potato rows went across. The nose of the aircraft drops, and the Cobra hits hard. The nose gear was broken in a big shower of dirt. Well, when there is an accident there is an investigation. The joking was over. But we did have fun sometimes.

Tell us. At the front in those years, was there any kind of nationality clashes?

What do you mean? Listen, guys. You understand that now our enemies are enflaming this national hostility. You understand that?
Bagramyan (Armenian) was our front commander. We had an Armenian aircraft technician and another aircraft technician was a Kazakh. There were Jews. We joked together. The Ukrainians called us “katsaps [butchers],” and we called them “khokhols” [“topknots,” for a Ukrainian custom of cutting all the hair but a single tuft]. But in order for there to be hostility, or some kind of prejudice...
Who has received their freedom today? And who is receiving rights? You and me? No, of course not. There you have it. This is where all this dissension comes from.
“Russian Independence Day?” What have we become independent from? Look into the future, look. This is nationalism; this is new. Our enemies have thrust this “new” on us. This is very serious, very serious.

Let’s return to the war. Tell us, please, did you have people in your regiment who lost relatives to the occupation? Or whose relatives were taken as forced labor to Germany?

You know, I don’t remember. I know that we had one man, pilot Zhora Baranov. He went home to his village after the war, and there he shot a starosta [a person designated by Germans to be a village supervisor – ed.]. The old man had helped the Germans.

Was he charged?

No.

When you came into German territory, was there a desire to get vengeance on the Germans?

You know... Listen, I fought them. And if I had encountered a soldier... But when we settled in East Prussia, we had already driven the troops out. Those still living there were peaceful inhabitants. What was there to fight about with them?

What was your relationship with them?

Well, I generally did not associate with them. They engaged in exchanges of bits and pieces with us. In one of these exchanges, I acquired an accordion.

This was not a “trophy,” you got it in exchange?

This was not a trophy.

Did [the command] issue an order to you? About punishment for thievery and so on?

Yes.

Where were you and what were you doing when the war ended?

Where did we greet the victory? We were around Riga. We had been launching strikes against the Courland pocket from Yushkas airfield. Well, you know that aviation fought only during the day. We were resting. Everyone had been at the airfield since dawn. The squadrons had been scattered about to various places. Suddenly, on the morning of 9 May, the telephone rang. The commander had a field telephone. Right away we were all “on our guard.”
Mukhin, the squadron commander, said on the telephone:
“Understood. Got it. Where? What? Immediately. We got it! We are launching! Mission: ground attack column of troops moving along highway from such-and-such point, in direction of Ventspils, where they are loading on ships.”
We all headed for our aircraft. This was my 204th combat sortie. Just another mission. We did not know about the end of the war. We took off, assembled, then gained altitude. The front was close—perhaps 25–30 kilometers. We were at altitude, and suddenly I hear:
“This is ‘Kedr’ [cedar]. Kedr was the front forward radio-vectoring station.
“111”! (Mukhin was “111”.)
“Do not cross the line! Drop your bombs in a safe place in the Gulf of Riga. Return to base!”
We did not take this at face value. Don’t cross! Who says so? The Germans were very cunning in this regard. Our leader demanded: “Password!”
The other end repeated everything, adding the password. All is in order!
It was strange. But an order is an order. It was forbidden to land a fighter aircraft carrying a bomb. That meant we found the German column, considered this a “safe area,” dropped our bombs, and made a couple of gun runs. Then we returned. When we passed over our airfield, we saw a crowd of people where there shouldn’t have been anyone. We landed, taxied, and shut off our engines. There was shooting on all sides. People were shooting whatever weapon they had, and shouting. We climbed out of our cockpits, which involved opening the door and climbing out on the wing.

Which door?

You could use either one. On the left side, the throttle lever got in the way a bit, but it was possible. Can I continue? They did not let us to climb down from the aircraft. They grabbed us and began to throw us up in the air, catching and throwing us up again. We knew that this meant the war was over. Victory.

Did you ever operate against ships? And after the war, here you told us about the end of the war. Did you still fly combat sorties after the war?

We operated against ships in the Pillau area. We dropped bombs on them.

What was your level of accuracy?

We had hits. Aiming was conducted in the dive, “by the boot.” [An idiomatic expression indicating that there was no bombsight, rather that the pilot simply guessed when to drop the ordnance. An equivalent American expression might be “by the seat of my pants.” Ed.]
We did not fly any combat sorties after the war.

What about the Germans who were trying to make it to Sweden? Did you destroy them?

We weren’t involved in that.

You have said that in the Cobra, the engine coolant was flammable. What was this liquid?

