In their own words...

[bobbysocks]

I, Khukhrikov, Iurii Mikhailovich, am a native Muscovite, in the fourth or even fifth generation. My ancestors were Dorogomilovo coachmen. My great grandfather, Stepan Khukhrikov, was a foreman of the Dorogomilovo coachmen. He drove cargo and passengers in the area of the Kiev Station. There used to be a Khukhrikov Lane, End, and Market in that area. The Khukhrikov Market was before the Borodino Bridge if you walked from the MID (the Ministry of Foreign Affairs), when descending toward the Moskva River. I was born in a military family. My father and uncle were military specialists. They had fought starting from 1914, and after the revolution worked in the Main Engineering Directorate of the General Staff starting in 1921. Father had the rank of a colonel, and uncle -- a lieutenant general. I was born in 1924 and lived and went to school at Chistye Prudy, opposite the Coliseum, now it is the Sovremennik Theater.

From 1930 to 1941 I went to School No.311 on Lobkovskii Lane, now it's called Makarenko Lane. I went to school with Iurii Nagibin [a well-known Soviet writer] (that's his mother's last name, back then he was Frumkin). Also with Zhenia Rudneva [Evgeniia Rudneva -- future female night bomber pilot]. She was older than me, and was already in the Aviation Institute before the war. Such were the people with whom I got to go to school.

In 1940, by fair means or foul, I joined an aviation club. They had turned me away from everywhere -- said I was too young. But I finally got what I wanted, and they let me in on the condition that I would bring a note from my parents saying they were not opposed. For the first time I took off into the air on a U-2 in September 1940, at the Kraskovo Airfield near Moscow.

In 1941 I was already 17. We had already flown from Kraskovo to Scherbinka, near Podolsk. There was a very flat field there. We organized an airfield, set up tents, and continued flying. On 1 May 1941 I, as the aviation club student, participated in the last peacetime parade on the Red Square.

In July 1941 I graduated from the club. They gave me a certificate of completion. It would help me out a lot later. All aviation clubs sent their students on to aviation academies. We were supposed to go to Tbilisi. But because the war started, all 1941 graduates were sent to Saratov, where we started flying SBs. They called it a "candle". It was completely unprotected, and besides that, made of duralumin -- any bullet or shell fragment caused a fire. I started flying it, and then an order came from the Defense Ministry: "Transfer the Saratov academy to the Airborne Forces". Soon they brought in gliders: US-4, US-5, Sh-10, G-9, "Stakhanovets". These were all sports models. There were also ones for airborne troops -- "RotFront-8" and "RotFront-11". Experienced instructors also came -- Iudin, Anokhin, and others. We immediately started flying gliders. We would be towed by U-2, R-5, SB, Douglas, and others. This way we gained experience. The plane would make a circle and at the height of 500-600 meters we would detach. We circled and were supposed to land near a landing sign. You couldn't afford to make a mistake in these gliders. For example, after making the last turn, if you miscalculated, you could fall before the landing signs, there was nothing to pull you up -- no engine! So you would fall. That's why we made our approach aiming to overshoot. And in order to descend, we banked and dived, which allowed us to lose altitude, and then landed with a minor deviation. We flew not in Saratov, but about 30 kilometers from the city, German villages were there. The residents had been deported. Villages remained unoccupied. That was where we lived and flew. Wide Volga steppe. A nice place to fly a glider.

Besides that I went through training as a diversionary group commander: explosives, hand to hand combat, fought dogs. Yes! Yes! We put on gloves, coats, and fought dogs. Like everyone, in October 1941, I submitted a request to be transferred to fighter aviation. It worked! On December 31 I was transferred to a fighter aviation academy. There we immediately began flying UT-1, UT-2, I-16. Our Belyi Kliuch Airfield was located 18 kilometers from Ul'ianovsk, not far from the Volga. Excellent airfield, good approaches.

Yes, I forgot to mention that in October I and my comrade Boria Bezrukov, with whom we had gone to school and the aviation club, and later found ourselves at the Saratov academy, had to deliver some things to Moscow. They were bales, boxes -- we came, signed, turned over the cargo. Then Boria and I decided, as patriots, to go to the front.

We infiltrated to the forward positions. Found rifles, fired them. 45mm guns were deployed next to us, real soldiers were there. Already experienced people. The Special Department worked well in that area. They found us out, that we were strangers:

"Who are you? Where from?" We told them everything that happened.

"What do you have?" That's where the certificates from the aviation club and the papers about our trip to Moscow helped us out.

"Get out and don't come back!" We picked up and ran. We got lucky with transport -- came to Saratov and no one found out about it. All of that took no more than a week, at least it went unnoticed. But I did get the "For the Defense of Moscow" medal. After I left for Ul'ianovsk from Saratov, Boria was killed. When we would fly gliders at night, 8 men sat in each glider as passengers. He happened to fly as a passenger. The glider caught up with the plane, the cable caught on a wing and tore it off. Everyone was killed.

We started to train in Ul'ianovsk -- and then an order came to retrain for IL-2.

A.D. The aircraft were delivered?

Yes. They brought in more than 30 from Kuibyshev.

I graduated from the Ul'ianovsk academy in 1943. Why so long? I was lucky! Many graduated after the war ended! They picked out only the most gifted, so they would teach us as little as possible -- there was no fuel.
So they sent us to a reserve airfield at Diad'kov, which was 18 kilometers north of Dmitrov. That's where pilots learned combat skills -- bombing, shooting. All of that took literally several hours. Possibilities were limited. A buyer from the front would come -- and we would go with him. Zhora Parshin came for us -- he was an ace! A ground attack pilot! He shot down ten aircraft in an IL! He fought from the first day of the war and to the end. Excellent man. I met him often later in Leningrad on the Liteinyi Avenue. It was 1944 when he took us. We found ourselves in the 566th Ground Attack Aviation Regiment. This regiment was the first to get its own honorary name -- Solnechnogorsk. It fought there, at Moscow. Everyone died, to a man. From 1941 only Afonia Machnyi remained, and even he lost his mind after half a hundred sorties, from 1942 -- only Leva Korchagin remained, from 1943 -- a little more, and so on. During the war the regiment lost 105 pilots and 50 gunners. 28 of us came to the division -- 15 were killed. Such were the losses.

I was put into the 1st Squadron of the 566th Regiment. Mykhlik was the squadron commander. Future Twice the Hero of the Soviet Union. We were lucky -- it was a period between operations, there was an opportunity to train, fly in formation, go into the zone. War began, and we started working at full steam in the Baltics. The regiment mostly fought in the Central and Leningrad fronts.

We fought in IL-2. It was an excellent aircraft for those times! Carried 600 kilograms of bombs, 8 rockets, 300 23mm shells for VIa cannon (150 per gun), and 1800 rounds for each machine gun -- 3600 rounds. The gunner had a 12.7mm Berezin machine gun, 10 DAG-10 distance aviation grenades for the protection of the lower rear hemisphere. If a German appeared, you would press a switch, and a grenade would fall on a parachute and explode 150 meters away. Besides that, an infantry submachine gun and grenades.

A.D. They say IL-2 was difficult to handle?

No. Not at all. I-16 -- yes. Especially when landing.

A.D. How useful do you think the rear gunner was?

The gunner was necessary. His usefulness is beyond question.

