In their own words...

[Davedog74]

this is a great thread,words from people who done it for real

raf combat reports seem to have no emotion
this is part of eric lock's report from september 14th 1940 ,flying from raf hornchurch ON HIS OWN on a spotter patrol.at 32.000 ft eric observes 12 109s below him at 25.000ft, allways the hunter .......

i attacked the last section of the formation,which were flying in a diamond shape.i was just about to close in,when i was attacked from above by some 109s .they pealed off from about 3,000 feet above and carried out a head on attack on me.i waited till one of them was in range,and gave him a long burst of fire.he passed a few feet above me i carried out a sharp turn to the right and saw him in flames.just then i was attacked again from head on.i waited till he was at point blank range.i saw my bullets go into the enemy aircraft ,and as he was about to go beneath me i gave me him another burst .
i then saw more enemy aircraft coming down on me ,so i half rolled and dived through the clouds.i had just passed through the clouds when i saw someone who had bailed out,i followed him down to the ground. i saw some of our troops rush up to him,and he appeared to be holding up his arms.i flew low over the field and he waved back.this was afterwards confirmed by the police.

i wonder how many 109s eric actually tangled with that day?

[bobbysocks]

combat reports were very ...as Jack Webb used to say in the series Dragnet "just the facts, Mam." its their reminiscings ( sp ) from interviews or books where they let their hair down and convey feelings. it always amazed me how these guys would jump a numerically superior enemy without hesitation.

[bobbysocks]

B17 stuff

Account of Maneuvers: B-17 (42-39957) Halberstadt, Germany on 11 JANUARY
1944.

1st Lt. JOHN W. RAEDEKE US Army Air Corp sends.....

Took off at 0745 o'clock with a load of 2300 gallons of gasoline, 6000
pounds of bombs, full load of ammunition, and the usual weight of men and
equipment. Everything on plane was in perfect working order. Joined the
group formation at 1010 and flew into target without incident but was forced
to use 2400 R.P.M. and 40" HG at times. Dropped our bombs at 11:52 o'clock,
everything still in good shape.

At 1200 o'clock we were hit by fighters which stayed with us for one hour
and fifty minutes. They attacked us from 5-7 o'clock position at first and
gradually as more enemy fighters joined they attacked us from 3-9 o'clock
positions. We were flying "Tail End Charlie", #7 position. The fighters
created much excitement among the squadron, resulting in more power being
applied to the engines. We were forced to use 2500 R.P.M. and 40"-46" almost
continuously.

About 1245 o'clock more enemy fighters joined the attack and finally we
were
being attacked from all positions on the clock, high and low. The plane was
vibrating and pitching unbelievably as a result of all guns firing, fighting
prop-wash, and evading collision with our own as well as enemy planes. Enemy
fighters would come through our formation from 1200 o'clock position, level
in groups of 20-40 at one time all shooting. The sky in front. of us was a
solid mass of exploding 20 M.M. shells, flak, rockets, burning aircraft, and
more enemy fighters. B-17's were going down in flames every 15 minutes and
enemy fighters seemed to explode or go down in smoke like flies dropping out
of the sky.

The "Luftwaffe" attacked us in ME 109's, ME 210's, FW 190's, JU 88's, and
some we couldn't identify. The enemy fighters made suicidal attacks at us
continuously, coming into about fifty feet before turning away. It seemed
that the greater part of the attack was aimed at our ship, perhaps for the
following reason. Our ship was the only one in the group that was not firing
tracer bullets and they apparently thought we had no guns or were out of
ammunition.

The heaviest assault and the one that damaged us happened as follows. At
approximately 1330 o'clock we were attacked by another group of enemy
fighters numbering about forty which came at us again from 1200 o'clock
position, level in formation pattern. Again, we saw that solid wall of
exploding shells and fighters. This time we were flying #3 position in the
second element of the lead squadron. As they came in the top turret gunner
of our ship nailed a FW 190 which burst into flames, nosed up and to its
left, thus colliding with the B-17 flying #2 position of the second element
on our right. Immediately upon colliding this B-17 burst into flames,
started into a loop but fell off on its left wing and across our tail. We
were really hit and we had "Had It". At the time we were thus stricken we
were using a full power setting of 2500 R.P.M. and 40"-46" Hg. Our I.A.S.
was approximately 165 M.P.H. and our altitude was 19,000 feet.

Immediately upon being hit by the falling B-17 we were nosed up and went
into a loop. Confusion, no less, and embarrassment. Pilot called crew at
once and ordered them to prepare to bail out. Response was instantaneous and
miraculously proficient. Not one crew member grew frantic or lost his head,
so to speak. All stood ready at their stations to abandon the ship. The
action of the Pilot regarding the handling of the ship was as follows. As
quickly as we were hit we engaged the A.F.C.E. which was set up for level
flying. Full power was applied with throttle and both Pilot and Co-Pilot
began the struggle with the manual controls.

It was noted at once that the rudder control was out because the rudder
pedals could not be moved. In only a fraction of a second the ship had
completed a beautiful loop and was now merrily spinning toward the ground,
with five enemy fighters following on the tail. Although the spin seemed
flat and rather slow it was vicious and we were losing altitude fast. As
soon as we had completed the loop and had fallen into a spin the Pilot,
having full confidence in a prayer, recalled the crew members and ordered
them to stand by for a little while longer.

"Guts" discipline, and confidence in their Pilot was certainly displayed by
the crew by the fact that they stayed with the ship. To return to the spin
and its final recovery. When the ship fell into a spin the Pilot after
determining its direction applied full inside throttle, retarded the other
two, used only aileron A.F.C.E. control, and applied it in full opposite
position, rolled elevator trim-tab fully forward, and in addition both
pilots applied full forward position on control column, plus full opposite
aileron. After making at least two or three complete 360-degree turns, the
ship finally swept into a clean dive at an angle of approximately 45 degrees
from level.

The I.A.S. at this time was approximately 280 M.P.H. The altitude was
approximately 12,000 feet. Power setting was reduced to about 2/3. At this
point it was noted that one enemy fighter was still following on our tail,
therefore seeing a solid undercast below we nosed the ship down and applied
additional power. We were heading for cloud cover at an angle of
approximately 75 degrees to 80 degrees from the level at a speed of about
400 M.P.H. indicated. All this while the aileron was clutched into A.F.C.E.
and was holding wings level. The elevators were controlled entirely by the
trim tab.

At 6000 feet we began easing back the elevator trim tab and slowly started
to level out. Finally leveled off in the clouds at 4000 feet, trimmed the
ship, and engaged elevator clutch of A.F.C.E. Disengaged this every few
seconds to re-trim ship, kept it perfectly level and flying smoothly. The
I.A.S. after leveling off in the clouds was still around 340 M.P.H. but was
dropping off quite rapidly until it reached 200 M.P.H. Maintained an I.A.S.
of 190-200 M.P.H. from then on with a power setting of 2100 R.P.M. and 31"
Hg.

Checked all engine instruments immediately after leveling off and found
everything functioning normally, except the Pilot's directional gyro which
apparently had tumbled. Flew in the cloud cover for about ten (10) minutes
then came out above to check for more enemy fighters. Saw one fighter after
several minutes at five (5) O'clock position high so we ducked back into the
clouds for about ten minutes longer. Came out again and found everything
clear.

Rode the top of the clouds all the way back across the North Sea. The point
where we first entered the cloud cover was about thirty (30) minutes flying
time (at our speed) from the enemy sea coast. An interesting point which
occurred was that we came out of our spin and dive on a heading of 270
degrees which fortunately was our heading home. Immediately after we had
leveled off in the clouds each crew member reported into the Co-Pilot that
he was back at his station and manning his guns. No particular excitement or
scare was apparent for the crew members started a merry chatter over the
interphone.

During the violent maneuvers of the loop the left waist gunner, S/Sgt.
Warren Carson, was thrown about in the waist of the ship resulting in a
fractured leg. However, he did remain at his guns until the chances of more
enemy attacks was nil. After we were well out over the North Sea the injured
waist gunner was moved to the radio room where he was treated and made
comfortable by the Bombardier who went back to assist.