Prestone. I do not know its contents [ethylene glycol – ed.], but it burned well.

Let’s return to the Cobras. The 37mm cannon, a fairly sufficient caliber. When they mounted it on our fighters, significant dispersion of rounds was noted. The first two rounds struck the target and the rest went all over the place. Did you have this problem on the Cobra? Did it shake the aircraft?

No. You must understand the reason for that is that our cannon was mounted precisely in the center of the aircraft.

But in the Yak it also fired through the propeller hub.

Well, I don’t know about that.

What about point of aim? How many rounds could you fire without disturbing the sight?

How would I know?

Well, what kind of bursts did you fire?

They told us to fire a burst of one second. No more than that was needed. Do not waste ammunition.

Tell us, please. Did you have armor-piercing rounds for the 37mm cannon?

We did. We had that type, I think.

Judging by lend-lease archival documents, only high-explosive rounds were delivered, and not armor-piercing.

In my opinion, we had them. But I can’t prove it. In my consciousness, they alternated [high-explosive with armor-piercing]. The same as with the machine guns: armor-piercing, then explosive bullets. Tracers. There was a tracer; this is how I know.17

What was easier to shoot down—a Messer or a Fokker?

I did not fight with Messers. I have talked about the Focke-Wulf. Either I encountered such weak pilots, or… I don’t know.
What about these airplanes? The Germans celebrate the Fokker and the Americans the F-86 Saber. They talk about their field of view, and in ours—ostensibly like in a cage or coop. Somehow I did not feel myself as being in a cage.

More on the Spitfire found in the Irish peat bog

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northern-ireland-14421581

not sure this is 100% true but made me chuckle,
An enemy decoy, built in occupied Holland, led to a tale that has been told and retold ever since by veteran Allied pilots. The German "airfield," constructed with meticulous care, was made almost entirely of wood. There were wooden hangars, oil tanks, gun emplacements, trucks, and aircraft. The Germans took so long in building their wooden decoy that Allied photo experts had more than enough time to observe and report it. The day finally came when the decoy was finished, down to the last wooden plank. Early the following morning, a lone RAF plane crossed the Channel, came in low, circled the field once, and dropped a large wooden bomb.
i do hope its true

Stumbled over this last night. As it's 72 years to the day I thought I'd share:
No Luftwaffe units were worked harder during Europe's final weeks of peace than were the cherished groups of Ju.87 Stukas, which were being remorselessly groomed for the leading role in the war Hitler was determined to launch against Poland. One of the more experienced Stuka outfits, Group I of the 76th Sturzkampfgeschwader, commanded by Captain Walter Sigel, was sent up from its usual base in Austria to Cottbus, sixty miles southeast of Berlin, as part of the Luftwaffe's general deployment of its strike forces toward the east. It was Sigel's pride that his was one of the early units to be so deployed, especially since I/St.G.76 had been handpicked for a showpiece demonstration to be held for the benefit of the senior Luftwaffe commanders, including Generals Hugo Sperrle, Bruno Loerzer, and Wolfram von Richthofen. Sigel's outfit was equipped with the lastest Ju.87B's, mounting new Jumo 211D engines rated at 1,200 horsepower, nearly twice as powerful as those used in Spain. Sigel hoped to stun the onlooking air commodores with a mass formation diving attack of the entire group, twenty-seven aircraft in all. He succeeded, but in a way nobody could have dreamed of.

The demonstration was scheduled for the morning of August 15 [1939]. The hour chosen, six [a.m.], was undoubtedly selected for the dramatic postsunrise effect it would offer. Just prior to the scheduled takeoff time, a weather reconnaissance plane landed at Cottbus with a report on
conditions over the strike area, a wooded section of Silesia near Neuhammer-am-Queis, thirty minutes' flight time away. Conditions were far from ideal. The weather pilot told Captain Sigel that it was clear above 6000 feet, but below he would find seven-tenths cloud cover all the way down to 2500 feet. Below that, however, visibility was good. This meant that Sigel would have to trust finding a hole in the clouds over the strike area, lead his group down through the murk, and and break into the clear with about five seconds left to line up on the target, release bombs, and pull out. As group commander, Sigel had three choices: to request postponement of the strike until the weather was clear all the way down, to ask that the exercise be scrubbed, or to carry on as planned. Since Sigel was a German officer, and since a galaxy of fearsome Luftwaffe generals were gathering to personally witness I/St.G.76's star turn, only the last option was thinkable. Shortly after 5:30am, Sigel led his group off the field at Cottbus.

