Chapter 3 One of our planes..; Bismarck Sea Battle;

"ONE OF OUR PLANES..."

"One of our planes is missing" was a term started by the BBC in England during the early part of the war.

I COULD see the doubt in the tired Intelligence officer's face. He was dirt-v and unshaven and wanted sleep, but he could still see there was something missing somewhere in my story.

But his nerves weren't nearly as shot to pieces as mine were.

He rose slow1v and threw me a cigarette, and listlessly hung back the drooping flap of his tent, and we both stared across the narrow fighter strip. The towering purple hills, with their perpetually cloud-hidden summits were rapidly being blocked out in the fast-gathering dusk. In a few minutes the solid black wall of night would roll down over the valley. I knew I wouldn't sleep.

"Listen, Mac," he said. "You're still confused and upset. I'll see you in the morning. Those Army spotters saw two Zeros fall and one of our planes flying away. Goodness knows why you aren't claiming them."

"Yeah, I dropped 'em both. With no ammunition." I lowered my head so he wouldn't see my face. Then I said, roughly, "Why didn't you tell me Billy had been shot down, before I took off?"

"He was too close a friend. I thought it would keep until you got back. He was only an hour overdue. He might have turned up."

He lied and he knew it. The flight saw Billy go down out of control this morning.

I taught Billy to fly at Elementary. Or rather I flew with him and he taught himself. He took the usual bashing trainees get for a few hours, then suddenly I knew I was a fool. He was a natural flier.

I'd show him a thing once and he'd do it. He picked up drift the first time we were up and I thought he was kidding. I'd show him slow rolls, and loops, and rolls off the top, and he'd follow me through and then do them, and always his airmanship was lovely.

It's funny. The only thing he couldn't do well was a simple stall turn. He'd always squash down on his tail a bit as he went over and around.

He was about twenty, tall and fair, a farmer's son, with something of the reserve and depth that come from living close to the soil, yet as he learned to fly he seemed to lose all contact with the past, to find a joy in the air the earth had never given him.

"I'm going down for coffee," said the Intel. officer brusquely. "You want some too. Coming?

"I'll sit here and smoke for a while," I said, mechanically.

Bill wrote weekly, right through his courses. I was a few years older than Bill, and had knocked around more, and he wrote to me the wav I thought a younger brother would write to me if I had one.

Then he was in Operations. It knocked me a bit when I realized a kid I'd taught was in Operations before I was.

But a break came my way, that break that conics out of the blue and saves some poor damned instructor from going off his rocker. They gave me the course I wanted, and then I was up with Bill.

Bill was quite a hero. He had six Japs.

4' Only five really. There was a floatplane taking off that I'm ashamed to claim."

War hadn't changed Bill. Fighting to him was only incidental to flying. When he wasn't up he was wandering about the strip staring up at the weather, into the sky, and when he was going up he'd be smiling quietly to himself as he'd climb into the cockpit with that strange calmness that comes to some men flying fast, alone.

Last night I said to him, "When it's all over, Bill, are you going back to the farm?"

He looked up suddenly. Maybe he'd never thought of it before.

"Get out of the sky?" he replied, puzzled. "No, I like it too much up there. I'd like to stay there for ever."

i waved him off when he left this morning. They were giving the bombers high cover.

I was over at an Army camp at midday, and went straight up when I got back, and for some darned reason I didn't ask about Bill. He always returned, anyhow.

I couldn't make the formation coming back, and took a bashing from the Japs over the Klamer Mountains.

The mob were wiping my name off the blackboard when I limped in.

Sam Hastings, my Flight Commander, came over as I walked stiffly away from the plane.

"'Strewth, how'd you make it? We thought we'd lost you, too." He hesitated for a moment. "Mac, Billy went down this morning. Inland from where we shot up those barges."

Sam must have thought I was crazy the way I stared at him.

"Get over to Reynolds and be briefed," he said. "Then we'll celebrate the couple you got."

You get some lovely nights up here in the Islands. Like to-night. For once there are few clouds, and the moon is up late. For an hour the utter darkness presses heavily down, covering everything, like a weighted velvet curtain, and then the stars, millions of them, more than you've ever seen before, light the sky. I've suddenly found myself thinking about things like this. Maybe this is the last night I'll see.