At this time also the Co-Pilot went to the rear of the ship to examine the
Control cables and make a general survey of the damage to the tail section.
He reported that about 1/3 of the left horizontal stabilizer and elevator
were off and that almost the entire vertical stabilizer and rudder had been
sheared off but that all control cables were O.K. However, the ship was
functioning quite normally except for the fact that we had to make turns
with aileron only. It also seemed to fly quite smoothly in spite of the
missing vertical stabilizer and rudder. It was therefore decided by the
pilot that a normal landing could be attempted.

Reaching the English coast we headed for our home field but the weather had
closed in and the ceiling was getting lower as we neared our field.
'Finally, we were forced to fly at tree-top heights in order to stay out of
the clouds, thus getting lost. All radio equipment was out and we were not
sure where the field was. Finally it began to rain, besides our other
trouble, so we decided to land at the first field we found. Pilot ordered
all crew members to radio room to prepare for crash landing. However, the
Navigator volunteered to remain in the nose of the ship to direct the Pilot
and Co-Pilot in their approach to the field and a final landing.

The landing was accomplished in the normal manner, taking advantage of a
slightly longer approach. Picked the longest runway which suited the wind
direction but still had to contend with a cross wind. With the aid of the
Navigator's directions we made a low approach to the runway, correcting for
draft by holding the windward wing low and holding it straight by jockeying
the throttles. "No, your wrong", we greased it on.

Made a perfect landing. After setting it on the ground it was noted that
the
right tire was flat However, this did not trouble us because the ship was
stalled out at low speed and slowed down immediately by use of brakes. It
was noted that the ship was almost dry of fuel. Positively no stress was
placed on the ship in landing. It was a landing as any normal landing would
be.

We now know from experience that a B-17 will loop, spin, pull out of a dive
when indicating 400 M.P.H., fly without a rudder and very little horizontal
stabilizer, and will land normally without a rudder and a flat tire added.
The "guts", courage, and confidence displayed by the crew of this mission is
highly commendable. The navigator displayed extreme courage when he
volunteered to remain in the nose to direct the Pilot in landing in almost
zero weather. The Co-Pilot deserves special commendation for his capable
assistance in maneuvering this ship, guarding the engine, his careful survey
of the damage, his assistance in determining the possibility of a safe
landing and finally his reassuring words to the crew over the interphone
during the homeward journey.

The gunners shot down nine (9) enemy aircraft and claimed to have damaged
at
least ten (10) more.

PILOT 1st Lt. JOHN W. RAEDEKE CO-PILOT 2nd Lt. JOHN E. URBAN

[bobbysocks]

THE MOST UNBELIEVABLE LANDING OF A B-17
by George Ureke, Lt. Colonel USAF (Ret.)

Flying a bombing mission out of Foggia, Italy, off of Tortorella US Army Air Field in Italy, during W.W.ll, our B-17 caught one Hell of a lot of flack. All four engines were still running, but ALL flight instruments failed. We had no airspeed indicator. Since we were returning from the bombing mission in formation we didn't really need flight instruments except for the approach and landing. When we arrived over the base at Tortorella, we peeled off, flying the landing pattern in trail formation. How to plan my approach with no air speed indicator? An idea came to me. We II drop behind the ship in front of us, so that on the final approach, we can establish a rate of closure to ensure that our approach would be above stall speed.

Well, in the morning, when we took off, the steel mat runway was covered with three inches of slimy mud.. It had been raining for weeks. Airplanes, taking off and landing just pushed the steel mat deeper into the mud. Every time an airplane took off or landed, more and more slimy mud had pushed up on top of the steel mat. So as we approached the mud-covered runway, there were three or four inches of slippery slime on top of the mat. But we were not worried (about coming in "hot"), until I called for flaps. Kenneth D. Goodwin, our copilot, replied, "We don't have any. They're not coming down". - And it was too late to crank them down by hand.

We weren't about to go around again without an airspeed indicator. Due to the "hot" approach speed we didn't touch down until we were half-way down the field. The airplane in front of us made a normal landing and turned off at a taxi-strip about five- hundred feet short of the end of the runway. That pilot managed to land short enough to turn to the left onto that first taxi strip. As he turned, he looked out his left window and saw that we were halfway down the field before we touched down. He turned to his co-pilot and says, "Look out that right window. George is going to crash into the gully at the end of the runway." (Several British bombers had hit that gully in the past, and they blew up).

We finally got the plane on the mud and I hit the brakes. no brakes! (in a B-17, the pilot and co-pilot can look out their window and see the wheel on their side). Every time I touched the brakes, the wheels would stop, lock, and we'd hydroplane over the mud. I had one choice, something we'd normally try to avoid. "Ground-loop" I pulled No. 3 and 4 engines all the way back. I pushed No. 1 and 2 throttles forward to take- off power, I called for "boosters" and started tapping the right brake (trying to ground loop to the right, and let centrifugal force tip the left wing into the ground). We'd damage the airplane but avoid crashing into the gully.

Normally, the plane would turn and leave the runway. But it was so slimy, the wheels had no friction to make it turn. The plane just kept sliding forward. No. 1 and 2 engines at full take-off power caused the airplane to spin around while sliding straight down the runway. As it approached 180 degrees, I pushed number 3 and 4 throttles full forward. Now we had "take off" power on all four engines. There we were, going backwards, toward the end of the runway with all four engines at full take-off power.

Well, we stopped right on the very end of the runway and immediately started to taxi back to the taxiway we just passed while we were sliding backwards.

You can imagine how scared our navigator, James W. Collier, and the bombardier, Lowell E. Clifton, were. Sitting in the nose of the airplane, as it approached the end of the runway and began to spin. This maneuver is one that I'm sure had never been done previously nor will it ever be done again. It isn't something anyone would want to practice. I can only say that on that landing, Ken Goodwin and I were both co-pilots. God was flying the airplane on that landing, which is why I call it the most unforgettable landing in a B-17.

And, you know, we never heard from anybody. Nobody ever came to ask what had caused us to land backward. All the medals we got were for far lesser accomplishments. That's why I say, it was God who made that most unbelievable landing in a B-17.

[bobbysocks]

lancaster stuff

first this....newscaster edward r murrow goes on a bombing raid in a 'caster...and gives an account. 20 mins long actual broadcast.

http://www.otr.com/orch_hell.shtml

Here's a strange story about what happened to a Lancaster...

When something went wrong on take-off it could mean disaster for an aircraft laden with high-explosive and incendiary bombs.
In April 1944, P/O Jimmy Griffiths and his crew arrived at Elsham Wolds to join 576 Squadron as 'new boys'. To their dismay, they were allocated the oldest Lancaster on the station.

One week and three operations later, their Flight Commander, whose posting to PFF had just come through, yielded to their protests and let them have his new Lanc BIII, LM527 UL-U2. It was a decision which very nearly cost the crew their lives.

Following the abortive take-off described below, the young Scots skipper and his crew reverted to their original BIII, ED888 UL-M2, in which they went on to complete their tour. Indeed this veteran Lanc was later to become Bomber Command's top-scoring 'heavy', with 140 operational sorties to its credit.




Briefing was over, final checks had been made on the aircraft and the crews were relaxing in the few minutes left before take-off time, on a lovely spring evening, April 30, 1944 - target Maintenon.

I was thrilled at the prospect of flying one of the latest Lancasters, so much superior to old M2, the veteran aircraft I had flown on my first three operations. The runway in use was the shortest one on the 'drome and necessitated revving up aginst the brakes, almost to full power, before take-off, similar to the method employed on aircraft carriers.

Time to go - always a tense moment - and we are soon lined up on the runway making the last quick cockpit check. "Rich mixture", "Propellers in fine pitch", "Flaps up", "Fuel gauges OK". Ready to go! Throttles are opened slowly against the brakes until the aircraft throbs with power, straining and vibrating until the brakes can barely hold her. brakes are released and we leap forward. Keep straight by use of throttles and rudder and ease the control column forward to bring the tail up. "Full power!" the engineer takes over the throttles and opens them fully, locking them in that position. The tail is now off the ground, giving full control on the rudders for keeping straight, and the airspeed indicator is creeping slowly up towards the take-off speed.