Once Sigel left the ground, he was in constant radio communication with the twenty-six other Stukas forming up in squadron strength behind him, but there was no radio link between his airborne group and the strike area at Neuhammer. Thus he could not know of the disaster in the making. Between the time the weather plane had surveyed the area and returned to Cottbus and the time Sigel's group neared the strike zone, early morning ground fog formed into an opaque white blanket covering almost the entire area, rising in places to merge with the fringes of cloud. No more dangerous weather conditions for a dive-bombing attack could have been created.

Sigel, with his Stukas arrayed behind him, approached Neuhammer at an altitude of 12,000 feet, estimating his position by dead reckoning and upon checkpoints which were in the clear on the flight out from Cottbus. Above, a pale blue windowpane sky; below, a sea of rolling clouds tinged with red. The generals were waiting. Sigel rolled the Stuka on its back and shoved the stick forward. The altimeter needle began unwinding in a futile race to keep up with the altitude that was being eaten away at the rate of 375 feet per second. Sigel's bomber plunged into the dirty gray wet muck at a dive angle of seventy degrees doing nearly 300 miles per hour. Closed in by the white world about him, his eyes straining to see past the mist being churned by the prop, Sigel felt time drag. By now, the entire group, echeloned out on his wings, were hurtling through the clouds with him. Where was the clear air promised by the weather pilot?
Any instant now...

Then the horrified Sigel saw not two thousand feet of clear space, but a limitless canopy of trees rushing toward him. Already tensed to the breaking point, his reactions were instantaneous. He screamed a warning to the others and slammed the stick back. Through the blur of a grayout, Sigel saw that he missed death by a matter of feet; the Stuka was zipping through a firebreak below the treetops. His warning came too late for the two dive-bombers riding his tail. They plunged into the earth, sirens wailing, and exploded -- as did all nine Stukas of the second wave. The high squadron's Ju.87's convulsively came out of their dives, but two of them stalled out and smashed into the trees to join the eleven others. Fragments of metal and flesh were scattered across a wide area, and fires started in the summer-dry secondary undergrowth. Plumes of smoke, pyres for the twenty-six airmen who had died before breakfast, rose lazily into the air, blending with the fog that began to dissipate not long afterwards.

The tragedy at Neuhammer, worst of its kind in the recorded history of aviation, was kept secret for a long time afterward. OKL was notified immediately, of course, as was the Fuhrer. One account has it that when Hitler was given the news, he "stared speechlessly out of the window for ten minutes." The reaction is believable; Hitler was a mystic, a believer in astrology, and the wiping out of thirteen of his vaunted Stukas at one stroke was surely an omen. His war against Poland, in which the Luftwaffe was counted on to play a decisive role, was scheduled to begin sixteen days later.
Cajus Bekker- Angriffshohe 4000

As an additional note it seems one Hans Ulrich Rudel was destined for this group but ended up, much to his disappointment at the time, being sent to a recon group.

a video interview with Stewart "Bomb" Finney. think foz and bucket are going to like this particularly...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7USd...el_video_title

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9JZex...feature=relmfu

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bh1Sx...el_video_title

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slM-I...el_video_title

some 357th stories...

During a mission to Munich, in a nearly complete undercast near Ulm, Capt. Glendon Davis was flying with the second element in Blue Flight of the 364th Fighter Squadron, having lost his wingman in an earlier run-in with German fighters. The three Mustangs were climbing back through the clouds when five Bf 109s came down through a break in the clouds. They failed to spot the P-51s; “We let them get below us, then bounced them from above,” said Davis. “On the turn into them, my second element cut inside me and went for the first three 109s. I singled out the last one and he went for the deck. While he was looking back at me he touched the snow, but pulled it back and kept on going. I gave him a burst from 300 yards, observing strikes and he cut his engine and began a glide for an open snow-covered field. I closed on him, firing steadily all the way and observing my bullets completely riddle his airplane. Just as I pulled up to avoid collision he exploded. Pieces of his airplane hit the top and leading edge of my right wing, smashing it flat. I climbed back up to 29,000 feet and came home alone. I can truthfully say that I owe my life to the excellence of American materials and workmanship.”