A.D. Did you already have all metal IL-2?

Yes. All aircraft were already equipped with radios. The only thing was that we sat on gasoline: a tank under me, a tank in front, a tank between me and the gunner. We were all in gasoline.

We started in the Baltics, went through Prussia, and finished in Wittenberg, from where we flew sorties to Koenigsberg and even Danzig.

We got hit a couple of times. A shell hit a wing on the twenty-eighth sortie. We made it back miraculously -- the hole was about a meter in size. If a bullet hits, the smell of burned metal can be felt. I smelled it. Turned my head -- there it was, a hole. But I was lucky -- the shock wave and fragments went to the gunner. His legs were mangled. Communications were disrupted. We landed in Wittenberg. I taxied, turned off the engine, jumped out onto the wing -- the gunner, Viktor Shakhaev, Siberian, born in 1926, was just lying there. Guys ran to us, pulled him out. Barely saved his legs. But it turned out that I was also hit. A fragment scratched the back of my head. Where did it manage to penetrate? They wanted to put me in a hospital, but I refused. War ended for me in Wittenberg. I had flown 84 sorties.

In the end of May 1945 men were selected from the regiments of our division for the Victory Parade. They picked out men about 1 meter 80 centimeters tall and sent them to Koenigsberg to drill. Our sergeant was a brilliant drill instructor. So he drilled us. In the beginning of June we were put on a train and rode toward Moscow. There we were formed into a combined battalion of pilots of the 3rd Belorussian Front. Our commander was General Prutkov, commander of the 1st Guards Stalingrad Ground Attack Air Division. They gave us tunics, boots, caps. It was a merry, nice atmosphere. We lived in the Chernyshevskie barracks, not far from Shabolovka. Where did we walk? VDNKh, at the Crimean Bridge, some other places. Special Voroshilov rations in the mess, even white bread on plates. I must say at the front the food was also excellent. The parade was on June 24. I also went to the banquet.

A.D. Did you fly as a wingman or a leader?

Everyone was at first a wingman at the front. Vasia Mykhlik and I flew about 40 sorties. He went to Moscow to get his Star (Gold Star of the Hero of the Soviet Union - trans.) and came back only in the end of April. I was already a leader. The last two sorties I already led eight -- basically a squadron. That was May 8. The first sortie was at 10 in the morning, and the second around 2pm. To the Zemland Peninsula. We worked over its very edge. Returned. They refueled us for the third sortie. We taxied, waited for the order. The Chief of Staff Nikolai Ivanovich Borkov ran to us: "Iura, taxi back. It's over!" We turned off our engines, fired into the air in joy. The war was over! And then I flew ILs and MIGs for a long time.

A.D. They say that there were 7 killed gunners for each killed pilot, is that true?

No. Let me explain. We had 105 pilots and 50 gunners killed, why? Because the regiment fought from the beginning to the end of the war. The first half of the war in one-seater aircraft. And the second half -- in two-seaters. And most of the time, they died together. A ground attack aircraft pilot, according to the statistics, managed to fly 7-8 sorties and then died. Such were statistics.

A.D. Were you escorted by fighters?

Always. Very often during the Prussian operation we were escorted by Normandie-Niemen.

A.D. Were missions assigned to eights?

Not necessarily. Depended on the mission.

A.D. What missions did you get most often?

Usually the bombing of the forward positions. I went to reconnoiter on foot once. The infantry commander said: "You guys don't have to shoot. Fly here and show yourselves. That would be enough. And if you bomb, you'll always be welcome guests!" Sunk ships in ports, 4 times flew against airfields. That was scary business! They were well protected. Worked on armor concentrations. Well, against those targets armies -- hundreds of aircraft -- were sent, in order to wipe everything off the face of the earth.

A.D. What was more dangerous, enemy anti-aircraft artillery or fighters?

AA artillery. Of course, in the beginning of the war fighters really made the lives of ground attack pilots difficult. But by the end of the war -- AA artillery. That was scary business! Several dozen small caliber AA guns were deployed and would fire into the same spot. And all around black clouds from medium caliber AA guns. You would fly and not know which of them would... kiss you. Of course, we performed an anti-AAA maneuver.

We usually flew 50 by 30 -- 50 meter interval and 30 meter distance. When approaching the frontline we spread out -- 150 meter interval. And threw our planes side to side. Then we would get into a circle above the target and start working it. Little ones [fighters] would cover us. Those were the mechanics.

A.D. How many passes would you make?

It depended on the situation. There could be such counteraction -- Lord help us! Then it would only be one pass. You would use everything at once -- rockets, guns, bombs. If the counteraction was not that great, then several -- 4, 6 times. The leader would snake away, allowing the wingmen to catch up. We approached the target in formation, if weather allowed at the altitude of 1200-1400 meters, and departed after assembling, also in formation, at the same altitude.

A.D. What was the most vulnerable spot of IL-2?

The engine. Wings were fine, more or less. If a fuel tank was hit, that wasn't bad either, why? When approaching the target we opened carbon dioxide canisters, which filled the empty space of fuel tanks. If a bullet pierced the body and hit a fuel tank, the sealer would fill the hole, fuel would not leak out, there would be no vapor, and consequently no combustion.

A.D. How effective were rockets?

They were 82mm rockets. Of course, we fired them into the general vicinity. But at the forward positions targets were all over, so heavy was the concentration of forces and vehicles. A group would work -- one missed, another would hit the target for sure. We also carried RS-132, but only 2 of them. In that case we took less bombs -- only 200 kg. But usually we took RS-82, sometimes 16 of them.

A.D. And did you install 37mm guns?

We had 37mm guns, 40 shells per gun. I didn't fly one of those. They didn't work out.

A.D. Was the German infantry well covered?

They covered themselves in only one way -- concentration of AA defenses. Not single guns, but concentrated in quadrants. I would sometimes count up to 40 guns -- an uninterrupted stream of bullets. Small caliber AA artillery was especially dangerous.

A.D. Did you attack from a dive?

Always from a dive, 30-40 degrees. You wouldn't have time to fire everything at a steeper angle. 30-40 degrees -- that is the angle that provided the complete use of all weapons.

A.D. Did you use anti-tank bombs?

Yes. We took about 280 of them. There were also 25 kg, 50 kg, and 100 kg bombs -- 4 bomb hatches, 600 kg load. We would bomb from the altitude not lower than 1400-1500 meters. If there were low clouds, 400-600 meters, but then we put in delayed fuses.

A.D. About how many sorties did you fly per day?

Sometimes 3... but that was a lot. A lot.

If someone says it wasn't scary -- they're lying. The moment of expectation was the scariest and most unpleasant. For example they would say: "1400 such and such airfield". You sit there: 1400 -- nothing, 1430 -- nothing, 1500 -- no order! Or you sit in the cockpit, waiting for a rocket, and nothing. Legs start shaking. A real panic starts. After all, there was no guarantee that you wouldn't be shot down during the mission. When a rocket would shoot up into the air your head would start working in a different direction, panic would be turned off. Then there was an unpleasant feeling when we approached the target but would not be attacking it immediately. They would be prepared for us and fire. After the attack started -- that was it, the pilot was at work, looking for targets, pushing triggers, rockets, guns, machine guns, pulling the ASSh-41 (emergency bomb release. Bombs could be released by the buttons, or if you wanted to release them all at once, you pulled that lever).