Something's wrong! We are nearing the end of the runway and haven't yet reached take-off speed. We should be airborne by now! A glance at the instruments shows that, whilst all four engines are running smoothly, they are not giving maximum power. Too late to stop - the fence at the end of the runway is right under our nose - speed is dangerously low.

I yank back on the stick and the aircraft labours painfully off the ground. We are on the point of stalling and I have to level out, praying that I'll miss the small hill beyond the fence. I have just time to shout "Wheels up!" when - Crash!!!

The aircraft shudders violently; the nose kicks up at a dangerous angle and I instinctively push the stick forward to avoid stalling. I ease the stick back quickly, flying a matter of inches above the ground which, providentially, is sloping downards. I nurse the aircraft along, still hugging the grass. The speed slowly increases beyond the danger mark and very gradually the altimeter needle creeps away from ZERO in answer to a slight backwards pressure on the stick.

I start to breathe again, brushing the perspiration from my brow and feel a cold chill up my spine as I think of the load of high explosive bombs beneath my feet hanging on their inadequate-looking hooks. "A fine start to an operation," I was thinking; but more was to follow.

We were climbing very slowly and I realised from the sluggishness of the controls that all was not well. Charlie Bint, the bomb aimer, climbed down into his compartment in the nose and was able to inform me that the starboard wheel had not fully retracted! It must have taken the full force of impact into the hill. No amount of pumping would budge it either up or down, and I knew we would not be able to continue the mission as it was taking too much power and consequently too much fuel to overcome the drag of the damaged wheel.

I flew east, still climbing very slowly, meaning to jettison the bombload in the North Sea and return to make an emergency landing.

One hour after take-off we had reached 9000 feet and were circling a few miles east of Grimsby, the North Sea looking cold and deserted underneath. I depressed the lever which should have opened the bomb doors but no red warining light appeared! This was serious. I dived steeply and pulled out quickly in the hope of shaking the doors open, but to no avail. The flight engineer reported that the tank for the hydraulic fluid was completely dry. It was obvious that in our attempts to retract the damaged wheel we had pumped all the fluid into the atmospshere through a broken pipeline.

There was no alternative but to return to base for instructions. It was safe to break radio silence now that the rest of the squadron had been on their way for almost two hours. The WAAF radio telephonist lost no time at all in passing my message to the Flying Control Officer and very soon I was talking to the Station Engineering Officer and finally to the 'old man' himself.

We were ordered to make further experiments, but when we had tried everything it was finally apparent that we were saddled with a bomber fully laden with bombs which couldn't be released and a damaged undercarriage which would make landing a hazardous affair not to be contemplated when our bombload was enough to blow an aerodrome to pieces!

"Stand by," I was ordered and we circled round, wondering how long it would take them to reach a decision. Tommy Atherton, the navigator, brought me a cup of coffee out of his Thermos flask and we had a quiet crew conference. "What do you think they'll decide, Skip?" - this from Taffy, one of the gunners.

I spoke the thought that had been in my mind since the bomb doors had refused to budge. "How would you like to join the Caterpilliar Club?" (This is a Club consisting of airmen who have baled out to save their lives.) There was a bit of joking, but it sounded rather forced and I called up the 'drome to ask them to speed up their decision.

"Reduce height to 5000 feet and stand by!" I knew then that I had correctly assumed what the order would be - we were coming down to a level where a parachute wouldn't drift too far from the 'drome!

I reported again at 5000 feet and the next instruction produced a stir of activity. "Fly upwind and order crew to bale out one at a time. Remain at controls and stand by." The crew needed no second bidding. Through they filed - two gunners, wireless operator, navigator, and engineer, filling the confined space of the cockpit, their parachutes fixed firmly across their chests. Charlie was already in his compartment in the nose, opening the escape hatch in the floor. As they stepped quietly out of my sight to take their turn at jumping, each one shook my hand vigorously as he passed.

In a very short time I was left alone, and very much alone I felt. The roar of the engines seemed to grow louder, the controls seemed heavier and the aircraft seemed suddenly to be larger, more powerful, more sinister. "All out," I advised control.

"Circle and stand by," I was ordered. Then folled the loneliest few minutes of my life and I was glad to hear 'the voice' again. "Fly across the 'drome on an exact course of 080 degrees. Engage automatic pilot ('George'). When exact height and course being maintained - bale out!"

I welcomed the opportunity of having something to occupy my attention and spent quite a long time adjusting the controls until the aircraft was flying 'hands off' at exactly 5000 feet on an exact course of 080 degrees. I engaged the automatic pilot, made a few final adjustments and then, as the 'drome appeared ahead, I hurried down into the bomb aimers compartment where the escape hatch lay open, almost invitingly.

I was glad that I had taken the precaution of having my parachute hooked on before the crew had gone and, with a final quick check, I crouched beside the hatch, my hand already clutching the steel handle of the rip-cord. I sat on the edge of the hole and let my legs dangle. The rush of air immediately forced them against the underside of the aircraft and I allowed myself to roll out into space, head first.

I did four complete somersaults, seeing the four exhaust pipes of the aircraft glowing each time I turned over. I was counting one, two, three, four at each somersault and suddenly thought I must be near the ground. I pulled the ripcord handle and it came away so easily that I remember gazing at my hand, which was still holding the handle, and thinking, "It hasn't worked!" Before I could feel any panic there was a rush of silk past my face, followed by a not too violent jerk and I found myself dangling comfortably under the silken canopy.

I felt a surge of absoulte exhilaration and was grinning like a fool. I wish I could describe the feeling of power, of remoteness, of unreality, of sheer exuberance I felt. No wonder our paratroops are such grand fighters!

There was no rush of air to indicate downward speed and it came quite a shock, on looking down, to see a field rushing up to meet me out of the darkness and a few scattered houses taking shape around it. I had hardly time to brace myself when I hit the ground, heels first, travelling backward. I sat down with a bump, rolled over in a backwards somersault and pressed the release catch to prevent being hauled along the ground. There was no need: the parachute flopped lazily over me and I lay still for a few moments, not beliving this was reality.

I bundled the parachute under my arm and trudged across the field in unwieldy flying boots towards a large house about fifty yards distant. Fortunately there was a telephone in the house and the old couple, whom I eventually wakened, plied me with questions and cups of tea until the car arrived from the 'drome.

All the crew had reported safe landings and some had already been picked up by the time I returned. There were many theories put forward regarding the part failure of the engines and it was finally decided that they must have been running on 'hot' air, a device used under icing conditions, which reduced the amount of power to each engine.

All this time the aircraft was flying steadily onwards towards enemy territory and we learned later that the Observer Corps had plotted its journey more than half-way across the North Sea, maintaining the height and course I had set.

The Duty Naviagtor who had given me the course computed that the fuel supply would last until the aircraft was somewhere in the Hamburg area. We can only guess the outcome.

Before abandoning the aircraft I had switched on every available light, and I often wonder what the Luftwaffe and the German AA gunners must have thought when they saw a large bomber approaching from the direction of England, lit up like a Christmas tree, flying steadily on a fixed course and blithely ignoring flak, searchlights and fighter attacks.

I like to think that 'George', guided by his saintly namesake, would point the aircraft in its final dive towards some important military objective, the destruction of which may have contributed in some way to the dramatic collapse of the Reich war machine which was soon to follow.

[bobbysocks]

and not to leave the italian boys out...

With twenty-six individual victories in aerial fight, Cap. Franco Lucchini was the top Italian scorer by the first World War and one of the few ones to inscribe himself of the title of Ace (5 or more victories) both in the Spanish civil war and in the Second World War.

He was born on December 24th 1914 in Rome, and he entered well soon the Aviation, achieving the military brevet in July 1936 at the Air school of Foggia as Reserve Officer.