While the Blue, White and Green Flights were tangling with the Germans below the bombers, Red Flight, led by Maj. Thomas Hayes, had stuck with the bombers. Soon, several “heavy fighters” tried to take advantage of the situation. “Three or maybe four twin-engine enemy aircraft made a sorry attack on a tight formation of three boxes of B-17s,” said Hayes, “and, I might add, with no apparent results. I called the flight to attack, and while going down they all broke up. One headed south, which I closed up with my wingman, Capt. Currie, as cover. My element, led by Capt. (Jack) Warren, chased two on a heading north. We turned only gradually without diving, which made the kill easy. At 300 yards my first had not enough lead but the enemy aircraft did nothing. Still closing, my second burst caught him square and started the left engine to burn. He reacted now by straightening out where he caught the full effect of all my guns. This was at about 50 to 100 yards and I observed his canopy in addition to other debris leave the plane. I went under him by 50 feet and noticed both engines burning. (I) also (noticed) the black crosses on the underside of the left wing, which was trimmed heavily with bright yellow. His belly was robin’s egg blue and the top a rusty brown. I broke away to come back again when I saw one parachute open and the aircraft go straight down, where it exploded in a snow field.” Because there was no return fire from the tail gunner when he was attacking at close range, Hayes assumed that no observer had been on board.

Jack Warren spotted a single Fw 190 flying straight and level at 1000 feet. “I closed in to about 100 yards from astern and fired a short burst,” said Warren. “I observed numerous strikes on and around the cockpit. The enemy aircraft started a spiral to the left and crashed in an orchard. The pilot undoubtedly was killed. The enemy aircraft was entirely demolished and, when last seen, had started to burn.” Warren later spotted some Me 210s and shot down two of them, raising his score to five and making him the group’s first ace.
Meanwhile, Lt. Col. Hubert Egenes of the 362nd spotted an enemy plane 5000 feet below him. “I went into a 45-degree dive and closed on the plane, a Bf 109, at approximately 10,000 feet,” said Egenes. “I commenced firing from about 250 yards range and observed strikes on his fuselage, wings and underside of the plane. The enemy ship caught fire from the oil coolers near the center of the fuselage underneath. The last I saw of him he was in a steep dive, burning, heading into the clouds. I saw no parachute. “Upon pulling up from this encounter at about 14,000 feet I noticed a Bf 109 forming on another 109’s wing. The first pilot was rocking his wings, apparently signaling for both of us to join up. They must have thought I was friendly, for they allowed me to fly up by the No. 2 man. We were all in a gentle climb straight ahead. Then I pulled up directly behind the wingman and started firing. Pieces flew off his plane and it began burning. He went out of control, rolled over on his back and went down.”
It wasn’t all victories this day, however. Lt. John England and his wingman, Lt. Alvin Pyeatt, were attacked by a trio of Bf 109s. “I peeled off to the right, making a very tight turn into the enemy aircraft,” said England. “Due to the tightness of the turn and a full fuselage tank I went into a high-speed stall (from) which took me about 10 seconds to recover. I did not see Lt. Pyeatt during or after this maneuver. Later I attempted to contact him over R/T, but there was no replay.” Pyeatt’s Mustang “Scrappy,” P-51B 43-6960, was shot down and crashed, killing the pilot.

another one..


On 12 May, the First Air Task Force received an escort to Brux. Lt. William Reese of the 357th Fighter Group was flying on Capt. John Carder’s wing when he spotted two Bf 109s coming in on Carder’s tail. “I called (Carder) to break right,” said Reese. “We came around on the two enemy aircraft’s tails. I followed the enemy aircraft from 8000 feet to the deck, firing short bursts at 400 yards and was unable to close. Finally after a 10-minute chase I observed strikes on the enemy aircraft’s engine and it began to smoke. I then closed to within 100 yards and observed strikes all over the enemy aircraft.”
“At this time, Capt. Carder passed over me from my right to the left and this was the last I saw of him.” Suffering from a balky engine, Carder bellied in and the 7-victory ace became a POW.
During the run in to the target, eight Bf 109s from JG.27 tried to attack the bombers, and three of them were destroyed by Lts. Ralph Hofer, Joseph Pierce and Grover Siems and Capt. Howard Hively. In another attack, Lt. Thomas McDill and Maj. James Goodson each bagged a Bf 109, and four pilots later combined for six more victories. George Stanford was among the last group of victors. “At 10,000 feet, we spotted three Bf 109s below us and went down to attack them from the rear. I picked the one in the middle, and he broke right and down onto the deck. I fired at him continually, starting at about 350 yards. I observed only one group of hits on his starboard wing. For some reason, however, he seemed to think his jig was up, for he pulled up in a steep climb, started to roll over, and jettisoned his canopy.”
Lt. Eliot Shapleigh dove for the same three Bf 109s, his section weaving to lose speed so as not to overshoot. “I opened fire, getting strikes on the wings and fuselage,” he said. “I pulled up as the enemy aircraft went into the deck and exploded.” At that point Shapleigh made a starboard turn and found himself on the tail of Stanford’s Bf 109. Shapleigh opened fire, and the Bf 109 completed his roll and went into the ground on its back.
Lost during the mission was Lt. Roger A. Hilsted, who was shot down by a German fighter. In exchange, the group accounted for 14 enemy aircraft. Lt. Thomas Norris shot down one and shared a second with Lt. Aubrey Hood, while single kills went to Maj. Irwin Dregne, Capts. Maurice Baker, “Bud” Anderson, Paul DeVries and William O’Brien and Lts. Joseph Pierce, Thomas McKinney, Richard Smith and Robert Smith. Shares of victories went to Capts. John Storch, Richard Peterson and Fletcher Adams and Lt. Arval Roberson.
Elsewhere above the bomber stream, the 4th Fighter Group was in action as well. Lt. Ted Lines and his wingman spotted a pair of Bf 109s and the two dropped their tanks to pursue. “They split up and headed for the deck,” said Lines. He saw his wingman destroy one Bf 109, “and just then the other Bf 109 cut right in front of me. I got on his tail and started firing. I followed the enemy aircraft for about 20 miles, and he led me into a flak area. By that time, I was out to get him. I cleared my tail and just as I faced forward I saw this Bf 109 hit the ground and blow up.” Other German fighters fell to Capt. James Happel and Lt. Robert Homuth.


