[bobbysocks]

THE STORY OF SQUADRON LEADER HICKEY

To my mind, no-one could fail to be thrilled by the heroism shown by an Australian pilot, Squadron Leader William Joseph Hickey, who was killed in action on the day following an outstanding act of bravery.

During December, when the fighting on the northern front was particularly fierce, Squadron Leader Hickey was leading a detachment of aircraft on patrol, when they came across a formation of some ten Italian fighters and bombers. During the air battle that followed one member of the squadron - "Sammy" Cooper, had to bale out after being severely wounded. On his way down, this officer was being machine gunned by Italian aircraft and Squadron Leader Hickey, seeing what was taking place, immediately began to circle round and round in the vicinity of his colleague, in order to attract the attention of Greek troops on the ground. At the same time he was able to keep at bay the Italian aircraft which were making repeated and determined attacks on the helpless man descending by parachute.

When Cooper had landed near a Greek advanced post, which was itself under heavy shell fire, Squadron Leader Hickey made off to find assistance. He made a successful landing in a field near Argyrocastron, which was then only a short distance behind the front line, and immediately organised a relief party. Having secured an ambulance, he drove back towards the mountain post near to which Cooper had come down. Stopped eventually by an impassable river, Squadron Leader Hickey secured the loan of a horse, forded the stream and rode up to the Greek advanced post. Greek soldiers constructed a wooden stretcher and , under the supervision of the squadron leader, the badly wounded pilot was carried for miles, over difficult mountainous country and frequently under fire from the Italians, back to the ambulance.

The ordeal was not, however, over. The squadron leader drove Cooper back to Argyrocastron but there, unfortunately, the Greeks had little medical equipment, no drugs and no anesthetics. Undeterred by this unexpected set-back, the squadron leader had Cooper put back into the ambulance and began the drive to Yannina, where he knew that better facilities would be available.

Early next morning, still on the way to hospital, Cooper died and Squadron Leader Hickey, in spite of many hours of continued activity, returned to his squadron. A few hours later he was again in action with the enemy and, in the course of this combat he himself had to bale out.

By a tragic repetition of events the Squadron Leader came under fire from an Italian aircraft as he floated slowly down to the ground. On landing he was found to be dead.

I need hardly tell you that the other members of the squadron saw to it that the Italian pilot who had gunned the defenceless Squadron Leader was himself shot down in flames.

Hickey was a great type of Australian. Seconded from the Royal Australian Air Force on a five year's attachment , under the pre-war scheme for the interchange of pilots, he had proved an outstanding success when given command of a squadron in the Middle East. His concern for his pilots, which found so magnificent a climax in the heroic deed of which I've just told you will long be remembered as one of the most gallant episodes of the war in Greece.

He had already been recommended for the Distinguished Flying Cross and it was subsequently awarded to him but he did not live to learn of this honour.

NEVER A BRAVER MORE UNSELFISH MAN DIED IN GREECE.

THIS EXTRACT FROM 3 SQUADRON'S ACE BOBBY GIBBES'S BOOK (Pages 95 to 9 DESCRIBES TYPICAL EVERY-DAY FEARS AND THOUGHTS THAT HE, LIKE MOST 3 SQUADRON PILOTS, EXPERIENCED DURING ACTION AGAINST A FIERCE ENEMY

On Saturday, the 13th of December 1941, we spent most of the morning on standby without being given a job but during the afternoon we carried out a patrol in the Martuba area, led by Ed Jackson.

We approached over Derna from the sea, below a layer of cloud at about 5,000 feet heading south. As we crossed the coast we saw six 110s escorted by 109s, and we gave chase. The enemy pilots saw us before we could close, and the 109s turned around to attack. Due to the low cloud base, they were not able to make use of the superior performance of their aircraft and could not employ their pick and zoom tactics. However, the cloud made it easier for them to take evasive action, and every aircraft which I attacked was able to pull up into the cloud. We also were not loath to make use of the cloud ourselves, and whenever I was in any danger, I would climb up into it for shelter.

The squadron soon became split up and I found myself stooging around in company with a single Tomahawk and two 109s. One of these109s was at this point, engaged in attacking the Tomahawk, and as it took evasive action and the attacking 109 dived past and continued down, some couple of thousand feet or more below its level, I saw my chance and dived onto the second 109, carrying out a deflection shot at it from the port side, and following it around until my attack was from line astern. The 109 flicked and spun, with a whisp of smoke trailing in its wake. The Tomahawk was now on fire and going down, and its attacker started to climb up after me. If I had tried to turn into its attack, I might not have been able to get around in time, and this would leave my body exposed to its fire. If I did manage to turn in time, another head on attack would result. (These head on attacks always frightened hell out of me as I could never be sure of the enemy's method of passing. It was strange that I never was hit in these attacks, as both aircraft presented non deflection targets to each other. When crouching low in the cockpit, watching the black smoke from the attacking aircraft guns spewing lead, and almost mesmerised by the ugly air intake of the 109 protruding from the port side of its sleek nose, I would feel the size of a house while waiting until the last second, before pushing the stick violently forward, bunting beneath it, and would breathe again, when the enemy passed close above.)