During the war in Spain, enlisted him voluntary with the rank of Sottotenente, he was assigned to the 19a Sq. 23° Gr. “Asso di Bastoni”, with which on October 12th 1937 got his first victory flying a CR 32 fighter; he will conclude the war with 122 war missions, 5 individual victories, one silver medal and seven months of imprisonment after having been shoot down on July 22nd 1938.

Foggia Air School 1936. Lucchini sat on a training airplane.

To the enter of Italy in the WW2 in June of 1940, he is regular to the 90a Sq. within the 4° Stormo whose badge was an rampant horse, inheritance of the Greatest Italian ace of the Great war Francesco Baracca; perhaps the 4° Stormo will be not by chance the more victorious Italian wing of the war with almost 600 aerial planes shoot down, and well 32 aces, among which the best three: Martinoli, Lucchini and Ferrulli.

The 90a Sq., equipped with the new CR 42, was soon moved to northern Africa, where on June 11th 1940 Lucchini flown his first mission of the war, a flight of protection over Tripoli. Three days later Lucchini and others two pilots intercepted a formation of Gloster Gladiators near Bug Bug; they are the first English planes met by the pilots of 4° Stormo, and in the fight that follows a Gladiator is shoot down. From the official documents, kept in the Historical Office of AMI, it's very difficult to establish to what pilot is had to attribute the victory, above all because in the first years of the conflict officially the Regia Aeronautica assigned only collective victories, perhaps for don't exasperate rivalries inside the same squadron; it is sure however that at the same time, unofficially, both the single pilots and their commanders well kept track of the individual victories, as it is for instance read in the motivations of the awards assigned to the pilots.

On June 20th Lucchini together with three others pilots, took off from Tobruk, where the 90a Sq was based., to intercept an English Sunderland: after a long pursuit and repeated attacks (the fighter CR 42 had a maximum speed of around 430 km/h and was armed with only two 12,7 machine guns) the Sunderland is forced to ditch near Bardia, where the pilot , the only survival, was captured. Once more in the squadron's log book was written “a shared victory” but from the description of the fight it's easy to realize that the English four-engines is Lucchini's first victory in the WW2.

The takes off on alarm followed the flight patrols for the whole months of June and July, and in one of these missions, on July 24th, Lucchini gained his second victory against a Gladiator. Four days later it is the turn of two Blenheims intercepted after a take off on alarm and shoot down with two other pilots.

In the months that follows the intensity of the missions which the whole 4° Stormo was submitted, doesn't change, but in December a new enemy makes appearance on the scene: it is the English Hurricane, a fighter with 8 machine guns able to reach 530 km/h. The Hurricane is not the best fighter of the RAF, even if in the just won battle of Britain it has gotten more victories than the noble Spitfire, but towards the biplanes CR 42 technical superiority is clean. Despite everything however Italians fought well and several victories are also claimed.

To the beginning of January of 1941, the 90a Sq. is moved back to Italy to re-equip with the new Macchi C 200; Lucchini closed so the first turn of operations in Africa, during which he flew 103 missions of war and claimed 3 individual victories.

In the middle of June the 4° Stormo moved to Sicily: objective the island-fortress of Malta.

Activity is soon frantic and the Italian pilots are continually employed in missions of escort to the Cant Z 1007, recognitions and free hunting (that they always ended with the strafing of the Maltese airports). The defense of the island is entrusted to 6 RAF Squadrons equipped with Hurricane Mk I; this time however there aren't the obsolete CR 42s and the struggle against the more powerful C 200s of the 10° Gruppo (formed by 84a, 90a and 91a Sq.) is without doubt less uneven.

Lucchini, promoted Capitano in May, gained his first victory against an Hurricane on June 27th, while on September 4th in the official bulletin he is quoted for having individually shoot down two enemy fighters and other 22 (!) shared during two missions; it is clear that the well-known phenomenon of the “over claiming” common to all the Air Forces that fought in all the wars, is decidedly present in the italian claims. I think however that, all things considered, there is good faith in the claims of the pilots as they are brought in the official documents, extraneous to any propagandist tie: after all we are not speaking of the calculation of the goals in football-match, but of men that among thousand difficulties they had the obligation to shoot each other; this doesn't remove of course the importance to reconstruct the events underlining the true facts.

On September 27th during an escort to the Italian bombers against an English convoy to Malta, some airplanes, among which that of Lucchini, after two hours of flight are forced for the bad weather, to effect an emergency landing of Ustica. In the ditch Lucchini badly wounded his face, and he immediately was transported in Sicily with an hospital ship; he will come back in action only two months later just to fly his last two missions with 90a Sq. on November 21st and 23rd.

In December Lucchini is promoted commander of the 84a Sq and few days later the unit was transferred to Udine, together with the whole 10° Gruppo, to re-equiping with the new C 202 “Folgore"

During the operations against Malta Lucchini collected 55 war missions and 5 individual victories.

The 4° Stormo returned to Sicily at the beginning of May of 1942 full equipped with the Macchi C 202;

Lucchini, commanding the 84a Sq., is again hocked in operations against Malta, that however in the meantime had seen his own squadrons change the Hurricanes with the more powerful Spitfires Mk V.

In barely twenty days Lucchini flown other 14 missions and above all added to his score two Spitfires and others two probably destroyed.

On May 22nd the whole 4° Stormo moved to Martuba in northern Africa where the offensive of Rommel against the English troops is became; the fights are soon harsh and Lucchini is almost daily engaged. On June 6th he shoot down a P-40 (an american production fighter in strength to some RAF Squadrons as N°112 and N°250) and damaged others four during an action of free hunting above Bir Hacheim; on June 11th he was awarded with the fifth silver medal for military merit.

On July 16th above the sky of El Alamein Lucchini, and 3 others pilots, shoot down a P-40 but also his plane was damaged and forced to land at Kotefia an airport used by the Germans; two days later he was again in action shooting down together with Serg. Buttazzi another enemy fighter.

On October 20th Lucchini destroyed another P-40 but in the afternoon, during a dogfight with Spitfires and P-40s he is forced to an emergency landing after a precise enemy burst took away a propeller blade of his plane. Four days later still a take off on alarm against a formation of 25 Mitchell bombers and 40 P-40 fighters; with two other pilots Lucchini shoot down a P-40, damaged two B-25s and one P-40, but he was also stricken and despite he had a bullet in an arm and another in a leg, he reached the base of El Daba where crash landed; later the day he come back to Fuka, where the unit was based, but he was immediately sent to Italy for a long convalescence. Lucchini ended his second African tour, where during five months he completed 94 war missions and gotten 10 individual victories.

1943 year saw the withdrawal of the Axis troops from their positions in Africa tightened by now by the vice of Montgomery's troops that went up from Libya and those Americans that advanced from west through Algeria.

The 4° Stormo returned in Italy by the beginning of January to be lined up in June in Sicily, that represented by now the first line of the front; the attacks to the island were more and more frequent in sight of the imminent Anglo-American landing.

Lucchini rejoined the unit in March of 1943, and by June 20th was appointed at the command of the 10° Gruppo partly equipped with the new Macchi C 205s.

On July 5th Lucchini after being taken off on alarm with six pilots, intercepted a large formation of USAAF B-17s at the height of 5000 meters, escorted by 50 Spitfires; after having shoot down a fighter, his victory number 26, he launched himself against the formation of B-17s; it is the first time he faced these powerful four-engines, everyone armed with 10 machine guns, all tightened one to the other close so much to represent a real wall of fire. Lucchini with his small C 202 and his only two 12,7 guns succeeded in damaging 3 bombers, then surely stricken he fell down crashing to dead near Catania.

As Group commander, Lucchini flown only 5 war missions; in his log book in date 5/7/1943 it is read, where the holder usually affixed his signature, a melancholic “not re-entered ”.

In February 1952 he was awarded with the highest italian honour the Medaglia d'oro al valor militare (M.O.V.M.)