Fletcher Adams was one of several 357th pilots who survived the air combat by parachuting or belling in behind enemy lines only to be killed by civilians. the 357th museum in Ida, La ( his home town i believe ) is dedicated to him and bears his name.

Great clips Bobby!! Basically tells us the Hurricane could slaughter the 109 haha. Brilliant.

nice bobbysocks.I flew the yak last night for a couple of hours.gonna jump in the hurricane tonight hopefully.nice part about it is i wont piss my pants with fear.hats off to that old gent.

some stories from Joe Shea 375 FG 362 SQ

The day the Germans blasted the 362nd over the Hague.

On many of the mission I flew on we would enter the continent over the Hague and always at about 18000 feet. This had become more or less routine, and we never expected the Germans to shoot at us. In fact I recall being told in Clobber College just that.

One morning though the Germans had apparently been observing our pattern, our air speed, etc and had polished the barrels of their 88 mm anti aircraft guns one last time before we flew over. There were probably 24 planes in the formation, 4 ship flights in trail and all tucked in nice and close. Guess we wanted to show the Germans what pretty formation we could fly.

Suddenly about a dozen rounds of 88’s exploded right at our altitude and right in the formation. I happened to be tail end Charlie and as I pealed off to the right sharply I looked back and you have never seen a bomb burst of planes the like of what I observed.

The old saying goes, “If you can see the flash and hear the noise, you’re dead.” Well that’s not true. I was at the rear of the formation but both saw the flash and heard the noise and I am sure the rest of the pilots saw and heard the same but we all formed back up and continued the mission. I guess the only casualties were the crew chiefs that had to patch up all the holes in the aircraft.

The moral of this story is to never get too cocky and let your guard down.

Joe B & Joe S got snookered.

I was flying on the wing of Joe Broadhead one day and apparently there had been some action because we were down to a flight of 2 heading home when we came across a German airfield with 7 ME-109’s lined up along one side of the field and 6 on the opposite side. Col Broadhead elected to take the 7 and let me have the 6. As we approached from the east, suddenly the sides of the buildings along both sides of the field fell away revealing anti aircraft guns. Col Broadhead called break and I didn’t have to be told twice we both broke sharply to the right and down to tall grass levels and got out of there full speed.

Don’t know to this day if the planes were real or dummies but somehow feel like we were duped.

The urge to KILL.

During the spring of 1945 it was quite common to perform your escort duties and after returning the bombers to friendly territory, to turn tail and go back into Germany and search out targets of opportunity. On one such occasion, probably south of Hanover, we encountered an unusual cloud pattern. The clouds were in rows much the same as hay farmers roll up the hay into parallel rows across a field. We were flying up one clear space and finding nothing diving down under the cloud row to the next clear spot. On one such maneuver we flew, inadvertently for sure, right over a German airfield and all hell broke loose. I recall looking back and seeing a solid red stream of tracers directly behind my tail. Needless to say, I bent the throttle over the quadrant in an effort to get more speed and somehow managed to stay ahead of the stream of bullets.

End of story? No not quite. I have never been able to erase the memory of the almost overpowering urge to kill the gunners who were firing at me. I wanted to split “S” and blast the gun emplacement. To have done so at that altitude would have been suicidal. It’s the only time during my tour that I was truly insanely angry with the Germans. Since then I have rationalized and understand that they had every right to be shooting at me, after all I was invading their homeland. But at that moment all I could think of was “How dare you.” Guess you might say I took it personally.