This afternoon three of us dropped down to strafe some barges hugging the coast. I got one of them in my sights, and then the firing mechanism jammed down, jammed down for what seemed hours, and I spewed bullets everywhere and my guns were empty and U.S. when I climbed to tack on behind the mob.

I'd lost sight of the formation trying to see what was wrong, and a couple of Zekes in the sun came down to cut me off, while another mob went off to take on the formation.

I dived and made inland. I thought they might be scared of the wind currents in those narrow, winding valleys that look so lovely high up and are so treacherous down low, and anyhow their minds would be more on their flying than on getting me. But those two were good. Don't let them tell you Japs can't fly-a whole lot of them can.

They soon guessed there was something wrong.

One faked a head-on attack to draw my fire and rolled away in surprise when there wasn't any and then of course they had me.

I went a bit crazy, skidding everywhere at zero feet with those green mountain walls at my wing tips, and for a while they followed, and then went high and waited leisurely around for me to finish my act.

And I did. I jerked back the stick and went towards them. Maybe this self-immolation stuff the Japs brag about had something in it, I thought-I might wipe a wing off one of them.

And then I saw one of our planes. He seemed to sweep lazily up from nowhere and I saw the leading Zero stagger like a cheap drunk, then burst into flames.

The other stayed to fight it out, then tried to break away. He broke to the left and it was anticipated. He trailed smoke all the way to the ground.

The newcomer climbed and did a simple stall turn. A shocking one, too. He squashed down in the old familiar way, and then he came in on the R/T.

"Now look at this one. I've got it at last, Mac."

He did another. A beaut. He went up and over and around with the grace of a lady slowly opening a fan, and then he flew alongside.

"Mac, can you never be trusted out alone-" he chuckled. We climbed together. His wing tip was thirty yards from mine. I saw him smiling and nodding, as clearly as I saw him last night.

My compass was haywire, and he flew ahead until I picked up landmarks. I called him up.

"Go in and land first, Billy. What are you doing up this afternoon, anyhow? Thanks for coming."

His voice was coming over very faintly now and we ran into mist and I lost sight of him.

"No, Mac. I won't be back any more. It's too good up here. I'll see you to-morrow, Mac. You'll like it, too."

I called him. I called him again and again, but couldn't raise him.

I dropped into the strip with ten seconds' worth of petrol left.

It's a lovely night. I'll probably sit here till dawn. I feel quite calm inside, and yet my hand is shaking as I light a cigarette. Maybe I've got some fever coming on.

I can't tell the Intel. officer what happened this afternoon. He only deals in facts. Two Japs went down and my guns were empty and the Army spotters only saw three planes. He knows I'm holding something back. Tomorrow we go out to find those barges again. Deep down I know Billy is waiting for me to join him. Anyhow, it'll be lots of fun with Billy. He seemed happier than I've ever known him before.

"GEM"

BISMARCK SEA BATTLE

THE Battle of the Bismarck Sea, which was fought from March i to March 5, 1943, was one of the most remarkable conflicts in human history. It was the only battle in which a seagoing task force had been overwhelmed and destroyed solely by air attack.

At 4.30 p.m. on March 1 an American Liberator on reconnaissance signalled: "Fourteen ship convoy heading west, course 290 degrees. Zeros in vicinity. At least 4 destroyers." That was the beginning. On the afternoon of March 5, another Allied reconnaissance aircraft reported: "Enemy life-boats. Nil life." That was the end.

In this great victory, which must have shaken the Japanese High Command to its very foundations, the R.A.A.F. shared, displaying skill and valour that brought rich praise from the Allied commanders. The opening phases on March 1 and 2 were fought by American long-range, heavy bombers. In the three final days when the convoy was in range, the R.A.A.F. crews fought with superb technique and determination. March 3 was a particularly momentous day, for the enemy convoy was so blasted that of sixteen ships engaged that morning, only three, all crippled and on fire, were sighted at dusk.

Without taking count of the probable effect of the battle on the enemy's future campaign, his immediate losses were: Approximately ninety thousand tons of shipping; more than fifteen thousand troops and seamen; fifty-nine aircraft destroyed in combat, twenty-four probably destroyed, and others possibly destroyed and damaged; ammunition, guns, petrol, landing craft, vehicles, food and other supplies in huge quantities.