A.D. How was the effectiveness of a sortie determined?

Everyone had a gun camera, which was working when you were firing the guns. If you set a vehicle on fire, it wold be recorded. If you worked a tank, that would also be recorded. Besides that, gunners could have wide area cameras. There would usually be a couple of them per group. It covered a large area, and after we landed the film was printed. Besides that, when approaching the front line we established communications with the observer, usually a representative of the air division. We could recognize his voice. He would literally aim us: "Guys, a little to the right. OK. Now." Gave us the permission to attack. Told us where the bombs were falling. On the second pass introduced corrections. His confirmations were taken into account.

A.D. And how did you break in new pilots?

The usual. After the school pilots were sent to a reserve air regiment. There they passed through a short combat course. Bombing and strafing ground targets with cannon and machine guns. Then a buyer would come in. We were considered to be relatively ready for combat work.

A.D. And in the regiment?

After the above procedure we were flown in to the regiment and allocated to squadrons. Squadron commander would fly with each one, taking measure of everyone's level of preparedness, and picked out his wingman. I immediately became squadron commander's partner. I flew only with him. I loved flying and was almost always first.

A.D. Were there any IL-10 in your unit?

Of course. But only after the war. Their qualities were the same. Same weight, gunner, crew commander, pilot. The structure was more compact. Wing area was a little smaller. Same armament. Two cannon and two machine guns. Slightly different range. But mainly it was the same thing.

A.D. Did you ever hit friendlies?

We had Twice the Hero [of the Soviet Union] Len'ka (Leonid) Beda, we had gone to school together. An untidy person. Although, you shouldn't say anything bad about the dead. Once a general came, we were formed up. The general noticed him:

"Last name?"

"Beda" ("Beda" means "trouble" in Russian -- trans.)

"I am asking you what your last name is!"

"Beda, comrade commander!"

Len'ka killed 118 men at the end of the war. It wasn't his fault, they told him before the mission: "Bomb that target". But he had to get there first. Maybe 30 minutes. While they were flying there, the situation changed. We captured that place, but no one reported to him. The group worked the target -- 118 of our soldiers died. He returned, they tore off his shoulder boards, but immediately investigated, returned them. Later he was the Air Force Commander of the Belorussian Military District.

A.D. Have you ever encountered enemy aircraft?

I've never had to participate in a dogfight, but the rear gunner didn't sit without work -- after pulling out from an attack he fired at ground targets.

A.D. Were there any cases of cowardice?

There were single occurrences of cowardice. There was one time, when N. was leading a large group, about 20 aircraft, he turned away before reaching the target, the entire group returned to the airfield. Court martial. Gave him seven years. But he fought well afterward -- 4 Orders of the Red Banner. There were sly people as well. A small number, but there were some. He would gain altitude. We fly, attack, but he just hangs there, then descends to 1000 meters, releases the bomb load, gets in formation. But we see everything.

A.D. Did you beat him up?

Warned him. Told him: "Sasha, you do this one more time, we'll shoot you down". He was disrupting our interaction! We flew at a distance of 600 meters, he climbed, therefore the distance became 1200. Interaction was disrupted. The warning worked.

A.D. Were there penal ground attack squadrons?

No. They would send offending officers to us, not necessarily pilots. They would fly 10 sorties as rear gunners.

A.D. What was considered a combat sortie?

Only bombing enemy targets with photo confirmation.

A.D. Did you lose aircraft for technical reasons?

Technicians worked well. If a plane didn't return for technical reasons, something happened, that was very serious. Such occurrences were investigated.

A.D. Did you have to manipulate the engine's modes of operation?

Yes, of course. It was easy to do.

A.D. Did you use any special tactics?

Yes. You would make the first pass, second one, then they would say from the ground: "Wait a little, when the infantry passes, we'll redirect you to other targets". So we work this target, stay in the air, and then we work other targets based on the commands from the observation post.

A.D. Did you fly during operational pauses?

The most intense activity was during operations. Then we flew a lot, but for that time was needed, and corresponding preparation. Crews, equipment were being prepared. During pauses between operations we flew anyway. Performed tactical missions. Of course, with smaller forces. We would be sent to support infantry or to destroy columns on the march. For example, Pokryshkin flew more than 500 sorties. Participated in 84 dogfights. Shot down 59 aircraft. I also have 84 combat sorties. But if you translate our effectiveness into money, I wouldn't be short of him. Be sure of that. Of course, ground attack pilots' hands are covered in blood up to the elbows. But it was our duty, and I think we did a first class job. Did everything we could. Well, and God didn't pass us by with "crosses".

[bobbysocks]

south african friends...

August and September 1944 have poignant memories for Poles and South African airmen. By August 1, 1944, the Russians had advanced to within a few miles east of Warsaw. General "Bor" Komorowski and other leaders of the Polish underground resistance (the "Home Army") judged the time right for rebellion against Nazi occupying forces. Stalin thought otherwise, as he had his own plans for post-war Poland. He halted his troops 15 miles east of the Vistula River within 48 hours when the Home Army decided to go into action, encouraged by previous promises of Soviet's support.
In desperation, the Home Army appealed to Britain and America for much needed arms, amunition, and medical supplies. These could only be delivered by air-drops. Again Stalin said "Nyet". This time to the reasonable suggestion that aircraft might land in Russian-held territory to re-fuel. The Liberators of SAAF 2 Wing - 31 and 34 Squadrons - based at Foggia in Southern Italy, and Halifaxes, flown by the RAF, whose 148 and 178 Squadrons, as well as Polish Flight No. 1586, also took part. The proposed supply*drops meant a journey of 1600 km out over heavily defended occupied territory; roof-top height approach to the dropping zones in flames of the burning city; and another 1600 km back to base - if they were lucky.
Out of 186 sorties, 92 were considered successful. That is, the Home Army were able to retrieve some of the material dropped. Thirty-one aircraft were lost - 17 on the four terrible nights of August 13-16. 69 lives of South African pilots were lost during this operation.
The Poles have long memories for their friends. To this day, flowers are laid on the graves of the airmen who did not make it; a special memorial has been placed in St Anne's Church, Warsaw; and another built by the late Bronek Kowalski (former officer of the Polish Home Army) at Michalin where a Liberator piloted by Jack van Eyssen crashed after the supply drop, with the loss of three crew members. Those were Bob Hamilton, Leslie Mayes and Herbert Hudson.
Every year, without exemption, since 1947 a commemoration service and function is held by Polish Community in Johannesburg to honour those who fell. Initially the venue was a Cenotaph Memorial in the centre of the city. Since 1981, service is being held at the Katyn Memorial erected in memory of Polish prisoners of war who were murdered by the Soviet security forces. In 1989, monument was extended to honour South African Airmen who tookpart in the Relief Flights.
"Poland will never forget her faithful friends who went to her help in her hour of isolation and despair" - these were significant words of H.E. Stanislaw Cieniuch - first Ambassador of the truly independent Poland during the Warsaw Flights commemoration of the year 1991.
Relief Flights did not achieve its military objectives, mostly due to the political scene of post-war Europe. However, commemorations held through the years have cemented bonds of friendship between the Poles and their South African friends. SASF effort have become one of the important links in Polish struggle for independence, although it came 45 years later.
In Michalin near Warsaw there is an annual event taking place to commemorate Flights and Airmen who died there. After untimely death of Bronek Kowalski monument marking the place where they fell requires renovation. Polish artists who did visit South Africa are organising fund raising concert in the Ateneum theatre in Warsaw on the 1st of June 2001. It is entitled "Polish Artists for South African Airmen". List of the performers is compiled of the best in Poland. Polish Minister of Foreign Affairs is most likely to take patronage of this event. Support is also given by the diplomatic corps with South African Ambassador Sikose Mji heading the list. Chief of SAAF will sent his representative. Polish businessmen are also helping to collect funds. The monument will receive maintenance free finishes throughout.