Combat record of Capitano Franco Lucchini

According with official documents, Lucchini gained 5 individual victories during the Spanish Civil War, 21 individual and 52 shared victories during WW2. The latter figure however is very inflationated; it was common for the Regia Aeronautica credit shared claims every pilots involved in the action without any further details, even if some one didn't shoot a single bullet.
I quoted Lucchini's shared victories only when I can assume he surely shoot; all the other kills were in his log-book simple because he was in action.

[bobbysocks]

and lastly...here's one of my favorite aces...Kit Carson.

I was leading Blue Flight of Dollar Squadron providing escort for the 353rd Fighter group enroute to strafe the oil reserve stores at Leipzig. We were in the vicinity of Magdeburg, Germany when two large formations of bandits were reported. One of the formations, still unidentified, made a complete turn from a head on position and made an initial attack on us from our 8 o'clock. We dropped our tanks, turned and met them head on. We wheeled again and tacked on to the rear of the formation which consisted of 50 to 75 Focke-Wulf 190's. I closed to about 300 yards to the nearest one and fired a medium burst with no lead, getting numerous strikes. He started to burn and went into a turning dive to the left.I believe the pilot must have been dead as he never recovered from the dive, crashed and exploded. I returned to the main part of the fight again closing on the one nearest to me.I opened fire once again at about 300 yards, firing two short bursts, getting strikes all over the cockpit and engine. He started to smoke and dropped out of the formation and rolled to the right until he was in a split-ess position, never recovering from this attitude.I saw the plane crash and burn, and the pilot did not get out.
Returning again to the scrap, I pulled into the nearest one at about 400 yards and fired a short burst, noting a few hits. He broke violently to the left and I broke with him.I pulled a lead on him and fired to long bursts getting strikes on the engine and cockpit. He started to smoke and burn badly, the pilot jettisoned his cockpit canopy and bailed out. I watched him fall for some distance but did not see a chute open, the FW 190 crashed about 50 yards from a house in a small town. I could still see the main battle about two miles ahead of me and as I started to catch them, I saw a straggler on the deck. I dropped down to engage him but he saw me coming and turned left away from me. I gave chase for about five minutes before I caught him. I opened fire at 400 yards getting strikes on the right side of the fuselage. He turned sharply to the right and I picked up a few degrees of lead on him, firing to more bursts getting more strikes on the fuselage, the pilot jettisoned his canopy and bailed out. As I was chasing this one, another formation of about 30 to 40 FW 190's passed about 500 feet above me and 1500 feet in front, but they made no attempt to engage me or help their fellow. They continued on a heading of 20 or 30 degrees.
I pulled up and set course for home-base when another Focke-Wulf 190 made an attack from 7 o'clock high. We broke into him and he wheeled into a zooming climb. I chased him gaining slowly. Suddenly he dropped his nose and headed for the deck, I gave chase and caught him in about five minutes. I opened fire at 400-450 yards but missed, I closed further and fired another short burst getting strikes on the fuselage. The plane started to smoke; I fired again as he made a hard turn to the right observing more hits on the fuselage. Then the pilot jettisoned his canopy and I broke off my attack to the right expecting him to bail out. I waited for him to bail but he didn't so I turned back to engage him again. I was still about 700 yards away when the pilot pulled the nose up sharply and left his ship; his chute opened a couple of seconds later. During the whole encounter my wing man, Flight Officer O.T.Ridley, remained with me. His performance as a wing man could not be surpassed.
I claim five(5) Focke-Wulf 190's destroyed in the air.

[bobbysocks]

some 262 stories....and part of the story is from 3 different perspectives.

first is an interview with Edward Haydon who was there when LW ace Nowotny ( 258 victories ) went down.

AH: Describe the events of November 8, 1944.

Haydon: Well, we had just finished a bad skirmish with a lot of German fighters, up in the middle part of Germany, and it was time to go home. I was at around 30,000 feet with the rest of the flight, watching for enemy fighters, which came up regularly. Since they were concentrating on the bombers, we were not expecting any trouble, and I was just daydreaming, thinking about what a bad day it had been. I was just glancing over the side when I saw this 262 jet below me at about 10,000 feet. Since there were not a lot of German planes around, I broke the loose formation after calling him out. I dropped the nose and slipped a bit, and I watched the jet as I descended, never taking my eyes off of him. My aircraft was faster than that of my leader, Captain Merle Allen, so I closed faster. I made almost no adjustments to get squarely on his tail, and he took no evasive action whatsoever, but stayed on that vector. I noticed that the 262 was not going as fast as it should have been, that there was a problem. I should not have been able to close on him so quickly. Well, the jet dropped to the deck on that same heading and leveled off, making no corrections, with me closing in with an altitude advantage. I was almost ready to fire, waiting to close in and shoot this sitting duck. Suddenly, off my right wing at great altitude I saw two Mustangs from the 20th Fighter Group that had arrived late but were diving, converting their altitude into speed. They were way out of range when the lead P-51 fired – I saw the tracers fall short as much as 60 percent to the target – and there was no way he could have hit it. That pilot was Captain Ernest Fiebelkorn, as I later discovered.

AH: What happened then?

Haydon: Well, the Germans were alerted, and I knew what was coming. So I called to the flight to break hard right and away to avoid the flak while I went hard left to the deck, which was safe to some degree because the larger guns could not depress elevation to hit you. They could only shoot below the horizon with small arms, but I slipped in anyways. Suddenly I flew into everything they had.

AH: Where was Nowotny?

Haydon: The jet pilot was good. He knew what he was doing. In case he had anyone on his tail, he would lure them into the flak zone, so he could drop to the flak-free zone and land. No one would have voluntarily flown through that to get down to the jet. But see, I was already below this height at his level and made the turn. I still had plenty of speed, and I thought for sure I would never see the jet again. I turned no more than 20 to 50 degrees, because I was receiving no fire, and rolled level. I was just trying to scoot across the field and either find a place to hide or rejoin the group. Well, directly in front of me appeared this 262 again, slowing down as if on a downwind leg, 180 degrees from his previous position, and he did not see me. I chopped the throttle, cutting power, sliding back to the right a bit. Remember that when you cut power on a propeller-driven plane, you lose speed quickly. I ended up in the perfect position, and let her drift right onto him, just like shooting a student out of the traffic pattern.

AH: What was your distance from Nowotny at that time?

Haydon: Below 200 yards and closing quickly, since he was slowing down. I was going faster, but I did not observe my airspeed, probably 300 knots or less and falling.

AH: What was your altitude?

Haydon: About 100 feet or so – I was right on him.

AH: Did you think he might have set her down in time?

Haydon: Well, he may have lost the other engine I don’t know, but it was at this time he saw me. I was so close I could see right into the cockpit; I could see his face clearly.

AH: Describe what you saw.

Haydon: Well, the moment he saw me had a startled look on his face. It was totally animated, as if he thought, “I have really screwed up.” He thrashed around in the cockpit, as the jet appeared to stall. Then he suddenly snapped right in, falling no more than a half rotation to the left, and I was so enchanted with what was happening I never fired a shot, which would have given me the kill by myself. I thought about that a lot later, knowing that if I had fire, the gun camera would have recorded it, but Merle was watching from higher altitude. The jet snap-rolled right in, with me following close behind, and I pulled up as he crashed into the ground. I thought that I had sufficiently stated [in my report] that I had run him into the ground without firing a shot, but I ended up sharing the kill with Fiebelkorn, who had earlier pulled up and away. He saw the jet crash and got credit for a half kill.

AH: So he claimed the kill?

Haydon: I don’t think he claimed it, but others saw the action and reported it. He was not even in the neighborhood. I am perfectly convinced that had I not arrived on the scene, Nowotny would have landed the jet. Even if he lost hydraulics, he could have landed on the nacelles, and the plane would have probably flown again the next day. Once in the late 1940s somebody handed me a Stars and Stripes or Air Force Times where someone had written that I had shot down the sixth 262 in the war, which I don’t think is correct. That was the first time it ever came up.

AH: How did you happen to become a prisoner of war?