The first picture of the combat period is of R.A.A.F. Catalina, Beaufort, Beaufighter, and Boston squadrons and American Fortress, Liberator, Mitchell, A20 (Boston), Lightning, Kittyhawk and Airacobra squadrons, at the "alert", while reconnaissance aircraft reported glimpses of the convoy passing along the north coast of New Britain, sheltered by a heavy-weather front. First off on strike, on the night of March i. Fortresses were baffled by the darkness and the weather, and returned without striking. Early next morning Lightning fighters failed to find the convoy, but three enemy fighters from the convoy's top cover crossed their path, and two were shot into the sea in flames.

About 10 a.m. on March 2, the sun broke through just as a second wave of Fortresses approached the target area, and the battle began. The Fortress crews fought magnificently, and at the end of the day the score was four vessels sunk and others damaged and in flames, with no Allied loss. That night the
convoy was steaming to the north of Vitiaz Strait, in dangerously narrow waters leading south to Huon Gulf and their destination- Lae. Some time before dawn on March 3, it was reinforced by eight other ships hitherto unsighted by the Allies. All night, while the convoy steamed south, a R.A.A.F. Catalina
shadowed it, transmitting reports which confirmed the decisions being made at head-quarters for a strike with every available aircraft.

Wednesday, March 3, dawned gloomily. While it was still dark and the weather seemed to be lowering again, Beaufort torpedo-bombers were first away. Two of them found several ships of the convoy, which was widely dispersed. Dropping flares they made their runs, but results were not observed. Flying-Officer L. Hall sighted a transport and poured a thousand rounds of gunfire into it; that was some consolation.

By this time the Beaufighters and medium bombers, American and R.A.A.F., were ready to strike. Each squadron had explicit orders. This was their day. While the "heavies" were still in the fight, this day called for a medium and low altitude job. The great test for which the medium bombers and attack aircraft had trained intensely was at hand. Flight after flight roared off. Near Cape Ward Hunt, at the northern entrance to Huon Gulf, they saw an inspiring sight. High above, Fortresses wheeled in formation; beneath them were Mitchells, A2os and Beaufighters, and then more Mitchells. Circling above was the fighter escort, Lightnings, Kittyhawks, and Airacobras, all manned by American pilots.

Shortly before 10a.m. battle was joined.

R.A.A.F. pilots later found difficulty in describing that scene. So intent was each man on his own task that he had eyes for nothing that did not concern a target, a strike, evasion of the terrific ack-ack fire and swooping enemy fighters, or getting out and returning to base to rearm or bomb up again. From medium altitude, the Fortresses began the bombing while their fighter cover "tangled" with the enemy fighters. Then came the mast-height attack. To the R.A.A.F. Beaufighters went the honour and the peril of leading. It was their task, with cannon and machine-gun fire, to "put down" the enemy anti-aircraft fire. They did so.

In a sudden flurry of consternation as the Beaufighters, Mitchells and Bostons raced in, the enemy naval escort ships swung to avoid a beam attack. The Beaufighters swung too, to avoid the ack-ack fire, and swept in on the transports and cargo vessels beyond. Roaring just over the masts, they covered the decks with searing fire from their four cannons and six machine guns. Enemy crews were slain beside their guns, deck cargo burst into flames, superstructures toppled and burned.

Immediately in the wake of the Beaufighters came the Mitchells and Bostons, delivering a tornado of bombs and gunfire. Wave after wave of Allied aircraft swept in. With its fighter cover practically impotent in the throes of fierce air combat with Allied fighters, which were on top from the moment the battle began, the convoy's defence lost co-ordination, the ships lost formation, and became unsupported targets for the attacking planes. In the first attack, more than forty direct hits on the enemy's ships were scored and at least fifteen enemy fighters shot down.

The second onslaught was a repetition of the first, except that the targets were more scattered A heavy pall of smoke from many blazing ships hung over the scene. Resistance in the air and from the ack-ack was less.

That morning the R.A.A.F. Bostons had been assigned an important armed reconnaissance task and had missed the big attack, but in the afternoon they joined the combat "shuttle service" between the main base and the enemy's diminishing task force. Medium bombers swept over the Owen Stanley Range, swept into the combat, struck, swept out again, over the mountains to their base, to refuel, rearm, bomb up again, and be off on another destructive sortie. Necessarily, the Bostons made fewer sorties than other squadrons, but the skill and daring of their crews, and the effectiveness of their attack, measured well with the superb work of the bombers that took part in the first onslaught.