2 for me and 2 for you.

Do not recall the name of the pilot I was flying with but apparently we had been in a clash with German planes because we were down to a 2 ship formation. We came across 4 ME-109’s flying along at our altitude and they had not seen us. My leader called out and said, You take the 2 on the right and I will take the two on the left. And be sure to shoot the one at the rear first so you don’t give yourself away. We were closing in nicely from about the 7 o’clock position. We were almost to the magic 250 yard place to open fire when 4 blue nosed P-51s came screaming over the top of us and in an instant the 4 ME-109’s were destroyed. Two burst into massive flames, one the wing was sawed off at the wing root and the other was sawed in half right behind the pilot. All 4 crashed in a field the size of a football field. None of the pilots escaped.

The thoughtless train engineer.

On one occasion where we had gone back into Germany to search out targets of opportunity we ran across a trainload of gasoline. The train was in a small German town and the engineer disconnected the engine from the rest of the train and high-tailed it to the south. Our leader dispatched a couple of 51’s to take out the engine and the rest of us stayed to work over the tank cars.

There was a huge lumber yard right next to the train tracks and our leader instructed us to drop our external fuel tanks on the lumber yard on the first pass and to fire into the lumber yard on the second pass. We then started working over the 20 or so cars of gasoline. On my first pass to fire on the train the tank car I was shooting at exploded and I had to fly through the huge fireball. My gun camera captured a beautiful shot of the top of the conning tower on the tank car spiraling up in front of my plane. Fortunately I missed all the pieces and burst out into the clear in a second or two. On my second pass I was relegated to the 2 cabooses which I managed to splinter quite well with the 6-50 cal guns..

The squadron destroyed all the cars of gasoline and made a proverbial mess of the town in the process.

The amazing part of this experience is that about one block beyond the railroad tracks was a road running parallel to the tracks. All the time we were beating up the place a little old German lady was walking along that road with a satchel over her arm, presumably on the way home from the market. When we left we could still see her walking along the road.

The ME-262 that got away.

It was close to the end of the war and one day while on the return home from a mission, someone shouted break and one of our pilots made a fast break, his guns accidentally fired, and one of our 51’s went down. That evening a TWX came down advising us to turn our guns off when we left the target area because, after all, the Germans never attack us on the way home anymore.

The next day or so we went to the Brunswick area and after we left the target area I turned my guns off as directed.

Apparently there was a ME-262 pilot that did not get the message that the Germans never attack us on the way home.

We were in a 4 ship formation heading home. I was on the flight leaders left wing and the 2 ship element was off a hundred yards to the right.

I had just checked my tail and swept my eyes around past the leader to check the elements tails. Saw nothing so started the return sweep. As my sight went past the leader I saw a small cloud like affair forming out ahead of us. I knew instantly that what I saw was a string of 20 mm shells exploding. My eyes darted to my tail and sure enough, there was a ME-262 firing at me. In a split second I observed that he was closing very fast and could not continue to fire much longer. I also rationalized that he’s missing me now and the present crop of German pilots are extremely poorly trained. I then made the command decision to not make any movement and take the chance of flying into his stream of bullets. I was correct because he stopped firing and started fish tailing in an effort to slow down to stay behind me. He was unsuccessful and slid up past me ever so slowly.

At this point I should have backed off and let the leader have him but my mind never thought of that. All I could think about was, You had your turn, now its mine.” I slid in on his tail but since I was probably less than 2 feet behind him I realized I could not fire because I would be flying through the pieces. I waited till he was out there a couple hundred yards and pressed the trigger. NOTHING HAPPENED. Oh my God, my guns are turned off. I dove for the gun switch and in the process banged my head on the gun sight and knocked myself out. I came to with the sound of spent casings from my leaders guns rattling off my plane. He knocked some pieces off but the 262 got away.

I did get some gun camera image since the camera works even when the guns are turned off.

Ever since the war ended I have wanted in the worst way to find out the name of the German pilot so I could make his acquaintance. I think it would be fun to hash over that day over north Germany.

I havetn found a good stroy in a very long time and just fell onto this one...and it is GOOD!