Haydon: It was January 1945. On January 14 I shot up a couple of planes on the ground. On January 20 we ran into some 262s near Munich, and we got busted up pretty good trying to catch them. My flight included, I think, Dale Karger, who was in a Luftbery [circling formation] with a 262. The jet had higher speed, but the Mustang had a tighter turning radius. Each plane was trying to gain on the other without success. Well, I winged over and entered the chase, but from the opposite direction head on. I passed within inches of the 262, canopy to canopy, and this happened twice. I thought that it was crazy, but that I might hit him, bringing him down by guns or ramming him, and I might be able to bail out afterward. It was a stupid thought, and I woke up smartly after the second pass, but there was nothing I could do. I saw another 262 probably heading for home and decided he was going to get away. I firewalled the throttle and dropped altitude, and there was no flak at all. I closed with him, using altitude for speed, and opened fire. I was getting good strikes as he went in for a landing, with me screaming down on him at about 500 knots. He was touching down, and I had to pull up or crash.

AH: Did you ever get the probable or kill?

Haydon: No, I never got the chance, and the best I could have claimed was a damaged or probably anyway. As I pulled up from the airfield, something shook my aircraft – like something had punched it. Instantly I had fire in the cockpit, and smoke was pouring in, so I pulled straight up, using the high airspeed to gain altitude, and rolled the bird over and went out over the right side. Now I had another problem. My shoulder straps had become entangled around my waist somehow, pinning me to the plane, which was still trimmed for 450 to 500 mph. It nosed over and headed right for the ground, and here I was stuck to the side, but I was still not feeling panic.

AH: What was going through your mind?

Haydon: I was discussing this mentally, and I figured that due to the slipstream and pressure there was no way I was going to get loose, unless I broke loose from the stress. In fact, I decided at that time to go ahead and accept death. It was the most serene, inviting and calm decision or feeling I have ever had in my life. I felt that the war was over, and there was absolutely peace and there would be no more problems. All this time the plane was winding up, gathering speed and headed for the ground. Suddenly, I was able to sit up sufficiently against the force of the wind, and I broke free. I smacked the tail of the airplane with my back, a glancing blow as I few by, which put me in a spin. Without thinking, I pulled the ripcord on the parachute. I was then thinking that I would have a nice gentle trip down when I looked around and saw snow, sky, snow, sky and so on. I realized I had not pulled the cord out far enough, and that I was tumbling. The parachute was still in the container. I found the wire, and I can tell you that I pulled that sucker out by the root. I had no slowed down from the great speed imparted to me by the aircraft. The opening was violent, which stopped my tumble. However, I was thrown into a swing, which placed my body parallel to the ground, and I saw a telephone phone with two wires under me, then smacked face first right into the snow. I was stunned and not sure if I could move, but in minutes some Germans were there, and they were very excited.

AH: You had given them quite an airshow.

Haydon: Yes, I think they were amazed I was alive. They helped me up and wanted to know where my pistol was. The shoulder holster was empty, as was the sheath for my boot knife. I'’ sure they were ripped away during the adventure. Anyway, I was taken into the commander’s office by two German officers. They treated me as a gentleman warrior who was not a combatant but their prison. They did not interrogate me; they were just concerned how I felt. They gave me medical treatment, since I had burns on my face, eyes, hands and so forth. After this was all over they handed me over to a very young escort, an SS trooper. It was his job to get me to the main interrogation camp, which I think was Oberwesel. We went to the Bahnhof to begin this trip of several days. We finally pulled into Stuttgart, which had just only hours before been heavily bomber. The civilians were angry, as well as the troops from the front who were there. They had me backed up against the wall, and being a good old Southern boy, I saw a lynching coming. There was no way out, either. I figured that if this was it, I would stand my ground. Well, that 14- or 15- year old SS soldier lifted his Schmeisser, slammed a magazine into it and fired over the heads of the crowd. This dispersed the crowd, which consisted of not only soldiers but also old men, women and children. Here I was, an American airman, the reason for their misery. Well that SS trooper saved my life. He ad orders to follow, and despite his personal feelings he carried out those orders – that was discipline. He finally delivered me to Stalag Luft 13B, near Nuremberg. The city was wiped off the map by our bombings by the Eighth Air Force from England and Fifteenth Air Force from Italy, with the British bombing by night. It was hit pretty regularly.

AH: You had a pretty eventful journey as a POW.

Haydon: Yes, and it was not over yet. I was later placed in a camp farther to the east, which we then had to evacuate because the Russians were coming. We crossed the Danube at a bridge that Waffen SS troops were rigging for detonation with what looked to be 500-pound bombs and mines. We had to walk across, but before that we milled around while they decided our fate. The Volkssturm leader in charge of us convinced the SS men to let us cross. This was a nervous time for me. Now let me tell you, these SS soldiers were tough, hardened veterans. They were different from the rest. They had a mission to destroy that bridge and it must have been important, as there were many senior officers present. Then the situation got serious. Our guards began throwing their weapons over into the river, with us and them standing on top of tons of explosives, while the SS troops were watching. I knew we were done for. The SS would have been justified in dropping the plunger on us, and I don’t know why they didn’t. Well, after a couple of more days we were abandoned by our guards and left to ourselves. Later we saw General George S. Patton riding by on his tank at the head of a column, and he liberated us. That was on April 20, 1945.

AH: I understand there were some problems associated with your coming back from the dead, so to speak. Tell us about that.

Haydon: Well, when I was shot down, the other members of the flight saw my plane crash but did not see a parachute. The Germans returned my dog tags via the Red Cross, and I was labeled “missing in action” until the tags were received. Then the War Department classified me as “killed in action.” The word was that I had died of my wounds. I was awarded a posthumous Purple Heart, and they informed my wife that I was dead. They stopped all allotments and pay, and were going to pay her my serviceman’s life insurance. However, she knew that I was alive, since she received a letter from me – actually just a card from the POW camp. We still have that card today. She took it to the base and told them she was sure I was alive, because in it I talked about other people in the camp who were known to be POWs as well. They decided that I was still alive, although the governor was not informed, and he issued a death certificate in my honor.

AH: Why did you decide to stay in the military?

Haydon: Well, I had the chance to acquire a large ranch from a friend of mine in Montana, but I decided to stay in and get a regular commission. I went to military schools for tactics and strategy, then to the War College, and afterward I was given command of a Convair F-102 squadron at Goose Bay, Labrador. I retired about 30 years of service.

AH: Who were some of the notable personalities you knew?

Haydon: Well, Robin Olds and I are good friends, and I was also friends with the late Lt. Gen. John C. Meyer, who was my boss for a while – two guys with totally opposite personalities.

AH: Did you ever pursue any data on the pilots of the planes you fought against during the war?

Haydon: No I never did, like the 262 I was shooting up when I was shot down on January 20, 1945.

AH: That was Major Theodor Weissenberger, commander of Jagdgeschwader 7.

Haydon: I would like to know the names of the flak battery commander that nailed me and the officer who interrogated me.

[bobbysocks]

Jan 20's mission....
On January 20th 1945, I was Red Flight leader and my wingman was Ernest Tiede. Lt Ed Haydon was my Element lead and his wingman was Lt Roland Wright,Lt Dale Karger was leading White Flight. I have forgotten what the original mission was, but about the time that we were to return home, we engaged 2 Me-262's near Brunswick(Germany). It appeared that one 262 pilot was checking the other one out in the jet.
They did not run away, but seemed to want to engage in a fight. We were at about 20,000 feet and the 262's split......one went down to about 18,000 feet and the other stayed at 22,000 feet. Both flew in a large lazy circle, one opposite the other with me and the flight in the middle.It looked to me that the upper jet was waiting for me to attack the lower one, I called Lt Karger to turn back as if he were going home and climb back to attack the high jet while we circled. Lt Karger and his flight did just that and the upper 262 never saw them return, they shot him down with out any trouble and then Lt Kargers flight headed for home.When the upper 262 was eliminated, the remaining jet headed down for home in a hurry. I rolled over, split S'ed and went to full power.In no time, I hit compressibility with loss of all control at speeds in excess of 650 mph. After finally getting control I pulled out in a wide sweeping arc and pulled up behind the jet for a perfect shot at 6 o'clock. Unfortunatly, I was out of trim and my tracers went right over the top of his canopy. He hit the throttle and left me in a cloud of kerosene exhaust as if I were standing still. My flight had caught up with me so we headed for Lechfeld airbase, this we thought would be were he was heading and maybe we would catch him on landing. We flew over Lechfeld at about 6,000 Ft, there were about 100 262's nose to tail parked on the inactive side of the field, this meant they were out of fuel, no pilots or both. We were not sure which way the jet would approach the runway, so Lt Tiede and myself cruised toward the South end.Lt Haydon and Lt Wright spotted him coming in from the North, so Lt Haydon went for the jet, but he was to high and made an easy target for the flak gunners. He was hit and on the R/T said he was on fire, he pulled up to 400 Ft and bailed out and landed on the airfield, he became a P.O.W. Lt Roland Wright, following Haydon, was at very low level and the flak missed him but he did not miss the 262, he shot it down on its approach to the field.