[bobbysocks]

a little more about poland...the warsaw airlift

Major J.L. van Eyssen, DFC:

At 17:00 on 1 August 1944, General Bor-Komorosky ordered the AK to rise against the oppressors and the die was cast. Fierce fighting erupted in most parts of Warsaw. The element of surprise aided the AK which, after five days had seventy percent of the city under its control. There was, however, no sign of the promised Russian intervention. The well-armed Germans received reinforcements and gradually stemmed, then turned, the tide, but not without heavy losses. The Poles were running low on food and ammunition, but still no assistance from the Soviets was forthcoming. The Russians, indeed, did not so much as reply to the Poles' call for help. The Polish government in London appealed to the Russians for help or simply co-operation, but Stalin flatly refused even to grant permission for aircraft based in Britain to land behind Russian lines.
Warsaw is about 910 miles (1,464 km) from Britain on the 'Great Circle Course', but in order to avoid German air defences in the Reich, a detour had to be taken which made the journey closer to 1,100 miles (1,770 km). The return journey of 2,200 miles (3,540 km) was, of course, out of the question. Churchill then ordered that relief be flown to Warsaw from Italy which is a little closer, some 815 miles (1,311 km) on the Great Circle. This route also involved flying over heavily defended points. The task was allocated to 205 Group of which I was a member.
General Durrant went to see Air Marshal Slessor and was surprised to be admitted to the presence of Winston Churchill himself who was in an adjoining office. General Durrant pointed out to Churchill that an airlift of 1,000 miles (1,609 km), most of it over enemy occupied territory, could hold no hope of military success and that the loss of airmen and aircraft would be tremendous. Although Churchill agreed with him, he nevertheless insisted that the operation be proceeded with, if only for reasons of propaganda and morale.
It is perhaps appropriate at this point to provide a brief technical description of the Consolidated B24 Liberator in which the Group's crews were to undertake the Warsaw Airlift. For the job on hand it was the best of the big allied bombers. (The enormous Boeing B29 Superfortress had not yet made its appearance.) The Avro Lancaster was fast and had a large payload but its range was shorter than that of the Liberator and, furthermore, there were none of them in Italy. The Handley Page Halifax had a smaller payload and shorter range than the Liberator although they were used in the Warsaw Airlift by the R.A.F. and the Poles. The legendary but overrated Boeing B17 Flying Fortress had neither the speed nor the payload capacity of the Liberator. In addition to ammunition, oil and crew, the Liberator could carry a further disposable load of 2,600 pounds (1,180 kg) which was made up of petrol and payload. Her maximum permitted take-off weight was 33 tons (33,530 kg). She was powered by four Pratt and Whitney double bank radial engines of the same design as those fitted to the Douglas DC3 Dakota. However, while the latter aircraft has only the engine-driven supercharger and develops 1,100 horse power (820 KW), the Liberator had an additional turbo super- charger which raised the horse-power to 1,400 (1,044 KW). Shortened engine life was, of course, of little consequence in wartime and engine performance enjoyed priority. The indicated airspeed of the Liberator was 180 m.p.h. (290 k.p.h.) which increased to 190 m.p.h. (306 k.p.h.) when the aircraft was adjusted for altitude and temperature. On return from a target, the bombs having been dropped and much of the fuel having been used up, cruising speed rose to about 210 m.p.h. (338 k.p.h.). In emergencies, on full power, the Liberator was capable of a lot more. Her defensive armament against fighter and ground attack consisted of six 0,50 inch calibre heavy machine guns. Because our aircraft operated mainly at night, the two forward firing guns and the ball turret underneath were removed.
The Liberators were fitted with, what was for those times, the most modern electronic equipment, including the GEE box and the radio altimeter. They were equipped with the Air Ministry bombsight which was, with respect to our Allies from across the Atlantic, superior to their Norden bombsight.
When it was known that we had to fly 2,000 miles (3,218 km) non stop, we had to take a new look at the question of payload versus fuel load. On conventional bombing raids we loaded sufficient fuel for the distance to be covered plus an additional twenty five percent in case of emergency. The balance was bomb load. For this operation the maximum fuel load of 2,300 gallons (13,639 t) would have to see us to the target and back with barely ten percent excess. As we had to carry the maximum payload, we exceeded the permitted take-off weight by one ton (1,016 kg).
Each aircraft carried twelve canisters in its bomb racks. The canisters were crammed with light machine guns, ammunition, hand-grenades, radio equipment, food and medical supplies and had parachutes attached to them to slow their rate of fall.
When planning commenced, two chilling prospects arose. The first was that, due to the long days in the northern hemisphere at the time, we would have to cross the enemy coast in sunlight, both going and returning. The second was that we did not have sufficient aircraft to 'saturate' enemy defences in the form of searchlights, ground-to-air fire and fighters. We had to take a 'zig-zag' course in order to miss G.C.I. (ground controlled interception) areas.
Our Liberators had to take a long run to take-off and all rose sturdily into the air without any having to resort to the emergency boost override. As the aircraft climbed, course was set across the Adriatic. The enemy coast was soon reached in summer sunshine and, although we felt too exposed for comfort, we drew consolation from the fact that fighters could not surprise us as easily as they could in the darkness. The pilot and his gunners formed a very closely knit team, particularly when the aircraft was attacked by fighters. The pilots seldom accorded the fighters the courtesy of flying straight and level and turned violently up or down at the last second to spoil their aim and at the same time to give their gunners the advantage with their heavy machine guns.
Darkness had set in and soon the Danube came into view as a thin blue ribbon. To the north lay the Carpathian mountains – and bad weather. We were tossed about in the clouds and frequently 'lit up' by lightning. At times our propeller discs created blue circles and blue flames trailed from wing tips and other projections. This frightening although harmless phenomenon is also seen on the masts of ships at night. Sailors call it St Elmo's fires.
North of the Carpathians the weather cleared and we altered course away from Cracow which we knew to be a night fighter training centre for the Luftwaffe. A further course alteration led towards Warsaw. Before long we picked up jazz music from Radio Warsaw which was just what we wanted as it meant that we were out of the range of GEE. Our radio compass needle led us directly to the city which first showed as a glow on the horison. We started to lose height and, as we drew closer to the city, were shocked by what we saw, in spite of having been told what to expect at the briefing. Rows upon rows of buildings were on fire sending clouds of smoke thousands of feet into the air. The smoke was, in turn, illuminated from below by the fires. It was obvious that a life or death struggle was taking place before us.
According to our briefing we were to fly north along the Vistula dropping to 200 feet (61 m) and then to turn left about a cathedral in the north of the city. We were then to turn south keeping the river on our left, to open bomb doors and to drop lower still to about 150 feet (45 m). By using optimum flap we could keep our large aircraft under control at only 130 m.p.h. (209 k.p.h.). A greater speed could have snapped the shroud lines on the canister parachutes. We had to continue until we saw the letter of the night flashed in morse from the ground. When we saw it we had to drop all of our canisters together and get away as fast as possible.
An aircraft is most vulnerable to anti-aircraft fire at a height of 3,000 feet (914 m) to 5,000 feet (1,524 m). Over Warsaw, our aircraft attracted fire from hand-held machine guns, rifles and even pistols! Poor visibility due to smoke was also a serious hazard.
From 4 August until early September 1944, 196 sorties took off for Warsaw of which eighty-five reached the target area and thirty-nine aircraft were lost.
The Airlift could not save the gallant Polish Army. While the Polish army was being destroyed, the Russians sat idly by a bare 20 miles (32 km) away. Stalin realized that his western allies strongly disapproved of his handling of the Warsaw Rising and for the sake of 'window dressing', he was seen to relent, but only when he knew that it was too late. He granted permission for American aircraft based in Britain which were flying supplies to Warsaw to refuel behind Russian lines. On 18 September 1944, 107 U.S.A.A.F. planes dropped supplies from so great a height that less than twenty percent of the supplies reached Polish hands.
The Russians later, for 'window dressing' purposes. did drop supplies to the AK but made sure that these would be of little use. The Russian canisters were dropped without parachutes so that much of the contents was damaged. The firearms which the Russians supplied were so inferior as to have seemed to have been factory rejects while the cartridges which they provided were of a calibre which would not fit any of the Polish arms.
The Warsaw Rising failed and General Bor-Komorosky surrendered on 2 October 1944. The spirit of the Poles that died then seems to have been inherited by the following generation which has only recently clearly demonstrated that it does not intend to accept communist domination. Some day the Poles must again be free.
The Warsaw Airlift occasioned acts of individual heroism which should not be forgotten. Second Lieutenant 'Bob' Burgess became the youngest recipient of the DSO (Distinguished Service Order) after he, as second pilot, took command of a crippled Liberator and flew it eastwards to safety. The pilot had, without a word to his crew, stepped out into the night, as it were, by parachute. Burgess, who had never before landed a Liberator did so skilfully at first light.
Major 'Bill' Senn was awarded the DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) for bringing back a badly damaged Liberator all the way from Warsaw to Foggia in spite of the fact that he had been wounded.
The Late Nick Groenewald found himself falling through the night sky, after his Liberator had blown up over Warsaw, with his parachute pack in his hand like a briefcase. He clipped it on to his harness and opened it, fortunately, in time. He did however suffer facial burns. Polish doctors performed skin grafts on his burns after which he volunteered to fight with the AK to the end.
My aircraft was also shot down. The survivors of my crew and I eventually arrived in Moscow where an amusing incident occurred. A Royal Navy admiral attached to the British Military Mission in Moscow sent a car to take me to the Kremlin. I was given to understand that I was to attend a conference and that the agenda touched upon our mining of the Danube. The admiral led me into a room where about twenty senior naval officers were already seated, all of whom were Russians. The Royal Navy admiral took the only remaining seat and I had to stand. I soon realised that this was not to be a conference at all but, rather, an interrogation. The senior Russian officer, who appeared to be an admiral of extremely high rank, sat at the head of the table and put questions to me through an interpreter. At first the atmosphere was not unfriendly, and I answered all his 'bread and butter' questions such as where had I come from, what was I doing, what was the general performance of the Liberator or like. He then warmed to his point and asked me where, when, from what height and at what speed I had dropped the mines and how many I had dropped. I answered all of these questions. Then came the question to which he had been building up and that was how the mines worked. My answer was simple. I did not know. When this answer was translated for my interrogator he flew into a frenzy while all the others glared at me as if I were the devil himself.
The interpreter's task was a difficult one indeed. Before he had translated the first of the ravings, more were added at a higher pitch and volume. The message that came through to me was that we were Allies and the Russians had borne the brunt of the war against the worst tyrant in history and there was I purposely denying them vital information. When eventually I had the opportunity to speak, I explained that the mines were top secret, even in the Royal Navy, that our squadron armourers were not allowed to see them and that they were loaded into our bomb-bays by Royal Navy armourers and the bomb-doors shut. I ended by telling them that my orders were to carry the mines and drop them, not to design, build or maintain them. At that juncture the Royal Navy admiral and I were dismissed. Once we had arrived back at the admiral's office I asked him what the interrogation had been all about. He told me that the Russians had overrun quite a stretch of the Danube and that our mines, still being active, were blowing up Russian shipping. When I exclaimed that that news was the best that I had heard in months, the admiral agreed with me but added that I should not quote him.
The Airlift failed in its purpose but it served to cement a bond between Poles and South Africans based on mutual respect and sincere friendship. Evidence of this are the annual commemoration services arranged by our local Polish community. But there is further evidence, and in this lies a wonderful story. A letter from the Director of Information Services of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, tells of a selfless and public-spirited Pole, one Bronislaw Kowalski, who has, on his own initiative, and over a period of years, erected a shrine in the woods near the village of Michalin, some thirty kilometres south-east of Warsaw. The shrine marks the exact spot where a S.A.A.F. Liberator crashed in flames at midnight on 14/15 August 1944. It was erected to the memory of three airmen who died there that night, namely, Second Lieutenant R.G. 'Bob' Hamilton and Sergeants Leslie Mayes and Herbert Hudson. In his garden Kowalski built another shrine in which a light burns day and night and has done so over a number of years.
The remains of the three airmen had long before been moved to the military cemetery near Cracow where they are buried together with the other S.A.A.F., R.A.F. and Polish Air Force casualties in perfectly tended graves.