W.Budd Wentz and his incredible story:

"On the morning of my wife, Bette’s, birthday Saturday, April 7, 1945, we set out on a mission to bomb a ME-262 jet airfield at Parchim, Germany. We took off from Lavenham, England (station 137) flying the B-17G-105-BO (#43-39126) we were assigned in March in position #4 under the Group Leader’s plane. The 838th Squadron was leading that day. The weather was excellent with only a few puffy clouds at about 20,000 feet. At approximately 13:10 hrs, I took the controls from the co-pilot while continuing to monitor the Group radio channel. The talk was relatively quiet with no calls announcing any German fighters or flak at that time. [NOTE - The 486th Bomb Group Association indicates that the 486th BG (H) dropped incendiaries on the Me-262 jet base over Parchim, GR at 1357 LST, 7 April 1945.]
Suddenly, while on route to the IP, we received a terrific jolt and bang. I tightened up on the wheel to prevent it from swerving. The waist gunner reported over the intercom that our plane had been hit in the tail by an ME-109 diving down from 4 o’clock high.
The tail gunner, Sgt. Jewell, was shoved forward 4-5 feet, but was only banged around. The plane was functioning okay so I held position for a few moments. The crew reported pieces of the tail and rudder were coming off. The engineer in the top turret reported that the vertical stabilizer was severely damaged. From the left side of the plane the crew observed that an ME-109 had severely damaged its right wing and was spinning down out of control. No parachute was seen while the crew had the ME-109 in view.
Not wanting to damage any other planes, I increased speed and planned to dive forward out of the formation. Unfortunately the plane didn’t dive when I pushed the wheel forward. I flew ahead of the formation and then cut the throttles back and let down in a flat aspect. After leaving the formation, I found that kicking the rudder didn’t turn the plane either. We couldn’t climb, dive or turn; it was apparent that I had no rudder or elevator control. Keeping the airplane level, I let down and turned by cutting the throttle on the outboard engine on that side and skidded around.
To prepare for emergency landing we dropped our bomb load in an open area then headed in a westerly direction while making a large circle to keep a flat attitude. The crew continued to report pieces falling off. I felt I had better get the plane on the ground. The navigator and bombardier found an airfield to the north with a single light gray runway. It could be worn asphalt or concrete. Low trees and cut grass surrounded the area. I approached in a northern direction and touched down. It had been only about 20 minutes since we were hit. It was odd that we hadn’t see any other fighters near our plane on our descent. We didn’t know if any other B-17s were hit.
On the right side of the runway, in the southeast quadrant, there was one or two small 1-story low buildings. Several new looking ME-262s were lined up under the trees. It was definitely a small facility in a very rural location without much fanfare. In 2005, I learned it was Wernershohe.
We were in Germany and expected to be in a Stalagluft as POWs in short order. At least we were on the ground unharmed. I came to a stop and taxied toward a building. To my surprise American soldiers came running out to the plane. “What the hell are you doing? You aren’t supposed to land here.”, shouted an American Army Major standing in his jeep. We learned that the Americans had just occupied the airfield only 2-3 hours earlier that day.
Upon examining the plane we saw the movable rudder was completely gone and the vertical stabilizer was damaged. The right horizontal stabilizer was reduced to less than one third its size while the left and right elevators were completely gone. The tail of the fuselage was crushed including the tail turret. The tip of a ME-109 wing was embedded in the fuselage. We pulled the tip of the ME-109 out and kept it as a souvenir. [NOTE-A piece of the ME-109 wing section is on display at the Eighth Air Force Museum in Savannah, Georgia.]
Under some trees at the edge of the runway was another B-17. It was an old camouflaged plane with no markings and no chin turret, probably a B17-E or F. It was in rough shape, but no FLAK holes. The plane was pretty beat up, but after inspecting it we ran up the engines from a jeep generator then we took off and flew back to our air base in England. We flew at 3 - 4,000 feet keeping watch for airfields along the way just in case we needed to land again quickly.
We landed at our home airbase in Lavenham several hours after the group had returned. By now it was late in the day and starting to get dark. Somewhat reminiscent of our earlier landing that day an American officer came racing out to our plane, “What the hell happened to my new 17? You were supposed to be here hours ago.” I told the Major that we left his new plane back in Germany and traded it for this one instead.
We were driven to the mess hall but were never officially debriefed or interrogated. Later that evening I was taken to the Squadron Commander, Capt. “Pete” Riegal, and gave him a short version of our events that day. He told me that we would not have to fly any further combat missions in this war, but he would not ground us. We had crash landed 2 times in 28 missions as well as returned 5 times on two engines."

If they made that into a movie noone would believe it!