I decided that I could climb up into the cloud before it could get into range, and I pulled up steeply at high boost. The cloud did not seem to be getting any closer; the climbing 109 was rapidly growing larger, but at last I made it just as the German pilot started to shoot. I disappeared into its friendly concealing grayness with a shower of tracer going past me and I turned hard to port in case I was still being shot at.

I then settled onto instruments and circled within the cloud for a short period before poking my nose out below to survey the scene, fully expecting to see the fire of a burning 109 below, as the aircraft which I had attacked, was still spinning when last seen, but I could only see one fire some distance away which must have been Tommy Trimble's aircraft. The second 109 had disappeared. I have since learnt that it was flown by Marseille*, who had added Tommy's aircraft to his tally that day.

Being now alone, I decided to make inland, hoping to find some other targets and having the cloud cover just above my level, my morale was high. I saw twelve Stukas, flying line abreast, coming towards me with their legs hanging down like eagles' reaching for their prey. These were just made for me, and I sped towards them feeling jubilant, anticipating a number of easy victories, when I suddenly saw nine 109s stalling along in line abreast at the base of the clouds, behind and above the Stukas. My plan was instantly abandoned, and I nosed up into the cloud, thinking that I hadn't been seen. I did a slow one hundred and eighty degree turn and when I calculated that the enemy aircraft would have passed below me, I dived down hoping that I would now be just behind them, and with luck, would be able to bag a 109 or two before retreating back into the cloud. I emerged amidst a milling mass of twisting and turning fighter aircraft looking for me. My guess had been wrong and I had been seen, and now, thoroughly frightened, I rapidly pulled back into the shelter of the cloud having decided to leave this little bunch well alone.

Having regained my composure, I again dived just below the cloud and with a wild weave, made sure that I was not in a position of any danger. Directly in front of me, heading east, were three 109s, flying away with their tails towards me. This time, I was sure that I could not have been seen and climbing back into the cloud, I pursued them at full power. When I judged that I must be in range, I eased out of cloud and had another look. I was right behind them, but they were still out of range. I re-entered the cloud and repeated the performance. After three false attempts, and being very careful not to emerge ahead of them, I finally emerged and was in close range, but I suddenly saw that there were now only two aircraft. In a panic, I turned violently to port and was only just in time. The third aircraft was coming up at me from below and I scuttled back into cloud, almost blacking out under the high "G" force, just as he was about in range to start shooting. With my heart beating overtime, I decided that I had had enough, and would return home. Remaining in the cloud layer, I turned onto a westerly heading. After a couple of confused minutes trying to orientate myself, I calmed down sufficiently to realize my mistake and turned back, flying east.

The cloud started to break up a little and I suddenly emerged from cloud, into a large bubble of clear air, surrounded by cloud above, below and all around, and flying sedately in this strange world, just ahead of me, was a lovely little 109. The pilot unfortunately saw me, and started climbing in a bid to escape as I closed on him and started firing, with about a forty five degree deflection, following around into a close line astern, giving him quite a hammering as he made the cloud above, and disappeared from view. I continued to spray the cloud area where he had disappeared, then I circled below waiting for him to come spinning down, but to no avail. I was sure that he must have been destroyed, so I dived below the cloud looking for his funeral pyre of black smoke, but there was no smoke. Terribly disappointed, I again turned for home remaining in cloud.

Suddenly, I remembered the twelve Stukas, and wondered where they had been bound. It had to be near Gazala, as that was the area of our front line. I knew that I could not return home knowing about this attack, so I made towards the area. The cloud was thinning and breaking up as I approached, and on arrival, I was flying under a clear sky.

Four Stukas were circling above the Indian troops, and about 3000 feet above were three 109s circling. I weighed up my chances of not being seen by the three fighters, and when the Stukas started into their dive, surrounded by a dense array of black puffs from exploding shells from the Bofor guns, I dived down to attack, looking up to make sure that I had not been seen by their escort. When I started to close on the Stukas, the Indians must have preferred my aircraft as their target and it seemed that every gun focussed their fire on me. Perhaps this put me off as my first attack was too steep and my speed too high for accurate shooting, and my attack was abortive. I turned away, and as the three top cover aircraft were not taking any notice, I carried out a further attack on two Stukas, which had by now formed up after dropping their bombs, and I attempted to take them from abeam. As I drew into range, both aircraft turned away and their rear gunners started shooting.