Bob Wink's 262

The very next day saw Winks achieve acedom in rare fashion. “We were on a sweep over southern Germany, in the Munich area,” he recalled. “The 364th Squadron was over to take pictures of a 262 airfield. Pete Peterson had a camera in his P-51 and we were flying escort. The Eighth Air Force had orders not to strafe those airfields—it had incurred too many losses. I was flying along when I saw a plane doing slow rolls on the deck, over patches of snow—it was an Me-262. I was following what he was doing and called him in to Peterson, who responded with an order to ‘Go down and get him.’ At that point the bogey was going back toward the airfield. I dropped my two tanks, cut my engine and went into a straight dive with 5 degrees of flaps. I was at about a 60-degree angle when I came at the jet and fired 240 rounds of .50-caliber into his cockpit and wing root. The German flipped over, caught on fire and banged in. Pete confirmed it.”

The identity of Winks’ quarry has only recently come to light. Although Schöngau was put under alert because of the Mustangs’ presence in its vicinity, Fähnrich (cadet trainee) Rudolf Rhode, either took off or was already airborne when Winks caught him. “We observed Me-262s taxiing toward protective abutments all over that airfield,” Winks recalled. “Whoever was piloting the Me-262 that I shot down must have had a military rank high enough to have been able to countermand the ‘alert.’ Or so I have always thought.” Killed at age 19, Rhode was buried in Schwabstadl, near Lechfeld. In regard to the trainee status of his last victim, Winks remarked: “I denied the Luftwaffe an Me-262 aircraft, and a pilot from attacking our bombers. That is what I was hired and trained to do. Speaking, perhaps, for both sides of the conflict...what a terrible waste of men, and the world’s wealth.”

No sooner had Winks shot down the jet then the anti-aircraft guns defending Schöngau airbase cut loose, literally with a vengeance. “Boy,” Winks said, “did they have flak coming at me! I went straight into the heavens and suddenly I realized that my engine had lost power, it was only wind milling. When I dropped my auxiliary fuel tanks, I had failed to turn the fuel selector switch on to the internal fuel tanks. I corrected the switch, and the speed gained in my dive on the Me-262 plus the speed of the wing milling prop sucked out any airlock in my fuel lines, and the engine roared back into full power and got me out of there, f-a-s-t!”

[bobbysocks]

The following passage is just one of many exciting extracts from the marvellous stories about 3 Squadron's people and their adventures contained in "YOU LIVE BUT ONCE", the classic autobiography of Wing Commander R.H. (Bobby) Gibbes, DSO, DFC and Bar.

This incident happened on 21 December 1942, 150 miles south of Cirte, while Bobby Gibbes was leading six Kittyhawks on a reconnaissance over Hun, an Italian aerodrome.



Sergeant "Stuka" Bee's aircraft was set on fire by the aerodrome defence gunfire and at the same time, Pilot Officer Rex Bayly called up to say that his motor had been hit and that he was carrying out a forced landing. As Sergeant Bee had a lot of speed from his dive and was flaming badly, I advised him to climb up and bail out instead of trying to belly land his aircraft at high speed. He mightn't have heard me, or perhaps was badly wounded or even dead, as his speed had not decreased when he hit the ground. His aircraft rolled up into a ball, an inferno of flames. He didn't have a chance.

I circled and watched the Italians, showing great courage, send out an ambulance in an attempt to save him, but the outcome was obvious. It was later confirmed that he had been killed.

In the meantime, Rex Bayly crash landed his aircraft nearly a mile from the aerodrome, and on coming to a stop, called up on his radio to say that he was O.K. His aircraft did not burn. I asked him what the area was like for a landing to pick him up, and ordered the other three aircraft to keep me covered and to stop any ground forces coming out after him. He told me that the area was impossible, and asked me to leave him, but I flew down to look for myself. I found a suitable area about 3 miles further out and advised Bayly that I was landing, and to get weaving out to me.

I was nervous about this landing, in case shrapnel might have damaged my tyres, as on my first run through the aerodrome, my initial burst set an aircraft on fire. I had then flown across the aerodrome and fired from low level and at close range at a Savoia 79. It must have been loaded with ammunition as it blew up, hurling debris 500 feet into the air. I was too close to it to do anything about avoiding the blast and flew straight through the centre of the explosion at nought feet. On passing through, my aircraft dropped its nose, despite pulling my stick back, and for a terrifying moment, I thought that my tail plane had been blown off. On clearing the concussion area, I regained control, missing the ground by a matter of only a few feet. Quite a number of small holes had been punched right through my wings from below, but my aircraft appeared to be quite serviceable.

I touched down rather carefully in order to check that my tyres had not been punctured, and then taxied by a devious route for about a mile or more until I was stopped from getting closer to Bayly by a deep wadi. Realizing that I would have a long wait, and being in a state of sheer funk, I proceeded to take off my belly tank to lighten the aircraft. The weight of the partially full tank created great difficulty, and I needed all my strength in pulling it from below the aircraft and dragging it clear. I was not sure that I would be able to find my way back to the area where I had landed, so I stepped out the maximum run into wind from my present position. In all, I had just 300 yards before the ground dipped away into a wadi. I tied my handkerchief onto a small camel's thorn bush to mark the point of aim, and the limit of my available take off-run, and then returned to my aircraft, CV-V, and waited.

My aircraft continued to circle overhead, carrying out an occasional dive towards the town in order to discourage any attempt to pick us up. After what seemed like an age, sitting within gun range of Hun, Bayly at last appeared, puffing, and sweating profusely. He still managed a smile and a greeting.

I tossed away my parachute and Bayly climbed into the cockpit. I climbed in after him and using him as my seat, I proceeded to start my motor. It was with great relief that we heard the engine fire, and opening my throttle beyond all normal limits, I stood on the brakes until I had obtained full power, and then released them, and, as we surged forward, I extended a little flap. My handkerchief rushed up at an alarming rate, and we had not reached flying speed as we passed over it and down the slope of the wadi. Hauling the stick back a small fraction, I managed to ease the aircraft into the air, but we hit the other side of the wadi with a terrific thud. We were flung back into the air, still not really flying, and to my horror, I saw my port wheel rolling back below the trailing edge of the wing, in the dust stream. The next ridge loomed up and it looked as if it was to be curtains for us, as I could never clear it. I deliberately dropped my starboard wing to take the bounce on my remaining wheel, and eased the stick back just enough to avoid flicking. To my great relief we cleared the ridge and were flying.

Retracting my undercart and the small amount of take off flap, we climbed up. I was shaking like a leaf and tried to talk to Bayly but noise would not permit. The remaining three aircraft formed up alongside me and we hared for home, praying the while that we would not be intercepted by enemy fighters, who should by now, have been alerted. Luck remained with us, and we didn't see any enemy aircraft.

On nearing Marble Arch, I asked Squadron Leader Watt to fly beneath my aircraft to confirm that I had really lost a wheel and had not imagined it. He confirmed that my wheel had gone, but that the starboard wheel and undercart appeared to be intact. I then had to make up my mind as to whether to carry out a belly landing, thus damaging my aircraft further, or to try to attempt a one wheel landing, which I thought I could do. We were at the time very short of aircraft and every machine counted.