I took the liberty of posting this story by Andrew George Linsley, July 2007

Black Thursday 13th June 1940.
As I stood amongst the 131 Gravestones in the churchyard at Stavne, Trondheim, at lunchtime on the 13th of June 2007 I was in good company. I was amongst the Allied personnel who died defending Norway after invasion in 1940. None of the men buried there were over 30 years of age and indeed the majority were only 18 or 19 years old.
As I stood there in the peace and tranquillity of that poignant scene I thought to myself “what a Bl…..dy waste!” 7 of those graves are Fleet Air Arm men; who died together on Thursday the 13th of June 1940, referred to as “Black Thursday”. This is their story… To understand the events we must go back a little further in time. On 7th June 1940, HMS Glorious landed on three Hurricanes from Bardufoss, and so skilfully did the RAF pilots, with no previous deck-landing experience, put them down that it was decided to recover the remainder of the RAF in this way. Thus ten Hurricanes of 46 Squadron and ten Gladiators of 263 Squadron were embarked in Glorious from Skaanland and Bardufoss, as well as the ship’s own nine or ten Sea Gladiators of 802 Squadron and some Swordfish of 823. There then followed a calamitous decision to detach Glorious, escorted only by the two destroyers Ardent and Acasta, to proceed independently to Scapa Flow. It was not known at the time, but the German battle-cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were patrolling between Jan Mayen island and the Norwegian coast, looking out for British carriers. On the afternoon of 8th June, 180 miles WNW of the Lofoten islands, Glorious and her escorts were sighted. At 1630 the Germans opened fire, and within ninety minutes Ardent was sunk, and Glorious, set on fire, and capsized. Subsequently in the freezing northern waters, all but 43 men perished out of a total of 1474 of the Royal Navy, and 41 of the Royal Air Force. Acasta doggedly and coolly launched a torpedo attack on Scharnhorst before she, too, was sunk. Scharnhorst was damaged, and had to return to Trondheim for repairs. On the 13th of June HMS Ark Royal launched, at 0002 fifteen of 800 and 803 Squadrons’ Skuas to attack her. It was a disastrous sortie; carried out in broad daylight, with no cloud cover, intense and accurate anti-aircraft fire, and the Messerschmitts from Vaernes waiting for them above the target. The formation was broken up before it could attack. Only one hit was obtained, and the bomb failed to explode. Eight of the 15 Skuas were shot down. 7 aircrew were killed, and 9 were captured.



Roll of Honour. 803 & 800Squadron
Fleet Air Arm Raid on Scharnhorst at Trondheim 13 June 1940
Lieutenant Robin Southey Bostock Lieutenant George Edward Desmond Finch-Noyes Midshipman Leonard Henry Gallagher Petty Officer Wallace Crawford
Sub-Lieutenant John Anthony Harris [died 14 June 1940] Naval Airman Stuart Rex Douglas Stevenson [died 31 May 1941] Leading Airman William James Tremeer

We SHALL remember them.

nice hot cup of tea with the great reads here highly recommended gents keep them coming great stuff:-)

John Wray 137 sqdn

"We were the first squadron to become operational on the Hurricane 1V, carrying eight 3 inch rockets with 60lb explosive warheads or, as an alternative two 40mm guns. We opted for the rockets as principle armament becouse they were so devastating. However we were not allowed to take the rockets overland into enemy territory as the air ministry wanted to keep them as a surprise for the invasion when it came,so we kept six aircraft armed with the 40mm cannon just for "Rhubarbs". These weapons were very accurate and really sorted out trains,the 40mm would blow the boiler right off.

Four of use set off on a "Rhubarb" in an area near Le Touquet. The Hurricane IV had no defensive armament the two remaining brownings being used to keep heads down when attacking ground targets with our primary weapons to which our gunsight was harmonised. Moreover with all the weight we now carried, the poor old Hurricane never the quickest climber had a pretty poor rate of climb. On the instrument panel was the boost overide toggle a red knob you could pull out to give emerency boost if required. However if you used it for more than two minuites the engine was liable to blow up. The red toggle had a piece of wire which extended through the instrument panel to the boost control on the engine.

We had just attacked a train when the air was suddenly full of Fw 190s. We had a big turning match, the Hurricane still retained its amazing manouverability and one by one we managed to make cloud cover. We landed back at base individually but more or less at the same time. As we walked in I said "That was a bit of a dicey do, by God". A canadian said "I wasnt the least bit worried, I didnt see any problem." I noticed he was clutching something in his hand and asked what he was concealing. Unknown to himself, he was clutching the red toggle of the boost overide, with a couple of feet of wire attached. He had pulled it right out of the instrument panel !

My Father - Gordon A. Piland
 

Greetings ...

Thank you for taking your time to read this document about my Father, Gordon A. Piland. My Husband, Thomas E. Baker LTC MP USAR, is the author. The words were written to honor my Father's memory. I want to be sure there is no confusion regarding the authorship of this document. The story is true and serves as a significant contribution to the PILAND Family's oral history.

I am posting this photo on Father's Day in honor of my Dad and Hero ...