[bobbysocks]

Born in 1908, Gerben Sonderman served in the Dutch navy in 1929-1930. After that he learned to fly. He had considerable talent for that. IN 1935 he was accepted by the LVA (Dutch airforce) despite the fact that he was already 26. He became best known as chief testpilot for Fokker, where he tested all the new a/c, like the G.I, D.XXI, D.XXIII, T.V, T.IX etc. While being testpilot, he was still in the LVA, assigned to 3rd JaVA, flying G.I’s from Rotterdam Waalhaven.

On May 10th, at around 3.55h, He111’s attacked Waalhave airport. Gerben Sonderman was one of the 3 pilots “on alert”. Sonderman was already in his cockpit (G.I 311) when his gunner sgt. Holwerda arrived at the a/c. They had never met before, as Holwerda was just transferred to the 3rd Java the day before. Not knowing who the man was, Sonderman signaled Holwerda to take away the chocks. Sonderman immediately taxied away, giving Holwerda hardly the chance to climb in his seat. As soon as he had taken off, Sonderman found a Ju52 above him, which he shot down. As soon as he shot the Ju52, he got some Bf109E’s on his tail. His radio was shot to pieces, but Sonderman could maneuver out of his position and somehow managed to appear again behind the Bf109’s. One Bf109 was shot on fire, after which it fell into the Rotterdam Harbor.
Meanwhile, Holwerda in the back didn’t know what was happening. He was not used to Sonderman’s precise and brilliant way of flying. He was only able to brace himself and never fired the gun.
Sonderman was attacked again by many Bf109’s, but he managed to avoid them. One Bf109 did a head on pass on the G.I. Sonderman avoided collision and while doing so shot down this Bf109 as well.
Sonderman withdrew to save some ammunition and flew in formation with 2 other G.I’s (328 and 334). West of Rotterdam, Sonderman spotted a He111 which he attacked. The He111 made an emergency landing near Rockanje. (Sonderman never claimed this victory).
Waalhaven being occupied by German paratroopers, Sonderman had no choice then to land the G.I on the beach without fuel. There the aircraft was later destroyed by German bombing.