The Bostons made their runs with 'Fortresses bombing the targets from medium altitude and Mitchells and A20S from low altitude, while Beaufighters swept in and out, raking the ships with their strafing fire. Their share in the battle was brief, but telling. It was a notable addition to the unit's New Guinea history which is a story of high courage and great skill.

It was a terrible slaughter. The sea was strewn with debris, struggling and drowning Japanese troops, barges, small boats, rafts, and a vast oil slick. Japanese cowered together in stricken ships while the devastation continued, or flung themselves in terror and despair into the sea.

At dusk a Fortress reported three ships still afloat, all burning, and one destroyer, escorted by seven Zeros, steaming towards Lae. The destroyer certainly did not reach Lae. None of the enemy's ships reached that destination -all were sunk.

In the closing scenes of the battle on March 4 and 5, medium bombers searched for any ship that might have survived. One large destroyer was found by a formation of Mitchells and they scored a direct hit and three near misses and reported it to be "listing to port and definitely sinking". R.A.A.F. Bostons engaged in a similar mission searched in vain; the Mitchells had beaten them to the only, target left. In the necessary work of destroying the last of the enemy's task force on March 4 and 5 the Beaufighter crews were assigned continuous sweeps.

In retrospect the battle stands out as a magnificent example of organization. co-ordination and, perhaps most important, co-operation. Statistics of the conflict give it perspective: Approximately- one hundred and thirty-six Allied aircraft made hundreds of sorties; two hundred and twenty-six tons of bombs were dropped; Allied bombers scored eighty direct hits and sixty-three near misses; practically every enemy ship was hit more than once; none of the Allied medium bombers or attack planes failed to return to base; in the first quarter of an hour of the attack on March 3, more than ten enemy ships were damaged; more than 230,000 rounds of ammunition were fired in strafing sorties.

In air combat the Allied fighters never lost the upper hand. The cost of the whole battle to the Allies was three Lightnings and one Fortress shot down. The Fortress crew baled out. As they parachuted down enemy fighters dived in and strafed them. Crews of other Fortresses who saw the incident, spread the grim news over their radio and several B17S immediately dropped to low level to bomb and strafe like men possessed.

Wing-Commander Brian R. Walker, C.O. of the Beaufighter squadron, was later awarded the D.S.O. for his splendid leadership and fighting qualities. Six other members of the 4uadron who gave specially distinguished service in this battle were Squadron-Leader R. Little and his observer Flying Officer A. Spooner, Flight-Lieutenant R. Uren and his observer Flying-Officer J. Maguire, and two other pilots, Flying-Officer J. T. Sandford and Pilot-Officer C. Campbell. All now wear the ribbon of the Distinguished Flying Cross.

When Sandford and his observer, Flight Sergeant A. Jaggs, were diving on a ship, Sandford saw an enemy gun crew firing on a Mitchell. He swung the Beaufighter until the gun crew were squarely in his sights and watched the Jap gunners go down under the bursts from his cannon and machine guns.

As the Beaufighters: swept in for the second attack, several escaped being blown up by the bombs of Mitchells and Bostons by seconds only. One Beaufighter pilot, Flight Lieutenant R. Roe, was attacking a ship, at masthead height, when a bomb from a Mitchell exploded on its deck. The flying debrif caused large dents in Roe's machine. Flight Sergeant P. Fisken. Roe's observer, said he hadn't really seen the fun-he'd been far too busy reloading the guns. Flight-Lieutenant G. Gibson, with Sergeant E. Lusk as observer, was closing in to attack a six-thousand-ton ship which had its decks heavily laden with cargo and barges when a bomb exploded amidships. Gibson flew directly between the vessel's masts-and got away with it.

A ten-thousand-ton transport was picked out by Pilot-Officer E. G. Drury, who had Sergeant D. 1. Beasley as his observer. Flying about thirty feet off the water, the Beaufighter strafed. A Mitchell came in at masthead height and scored a direct hit on the stern of the ship. There was a huge sheet of flame and debris flew in all directions, but the Beaufighter escaped and turned to make another attack. Comparable experiences were described by Flying-Officer R. Brazenor and his observer, Sergeant F. Anderson, and by Flying-Officer R. C. Bennett who had Sergeant F. Edwards in the observer's seat. Bennett saw two bombs from one Mitchell score direct hits on a large transport which blew up. Sergeant R. Downing and Sergeant D. K. Box (observer) were caught by ack-ack fire. The hydraulic system of their aircraft was damaged and both pilot and observer were wounded, but they reached their base.