I carried out two or three attacks, but on each occasion the pilots turned their tails to me and I knew that I wouldn't be able to get the pilots who were well protected by heavy armour plate behind their seats. I saw the rear gun of one aircraft, suddenly swing up during an attack and I knew that I must have wounded or killed the gunner, but when I attacked again, the gunner in the other Stuka managed to hit my armour plate glass. There suddenly appeared a vicious looking little inner circle with spider web cracks radiating out from it, and small particles of glass came into the cockpit half blinding me. I pulled away shaking, and relieved that the glass had stopped the bullet which had been coming straight for my face. If it had been two inches to the left, there was no protective glass, and it would have been curtains for me.

After I calmed down a little, I dived down again in search of my Stukas, but they had disappeared. I looked above and saw that the three 109s were now only little dots, heading west, out towards the Martuba aerodromes. I dived low across the front lines of our troops knowing that they must have appreciated my intervention, and I then returned to El Aden with my petrol tanks nearly empty and my ammunition almost expended. I hadn't achieved much, and all I could claim were three aircraft damaged. Others in the squadron, without having spent the hectic period that I had, had achieved better results. Tiny Cameron got one 109F confirmed and shared a second with Tommy Briggs and Nicky Barr got two, a 109 and a JU88.

Tommy Trimble arrived back a couple of days later, badly burnt about the face and hands. He had been shot down in flames and had crash-landed near Martuba. Luckily, he was able to get away from his aircraft without being captured and eventually given help by a Bedouin who fed him and tended his burns with native herbs. At night, he slept in the chief's tent, and much to Tommy's amusement, he would be put over on one side of the tent, and the arab's wife would be installed on the other side. The old chieftain would lie down in the middle of the tent with a rifle. Tommy said that he was not tempted to seduce the wife who was not very attractive and whose lack of hygiene acted as a deterrent to a 20 year old, badly burned, young man. He was in quite a mess, and was packed off to hospital with a posting back to Australia as soon as he was fit to travel. As one of the original pilots, he had more than earned his release from the war, even if it was to be for a short break only.

I had hoped that he would have been able to confirm my 109 for me, but he had not even been aware that I had gone down to help him. The only other item in my diary was to record the arrival of Dixie Chapman who was to take over command of the squadron from Al Rawlinson.

REPORT by KEN McRAE on the recovery of his Bf 109G

During the successful advance of 1942 in the Western Desert, the Wing was returning to Gambut Satellite where we had operated from prior to the retreat. My co-driver and myself were ahead of the convoy and when we had arrived at our Satellite, the only aircraft there was a 3 Sqn. Kittyhawk on jacks. It had been under repair when we retreated and our orders were not to destroy aircraft that couldn’t be flown out as we'd probably be returning within a few days. The aircraft appeared to be OK and it was obvious no enemy had operated from the airfield.

Our main object was to find an enemy aircraft that could be flown by our C.O. Bobby Gibbes - so we went to see if there were abandoned aircraft at Gambut Main, several miles away.

There were lots of damaged aircraft and we were delighted to find an almost new silver-grey 109. On examination the damage was slight - mainly no canopy - which must have been jettisoned in flight for the tail plane was damaged where hit by the canopy.

I wrote CV on the fuselage and then realised if we left it unguarded someone else would grab it. I sent Rex back to the Squadron to notify Bobby what had happened and we would return the following morning. A team of airmen and a truck was organised to come to Gambut Main early next morning.

In the meantime three army officers appeared and wanted to know what I was doing with the 109. I told them that I was taking it back to the squadron for the C.O. to fly and evaluate its capabilities. They informed me that they were Intelligence and I couldn’t take it - they wanted to evaluate it. I told them ‘no way’. I had the aircraft and was going to keep it. Outranked (I was an F/O) and outnumbered, I did well to convince them the prize was going to 3 Sqn.

We finally compromised … they'd take the name plates from various places on the aircraft - which would allow them to find out where the bits and pieces had been manufactured. On departing their final remark was "We’ll get it anyway". "Maybe" I said "but not before we’ve flown it."

When Sergeant Palmer returned we parked the vehicle against the fuselage and that night slept under the mainplane. No one was going to get the 109 which we now knew to be a 109G.

The ground staff arrived early the next morning and the aircraft was towed back to the Sqn. I imagined the look in the eyes of the C.O.. to see such a prize and in such good condition.

Three or four days later the aircraft was repaired and the C.O. test flew it and later made more flights.

Eventually the Intelligence people did get the aircraft and Bobby Gibbes flew it back to the Delta area. Much later we heard that they had pranged it.