Sonderman didn’t fly again in may 1940. He got a special assignment to go to Belgium. Sonderman decided to stay in occupied territory and became later a major player in the Dutch resistance. of to After the war, he became Prince Bernhard’s personal pilot and also resumed his duties at Fokker. He made fame by his daring and precisely flown demo’s. While demonstrating the S.14 jet trainer for Rockwell in the USA, Gerben Sonderman died in a crash. It is speculated that he suffered from a bleeding in his brain, becoming unconscious, while performing a vrille.

Quotes:
Sonderman after the war about his flight:

"Someone took away the chocks and then stepped in…He probably was a radio operator, but he was only ballast. As the radio was broken and he didn’t fire a shot. I tried to get his attention by shaking the plane, but he stayed where he was and didn’t move. I thought he was killed and didn’t pay attention anymore. I was very surprised to see him stepping out of the plane after landing….. I still don’t know his name."

Sonderman received many awards. Amongst others:
The King’s medal for courage (GB)
Bronzen leeuw (NL)
Medal of freedom (USA)
Ridder in de order van Oranje Nassau (Knighthood, NL)

[grislawskijg52]

Can you get something on Pat Pattle for next week? Seems to very little info on the greatest RAF pilot of them all.

[bobbysocks]

there's not a lot on prattle but here's an exerpt from roald dahl's book

"Somebody behind a desk in Athens or Cairo had decided that for once our entire force of Hurricanes in Greece, all twelve of us, should go up together. The inhabitants of Athens, so it seemed, were getting jumpy and it was assumed that the sight of us all flying overhead would boost their morale. So on 20 April 1941, on a golden springtime morning at ten o'clock, all twelve of us took off one after the other and got into a tight formation over Elevsis airfield. Then we headed for Athens, which was no more than four minutes' flying time away.

Round and round Athens we went, and I was so busy trying to prevent my starboard wing–tip from scraping against the plane next to me that this time I was in no mood to admire the grand view of the Parthenon or any of the other famous relics below me. Our formation was being led by Flight–Lieutenant Pat Pattle. Now Pat Pattle was a legend in the RAF. At least he was a legend around Egypt and the Western Desert and in the mountains of Greece. He was far and away the greatest fighter ace the Middle East was ever to see, with an astronomical number of victories to his credit. I myself had never spoken to him and I am sure he hadn't the faintest idea who I was. I wasn't anybody. I was just a new face in a squadron whose pilots took very little notice of each other anyway. But I had observed the famous Flight–Lieutenant Pattle in the mess tent several times. He was a very small man and very soft–spoken, and he possessed the deeply wrinkled doleful face of a cat who knew that all nine of its lives had already been used up.

On that morning of 20 April, Flight–Lieutenant Pattle, the ace of aces, who was leading our formation of twelve Hurricanes over Athens, was evidently assuming that we could all fly as brilliantly as he could, and he led us one hell of a dance around the skies above the city. Suddenly the whole sky around us seemed to explode with German fighters. They came down on us from high above, not only 109s but also the twin–engined 110s. Watchers on the ground say that there cannot have been fewer than 200 of them around us that morning.

I can remember seeing our tight little formation all peeling away and disappearing among the swarms of enemy aircraft, and from then on, wherever I looked I saw an endless blur of enemy fighters whizzing towards me from every side. They came from above and they came from behind and they made frontal attacks from dead ahead, and I threw my Hurricane around as best I could and whenever a Hun came into my sights, I pressed the button. It was truly the most breathless and in a way the most exhilarating time I have ever had in my life. The sky was so full of aircraft that half my time was spent in actually avoiding collisions. I am quite sure that the German planes must have often got in each other's way because there were so many of them, and that probably saved quite a number of our skins.

I remember walking over to the little wooden Operations Room to report my return and as I made my way slowly across the grass I suddenly realized that the whole of my body and all my clothes were dripping with sweat. Then I found that my hand was shaking so much I could't put the flame to the end of the cigarette. The doctor, who was standing nearby, came up and lit it for me. I looked at my hands again. It was ridiculous the way they were shaking. It was embarrassing. I looked at the other pilots. They were all holding cigarettes and their hands were all shaking as much as mine were. But I was feeling pretty good. I had stayed up there for thirty minutes and they hadn't got me.

They got five of our twelve Hurricanes in that battle. Among the dead was the great Pat Pattle, all his lucky lives used up at last."

[bobbysocks]

an overture for Bonn.

...Harry Crosby was unable to sight his primary target through a thick cloudbank. Both backup targets were socked in as well, freeing the squadrons to bomb a "target of opportunity," an Air Force euphemism for anyplace that could be conveniently creamed. Sighting a large German city through a clearing in the clouds, Crosby gave the OK sign to the pilot. Just as he heard the bomb doors opening, he looked down at his map and discovered that the city was Bonn.
He immediately hit his mike button. "All positions from navigator, I have another target. We can't bomb Bonn."
"Command to navigator. Why not?"
"That is where Beethoven went to school."
Crosby happened to know this because he had read it on the cover of the phonograph record he had played in his room the night before the raid, Beethoven's 5th, a fitting musical prelude, he thought, for a mission into Germany. He had also read on the cover that Bonn was a university town, one of the most picturesque places in Europe.
After an outburst of "Oh, ****s" from the crew, the pilot went along with Crosby and sixty-three Forts passed over the city, some of them with their bomb doors open. Minutes later, they found a marshaling yard in the Ruhr and obliterated it.

[bobbysocks]

more on marseille....

With the Messerschmitt's left wing tip pointed vertically toward the sea, the Hurricane fighter stood virtually motionless in front of a young German's windscreen. Viewed through the metal framed canopy of the Messerschmitt 109, a British Hurricane with its red centered cockade was starkly recognizable against the cloudless North African sky.

Pulling back on the stick, gut-wrenching turn tightening, the young German's slim body presses firmly into his seat. Underneath his leather and mesh flight helmet, beads of sweat roll down his face . . burning his eyes as they remain open and fixed on the Zeiss optical gun sight.

3 G's . . 3.5 G's . . 4 G's.

The strain increases. Tired and aching at the end of day's mission that was full of air combat, the young German's arm muscles begin to fatigue under the strain. But there are no distractions allowed. The quarry must not escape.

After a swift look inside, with a slight input of right rudder, Jochen . . as he's known by his friends . . corrects the aircraft's slight skid.

The Messerschmitt emits a tiny shudder as its airspeed rapidly bleeds off from 300 knots indicated down to 140. Physics now demands the aircraft's nose to drop as its lift falls away. In apparent defiance of this law of nature, Jochen applies judicious top rudder and the 109 hangs precariously.