Wing-Commander K. McD. Hampshire, C.O. of the Boston squadron, whose leadership and individual combat throughout the New Guinea campaign set an extremely high standard, distinguished himself in this attack by scoring two direct hits on an enemy destroyer and bringing his aircraft safely through the ack-ack barrage. He has been awarded the Distinguished Service Order for his splendid work in the New Guinea theatre. Squadron-Leader Charles C. Learmonth, whose service has been acknowledged by the award of the D.F.C., also took a leading part in this attack.

ARMY CO-OP.

were to with the the

IN the days before late November and December 1942, the members of No- 4 Squadron took a very poor view. They had had their dreams of glory in fast single-seat fighters, and they doubted whether the work they do promised anything comparable deeds of the Spitfire boys overseas,

Kittyhawk boys at Milne Bay, the bombers, the Cats, the Beaufis~,hters, or the Beauforts.

They had been called together from all parts of Australia and had been trained intensely at an Australian school of Army cooperation. They were flvM, WirraxVaVs. The "Wirra" was a good aircraft. they knew that, but, as Rabaul had shown. in rhe first quick and devastating blow by the I-1pariese, it was no match for the Zero, or for any modem fighter. Indeed, at that tiine. ir was used by the R.A.A.F. as a trainer.

None of the members Of N-0. 4 Squadron had been in combat, and as thev trained for their first task, thev envied the lot of the boys who flew the lono-range, fast. Silent, and deadly Beatifighters; the historic Hudson bombers that had battered enemy bases and ships since the outbreak of the war, both in the Pacific and in Europe; the famous Catalinas that were sweeping thousands of miles of enemy-controlled land and sea, piling up enormous tallies in operational hours and a mounting list of enemy victims; the Beaufort torpedo-bombers with their coolly-calculating but exciting strikes; the fighter squadrons that with guns blazing had wrought such havoc among the enemy's war potential.

Army co-operation-in Wirra,%vavs-it sounded poor stuff-in the days before late November and December 1942.

On November 27, 1942, the first Wirraway of No- 4 Army Co-operation Squadron took off from an advanced Allied operational base on the first of a series of sorties that was to erase the squadron's "brown off" permanentlv, and to make the name of No. 4 everlasting in Australia's war story. The Jap had dug himself in at Buna and the quick

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movin,g war v-hich had characterized this theatre since its outbreak showed signs of becoming static. It was largely due to the work of NO- 4 Squadron that the Allied siege of Buna was so brief. Here, for the first time in history, an Australian squadron co-operated with Australian artillery in war on Aust ralian territory-dank, dark, jungle-covered territory on the north coast of New Guinea. The 25-pounders of the A.I.F. and several American field guns were assigned the task of batterlnl(.y the enemy positions, and there ensuea a period of Army co-operation at its best.

The guns were flown into action; the shells for them to fire were flown in by American transport aircraft in a stream that never ceased while the battle lasted; the guns fired on targets registered by aerial photography and pin-pointed on gridded aerial photographic target maps; the results of the "shoots" were reported by radio telephone from the spotting Wirraways to the operations base and to the troop commanders with their guns; opportunity targets were selected and engs-_d and barrages laid down on intelligence itiformation brought back by pilots and their observers after reconnaissance flights often at little more than tree-top height, and in addition much extremely valuable intelligence gained from the air was passed on to headquarters bV both land and air forces.

Experienced artillery officers engaged in the battle estimated that the air co-operation of No- 4 Squadron reduced the amount of ammunition needed for registering targets and effectively attacking them with artillery fire by about fifty per cent, and quickened the tempo of the battle so that an enemv position could be detected, engaged, and rapidly put out of action by the guns in an incredibly short time.

Fighter patrols of the Allied air forces flew to and fro high above Buna ... so that when the Wirraways fle!vv above the Buna area they, and the hard-working transports, were assured of some protection against the threat of raiding Zeros. From November 27 When