The latter, of course, could be dangerous, so before making a final decision, I wrote a message on my map asking Bayly if he minded if I carried out a one wheel landing. He read my message and nodded his agreement.

Calling up our ground control, I asked them to have an ambulance standing by, and told them that I intended coming in cross wind with my port wing up wind. Control queried my decision but accepted it.

I made a landing on my starboard wheel, keeping my wing up with aileron and, as I lost speed, I turned the aircraft slowly to the left throwing the weight out. When I neared a complete wing stall, I kicked on hard port rudder and the aircraft turned further to port. Luck was with me and the aircraft remained balanced until it lost almost all speed. The port oleo leg suddenly touched the ground, and the machine completed a ground loop. The port flap was slightly damaged as was the wingtip. The propeller and the rest of the aircraft sustained no further damage. The port undercart was changed, the flap repaired, the holes patched up and the aircraft was flying again on the 27th of the month, only six days after Hun.

Every enemy aircraft on Hun was either destroyed or damaged. Six aircraft and one glider were burnt, and five other aircraft were badly damaged. The bag included two JU52s, two Savoia 795, one JU88, one Messerschmitt 110, one CR42, one HS126 and two gliders. I was later to be awarded the DSO and this operation was mentioned as having a bearing on the award.


From: Johnnie Johnson, "Wing Leader", 1956

In March 1943 Johnnie Johnson had taken over command of the Canadian Wing at Kenley (403 and 416 Squadrons) equipped with the then new Spitfire 9:

"Some three weeks passed and we had only flown together on two or three occasions. Once, well inside France, we saw a large gaggle of Focke-Wulfs in the far distance, but our petrol was running low and we had to return without firing a shot. My Canadians flew extremely well and their air discipline was excellent, better I thought than the average mixed squadron. But we wanted a full-blooded scrap with the Abbeville boys to weld the wing together. Our opportunity arrived on a Saturday afternoon in early April [1943].
We were having lunch when the Tannoy announced that the wing would come to readiness in one hour's time. I walked over to the ops. block to study the details so that I could brief the wing. It was only a small show, but far better than idling away the afternoon on the ground. Crow was to lead his squadron of Typhoons across the Channel at low level, dive-bomb the Abbeville airfield and then withdraw at a high rate of knots. Our job was to climb over France as the Typhoons came out and knock down any Messerschmitts or Focke-Wulfs flushed by the bombing. It was a simple little operation, just Crow's squadron and my wing. What really appealed to me was that we were operating in a free-lance role and were not confined to any particular area. The weather was perfect and we were to operate under the control of a new radar station in Kent which was rapidly acquiring a reputation for excellent long-distance controlling. It was a week-end, and there always seemed to be a stronger enemy reaction on Saturdays and Sundays than any other day.
I telephoned Squadron Leader Hunter, the senior controller of the new radar station, outlined my tactics and agreed that he would not break radio silence unless he had an enemy plot on his scopes.
Crossing the French coast just south of Le Touquet, I caught a glimpse of Crow's Typhoons well below and heading back towards England. Our superchargers cut in at 19,000 feet with
an unpleasant thump and die engines surged and we eased back our throttles. At 24,000 feet I levelled out and Bolton's squadron drew abreast of me in the finger-four formation. Ford's squadron were just beginning to make condensation trails and these could be seen from a great distance and would betray our position. But before I could call him he dropped his squadron a few hundred feet and the twelve conspicuous thin white banners ceased.
Hunter broke the silence:
"Greycap from Grass-seed.1 Twenty plus bandits climbing up inland. Steer 140."
"O.K., Grass-seed," I acknowledged. "Any height on the bandits?"
"Well below you, Greycap. They are approaching the coast and I'll try and bring you out of the sun. Continue on 140."
This was perfect teamwork between controller and wing leader. It was the first time we had worked with Hunter: he seemed to have something of Woodhall's ability to put his information across in a quiet, reassuring manner. The whole intricate mechanics of long-range radar interception seemed to be working perfectly. Suddenly I was brimming with confidence, for I knew that Hunter and I would pull this one off.
"Greycap. Bandits have crossed below you at 15,000 feet. Port on to 310. Buster."
"O.K., Grass-seed. Port on to 310," I replied.
"Greycap. Bandits now seven miles ahead. 5000 feet below. Gate."
I put the Spitfires into a shallow dive and scanned the area ahead. The sky seemed empty.
"Greycap. Another strong formation of bandits behind you. About five to eight miles. Exercise caution."
Here were the makings of a perfect shambles! We were almost on top of the first enemy formation with another gaggle not far behind. How far? Hunter had said between five and eight miles, but the radar was scanning at its maximum range and five miles could be one mile - or ten. Should I call the whole tiling off and set course for Dungeness now? The decision was mine. For a moment it seemed as if we were suspended and motionless in the high sky, with the Canadians clustered around me waiting for an order.
Then I saw our quarry. One bunk of twelve 190s just below us and a mile ahead, and a further ten 190s well out on the starboard side. It was too golden an opportunity to miss. Height, sun and surprise in our favour and I had to take a chance on how far behind the other enemy formation was.
"Greycap to wing. Twenty-plus Huns below from twelve to three o'clock. Syd, I'm taking the left-hand bunch. Come down and take the right-hand gaggle. Get in!"
I turned slightly to get directly behind the 190s and remembered to make the turn slow and easy so that our wingmen could keep well up. I put the nose down and had to fight back an instinct to slam die throttle wide open. We had to hit these brutes together.
My own 190 was flying on the extreme port side of the enemy formation. We came down on their tails in a long, slanting dive. Before I opened fire, I looked to the starboard, saw Bolton's boys fanning out alongside and Ford's arrowhead of Spitfires falling down on their prey about three miles away. The attack was coordinated, and my task of leading the wing was temporarily, suspended. Now it was up to the individual pilots to select their opponents and smack them down. I missed the 190 with my first short burst and steadied the gun platform with coarse stick and rudder. I fired again and hit him on the wing root and just behind the cockpit. The spot harmonization paid off and the cannon shells thudded into him in a deadly concentration of winking explosions. He started to burn, but before he fell on to his back I gave him another long burst. Then I broke away in a steep climbing turn and searched the sky behind. Still nothing there. Below me another 190 was falling in flames, and on the starboard a parachute had opened into full bloom. Hunter was still concerned for our safety:
"Greycap. Withdraw. Strong force of bandits approaching. Almost on top of you."
I spoke to the wing:
"All Greycap aircraft. Get out now! We won't re-form. And keep a sharp look-out behind!"
The pilots didn't need telling twice: we poured across the Channel at high speed in pairs and fours. My section was the first to land and when I climbed out of the cockpit I was met by a small posse of officers, for the good word that we had bounced the 190s soon spread. I lit a cigarette and counted the Spits as they joined the circuit over Kenley. Sixteen down, four on the circuit - twenty. A singleton - twenty-one. A long pause and a pair - twenty-three. One to come. It seemed very important that he should swing in over Caterham and land. But we had waited too long: he was either missing or at some other airfield.
The pilots walked into the briefing room still excited and full of the fight. We totted up the score with the Spies listening silently and ever ready to reduce a claim from a destroyed to a damaged or, if they had the chance, to nothing at all! The total came to six 190s destroyed for the loss of one of our pilots, who, we could only surmise, must have been clobbered by a 190 after our first attack.
I was delighted with our effort. The controlling had been superb and the Canadians had flown really well. I made out my report, called the radar station and thanked Hunter, and checked with our operations room for any news of our missing pilot. They had no information.
The next morning Syd Ford walked into my office. He laid a pair of blue Canada shoulder-flashes on my desk and said: "The boys would like you to wear these. After all, we're a Canadian wing and we've got to convert you. Better start this way."
"Thanks, Syd," I replied. "I'll get them sewn on today."
A simple gesture, but for me it had a deep significance. The flashes were sewn on and two years were to elapse before it was time to take them down. "