Then, there's a metallic ' clang ' as the Messerschmitt's leading edge slats automatically slam into an extended position providing more lift.

Like an artist ' working' materials, the 22 year old ' works' his aircraft as if part of his own body, while sweat pours down his back . . and the shoulder harness bites into his neck . . stinging. These minor distractions, no longer affect the German ace; he's been there before. The only thing important is . . one more victory !

Looking behind him, the RAF pilot sees the Messerschmitt now perched ominously off his left hind quarter . . its propeller spinner slowly pulling lead setting up for the proper firing position. Fear grips the British pilot as he now realizes this was no rookie enemy behind him. And every evasive maneuver he'd attempted was flawlessly countered . . with the young German closing distance with each turn.

As Jochen's Messerschmitt closed in, and the Hurricane disappeared beneath its nose. Jochen cocked his head slightly to the left as he calculated where his ordinance and the enemy would coinside.

It was . . time !

The control column shook in his right hand from a quick two-second burst. The cockpit filled with the smell of cordite, as several pounds of per second of machine gun and cannon projectiles hurtle into the Hurricane. Intuitively positive his aim had been correct, the German rolled inverted, diving away.

The 7500 pound British Hurricane, a sheet of flaming metal, thundered vertically into the Mediterranean.

As the fighter ace turned for home, four oil slicks foul the sea's surface . . to be celebrated as four more victory marks on Hans-Joachim Marseille's aircraft, adding to the credibility that he was becoming the most successful of all German fighter pilots in the North Africa.

The morning of 30 September 1942 was like most other late summer mornings in the North African desert, with the weather forecasted to be hot. For the men of German Fighter Group JG-27, the anticipation of another entire day of combat flying weighed heavily. As well it should have.

For the first time, Rommel was in a position to be thoroughly tossed out of Africa by Mont-gomery's British 8th Army. Not only was JG-27 aware of Rommel's latest defeat, they were caught in their own battle with the harsh desert, lack of essential supplies, the daily strain of aerial combat, plus the threat of a British Commando attack out of the surrounding desert.


However, as difficult as the situation appeared, and despite the recent loss of two more very experienced fighter pilots, individual morale was extremely high. Because of their many victories, morale problems affecting other fighter units in the desert seemed removed from Marseille and the men located at their lonely airfield.

Captain Hans-Joachim Marseille rolled out of bed on the morning of 30 September 1942 and was, his personal batman. The strain of 1 1/2 years of almost continuous aerial combat showed in the deep wrinkles and taunt muscles of his 22 year old face.

Marseille, the youngest captain in the Luftwaffe, appeared to have everything going his way. He was confident, cocky, and by far the most famous and successful fighter pilot in the North African war front.

After a slow start as a fighter pilot during the Battle of Britain, having downed seven aircraft while losing several airplanes himself, Marseille overcame initial weaknesses as a fighter pilot and made his Messerschmitt 109 with the big yellow 14 painted on its fuselage . . the scourge of the Allies in desert aerial warfare.

In less than 30 days, he had destroyed 54 British, South African, and Australian fighter aircraft . . 17 of those kills were in a single day. Young Marseille was well on his way to becoming among the few Luftwaffe pilots to shoot down two hundred enemy aircraft.

The morning of 30 September brought the prospect of another day's hunt in the skies over Egypt. More victories and more glory bestowed upon the young man from Berlin. But this morning, a freak accident would reduce perhaps the greatest fighter pilot of the war from the hero of the German nation to a lifeless historical footnote on the floor of the North African desert.

All but four of his victories were against fighters. No other pilot destroyed as many aircraft on the Western Front as did Marseille, although he was shot down several times, himself, Marseille evaded death from the angry guns of Allied pilots in over 388 combat missions. Twenty-nine other German pilots would go on to score more victories than Marseille, however, those pilots scored the majority of their victories against slow-moving Russian fighter bombers on the Eastern Front.

Marseille, a German of French Huguenot ancestry, was in the words of the General of the German Fighter Arm, Adolf Galland, " . . the unrivaled virtuoso of fighter pilots." His ability to sometimes destroy entire squadrons of enemy aircraft in a single sortie is the substance legends are made of, and the kind of material ripe for critics to study and either deny or defend.

Marseille is still regarded by most German Luftwaffe pilots to have been the best of the best ; excelling as a marksman, an acrobatic pilots, as well as one of the best combat tacticians in the Luftwaffe. Together, the synergy created by the accumulation of these talents forged one of the most lethal fighter pilots in aviation history.

Marseille's remarkable ability as a deadly serious fighter pilot was conflicted by his uncommon, gregarious, and often boyish behavior on the ground. He wore his hair long, had a penchant for practical jokes, and listened to taboo music like American jazz and swing, that Nazi propaganda referred to as "Jew" and "******" music.

Marseille also had a reputation as a "playboy." Early in his career, he was transferred out of famous ' Macky' Steinhoff's squadron. " Macky' later said: " Marseille was remarkably handsome guy, and he was a gifted pilot and a fighter. But he had girl friends everywhere; they took up so much of his time that he was often too tired to for me to safely allow him to fly his airplane. His often irresponsible understanding of his duties was the primary reason so I sent him packing. "

Marseille was quickly shipped off to air combat in North Africa, where his new commanders had been shipped a thick file containing his breeches of military discipline and unorthodox behavior. To say Marseille was not the typical German fighter pilot or stereotypical Aryan Teutonic Knight would be a gross understatement.

" Jochen was a practical joker; he was forever playing pranks. He came to see me and my squadron one day in his colorful Volkswagen jeep. He called it Otto. After a talk, a cup of sweet coffee and a glass of Italian Doppio Kümmel, he got into his jeep and drove it straight at my tent . . flattening everything. Then he drove off with a grin stretching across his face." [ Werner Schrör, 8/JG 27, 61 Kills in North Africa.]

Much of the debate and refusal to substantiate Marseille's combat record originates from one day of furious air combat on 1 September, 1942 in which he claimed to have destroyed 17 aircraft in three missions. Not only did Marseille claim 17 aircraft, but he did it in a fashion that was unheard of at the time. His victims were shot out of the sky in such a rapid fashion that many Allied critics still refuse to believe Marseille's claims as fact.

But it is precisely the speed and fury involved with these kills that has been the center of the Marseille debate for the past half century. For years, many British historians and militarists refused to admit that they had lost any aircraft that day in North Africa. Careful review of records however do show that the British did lose more than 17 aircraft that day,and in the area that Marseille operated. The British simply refused to believe, as many do today, that any German pilot was capable of such rapid destruction of RAF hardware.

Facts are that Marseille is still acknowledged as among the best marksmen in the Luftwaffe. The Germans were very meticulous in filing combat reports with all relevant data to include time of battle, area of operation, opposition encountered, as well as an in- depth armorers report. At the end of a mission, the armorers would count the number of bullets and cannon shells expended during the fight.

Marseille would often average an astonishing 15 bullets required per victory, and this with a combat resulting in his downing of several allied aircraft. No other German pilot was close to Marseille in this area

" Yeah, everybody knew nobody could cope with him. Nobody could do the same. Some of the pilots tried it like Stahlschmidt, myself, and Rödel. He, he was an artist. Marseille was an artist." Using his hands to illustrate. " He was up here and the rest of us ( he gestured ) were down here somewhere." [ Friedrich Körner, 36 victories, Knight's Cross winner.]

But what made Marseille so effective in a theater of combat where so many other pilots achieved little or no success? Several factors accounted for his success in the desert with one being attributed to his superior eyesight. Legend has it that Marseille would stare at the sun for extended periods of time in order to acclimate his eyes to the desert glare. Marseille, like American fighter pilot legend Chuck Yeager, he had the ability to see enemy aircraft long before anyone else in his formation.

Since Marseille tended to see the enemy first, he was consistently able to position himself in desirable attacking advantage with many of his victims obviously succumbing to the speed and surprise of his attacks.

Another critical factor for his success was his superb flying ability. Through constant practice and a desire to be the best pilot in his unit, and confident in his flying abilities that he would often break standard rules of aerial combat by pulling his power to idle and using flaps to help tighten his turns. He would also regularly attack numerically superior enemy formations in lightening fast strikes that used the enemy's formation size as its own disadvantage.

But most critical to Marseille's success was the exploitation of his superior Messerschmitt fighter over the majority of enemy fighters he encountered in the desert in concert with exposing weak-nesses inherent within the standard Allied tactical fighter formations used in the desert.

The Royal Air Force, Royal Australian Air Force, and South African Air Force sometimes used what was called a Lufbery Circle. When encountered by a real or perceived superior force of enemy fighters, the Allied fighter pilots would often form up in a defensive circle with one aircraft behind the other. This formation was much like the 2-dimensional wagon train circling in a attempt to both dissuade Indian attack and to afford the best defensive firepower.

Using the original Luftbery theory, if a German aircraft attacked a British fighter from behind, another British fighter's guns would be in place to immediately shoot down it down.

Marseille, one not to be frightened away, developed his own innovative tactics, while paying the cost of losing several of his own airplanes earlier in his combat career, that allowed him to enter and destroy the otherwise efficient Allied fighter formations.

Several thousand feet above the Lufbery defensive circle and displaced laterally a mile or so, Marseille would dive down below the formation's altitude. From below, he would select one unsuspecting victim, line him up in his sights, and hammer one brief and deadly burst of cannon and machine gun fire.

His aim was so accurate that he was often able to place nearly all of his bullets from the engine back into the cockpit, often killing the pilot.

After his firing run, Marseille would set himself up for another run.

By repeating cunning variations of this deadly sequence, Marseille often shot down four, five, and six, aircraft in a single sortie. His movements were so swift and quick that often unsuspecting allied pilots thought they were being attacked by several fighters.

On 15 September 1942, for example, Marseille destroyed 7 Australian fighter aircraft within an eleven minute period and on 17 June 1942, Marseille destroyed six aircraft within a seven minute period. The table below illustrates the quickness of many of Marseille's multiple kills.

[bobbysocks]

At 15.40 hours on the 19th of May 1943 Flight Engineer W J Smith (Wally to his friends) of 12 Squadron Wickenby, along with the rest of the crew, boarded a Lancaster bomber ED 995 PH-X for the fist time. The crew's duty this day was to last only one hour, for as ED 995 had only been delivered that morning, this flight was just a shake down. Five days later this plane was to embark on what was the first visit to enemy territory for both plane and crew, a nearly six hour sortie to Dortmund.
Flight Engineer Wally Smith was a reasonably local lad, the son of a baker in the village of Walesby Nottinghamshire (just a short ride home on his Norton motor bike when off ops). The others were from more distant parts of England. They came together as the seven men left standing when everybody else had crewed up through self selection based on experience and friendship. All the crew were to survive their first tour bar the wireless operator, Sgt. Tom Routledge, who died of oxygen starvation on the second operation a night raid on Dusseldorf.
During the summer of 1943 Bomber Command suffered its heaviest losses and the life expectancy of both crew and planes was very short. For Wally and the rest of the crew to survive was against all the odds. Raids were carried out on Turin, Milan, Berlin and Peenemunde to name a few, a remarkable feat at this point of the war.
What made this tour even more remarkable for Wally was that he completed his 30 ops in the same Lane'. Through his undoubted ability as an engineer and the phenomenal skill of pilot Jimmy Wright and the rest of the crew, after each raid they were to bring ED995 back to Wickenby virtually unscathed. So when they were next on ops' ED995 (who was affection ally named Sarah) was waiting at dispersal.
Superstition played a big part in bomber crews' lives, and as the sorties numbers rose into the twenties, the crew became more and more anxious to keep ED995 as their own, to avoid breaking a winning sequence. After twenty seven ops Wally was chosen to be flight engineer to Wing Commander Craven on a night raid to Berlin. The mission was a success, but it meant that when the rest of the crew had only completed twenty nine ops, Wally had finished his tour of duty. Having no intention of breaking the sequence however, Wally still went on the last op with his regular crew!
So on the night of October 4th 1943 the crew of Wright, Saunders, Smith, Tattersall, Hone, Heath and Shrimpton set off in their trusty Lancaster ED995 on a raid on Frankfurt. Six hours and ten minutes later they landed safely at Wickenby for the last time. ED995 had carried them close to two hundred operational hours.
On the morning of October 5 Wally walked away from his kite for the last time, mindful of how lucky he had been to have such a wonderful plane beneath him
ED995's next mission was three days later. She was to take her new crew to bomb Hanover, a mission from which she never returned!
Wally went on to complete anther tour of 20 operations with 463 squadron and was commissioned in August 1944.

[bobbysocks]

propaganda with british humor

While waiting to cross the Channel. The Feldgrau idled away their time tuned their radio dials to to hear the BBC's German-speaking voice broadcast the latest war news, titbits of gossip and the latest runour from the Third Reich aswell as playing popular German ballads.

The broadcasts were a component of the "Black Propaganda" campaign devised to "approach the German mind .... and throw it off guard by appealing to the selfish motives in the (soldier civilian)."

Speaking as fluently as any Berliner, Sefton Delmer's chats on BBC were designed to make the German soldiers fearful of taking part in the looming invasion of England. "The barbaric British have developed a fiendish apparatus with which they are going to set the English Channel ablaze as soon as your assault boats near the beaches," Delmer said.

To a degree this disclosure was true. Britain had created an anti-invasion defense whereby oil would be piped to large containers offshore. When ignited, a thick barrier of fire and smoke would rise from the water. However this device was only installed on only a few potentential landing beaches.

Then Delmer informed the Germans in France that he would teach them afew useful English phrases.

"For your first lesson, he said, "We will take the Kanaluberfahrt - the Channel cross-ing ..... the Chan-nel cross-ing.

"Now, repeat after me: Das Boot sinkt .... Das Boot sinkt .... the boat is sink-ing .... the boat is sink-ing.

"Das Wasser ist sehr kalt .... the wat-er is ver-y cold.

"here is a verb will be most useful. Please repeat after me. Ich brenne .... I burn .... Du brennst .... you burn ..... wir brennen .... we burn.

"and now I suggest that you learn another important phrase: Der ss Sturmfuhrer brennst auch scoen .... the ss cap-tain is al-so burn-ing quite nice-ly."

The theme of the germans burning to a crisp on the English Channel was tied in wth information planted by British deception servce, using turned spies and whispers in neutral embassies in Londo, Madrid , Stockholm and Geneva.