Chapter 10 Emphasis on Bombing; This Hour is Theirs; With the Block Busters;

Emphasis on Bombing; This Hour is Theirs; With the Block Busters;

INTERROGATION DURING BISMARCK SEA BATTLE by B317. 'This is where we struck." Crews of R.A.A.F. Boston medium attack bombers at interrogation in the Operations Room after the Bismarck Sea battle give the Intelligence Officer the "good gen." Results of all strikes are carefully detailed by the crews and checked.

EMPHASIS ON BOMBING

IT is said that the people of Britain who, in the early stages of the war, were kept awake by the roar of enemy bombers flying westward, are now complaining that their rest is broken by the roar of Lancasters, Stirlings, Halifaxes, Wellingtons and Mosquitoes, flying to the east.

This typical piece of sardonic British humour does more than point to the amazing resilience of the British. More importantly, it points directly to the imponderable access of Allied offensive might, and the change which has come over British strategy as the size and number of bombers, and the weight of bomb loads have increased.

Britain to-day is on the offensive. The air front is no longer over the hop fields of Kent, it has been pushed forward to the heart and nerve centres of Germany. While Italy still remained in the war as an active Axis partner, it stretched more thinly to the main arsenals in the north of that country. Just before Italy's collapse, Britain inaugurated a shuttle bombing service with North Africa via southern Germany and Italy, which was still another expression of Allied offensive strategy.

The clearance from the North African desert of the Axis armies enabled the second claw of a great air pincers to menace both Germany and Italy. In the jaws of the pincers, both were beginning to feel the pressure. Now that Italy, escaping from the frying-pan of R.A.F., American and R.A.A.F. bombing raids, is in the fire of its former ally's vengeance, the time draws nearer when greater leverage will be imparted to the lower arm of the pincers. When the Allies drive the Germans out of Italy it will be possible, from air bases they will then possess, to set in motion a two-way bombing traffic that will leave no place in Germany inaccessible.

To complete this picture of terror which awaits the Germans, two necessary factors remain-the invasion of northern Europe and the consequent re-establishment of air bases on French soil and the continued advance of the Red armies. When that occurs Germany will be totally encircled. Against air attack there can be no defensive wall. Only fighters can provide such a wall, and as altitudes of modem fighters rise ever higher, that wall becomes progressively thinner.

During the past twelve months, the world has witnessed in Europe the gradual crescendo of the mightiest technical invasion that has ever been known. Whether strategic bombing can beat Germany is a question that has aroused much controversy. Whether or no, from the military point of view it has achieved more, with less loss to Britain, than has ever been achieved in war before.

There is nothing new in strategic bombing. just before the last stages of the 1914-18 war, the R.A.F. had begun to embark on strategic bombing of the Ruhr and Rhineland. Special four-engined bombers had been built for the purpose, and were being sent into action when the war ended. British bombing in this war has merely extended the theory that if it is correct to bomb gun emplacements from the air, it is equally correct to bomb those guns at the source. It expounds the military theory that anything which tends to exhaust the enemy's organization, industry hours or manpower is good tactics.

To carry out this theory the first essence was suitable aircraft. This in itself posed a number of problems.

At the outbreak of war Britain had three types of bombers-single-engined Fairey Battles, and twin-engined Wellingtons and Blenheims. Apart from whatever vices and virtues they possessed, they were unsuitable for strategic bombing, because neither their range nor load-carrying capacity was great enough. In a strategic bomber, three things are fundamental-the two already mentioned: range and weight-carrying, and speed. A fourth advantage is the ability to resist attack and to fight back.

Before the war began, British industry produced two of the world's finest aircraft-the Spitfire and the Hurricane. It was now to begin production of some of the world's finest heavy long-range bombers. First off the slips was the Stirling, which was closely followed by the Halifax and the Lancaster. As night bombers these three have few, if any, equals anywhere in the world. All are giant four-engined aircraft with (for their class) great speed, great range and great pay-load.

Let us first realize the Job in hand - penetration into heavily defended Germany with the maximum bomb load by a relatively slow aircraft - relatively slow because no heavy bomber has been designed which combines with its inherent virtues the speed and maneuverability of fighters. And over Axis territory, heavy strategic bombers must expect to meet fighters. The great distances to be flown, deep into the heart of Germany, precluded the provision of fighter escort, except just after take-off and just before touch-down.

Extra armament and higher fire-power would in some wav meet this difficulty but it also inferred increased weight and fuel tankage, and reduced speed or bomb-carrying capacity, or some, or all, of these.

The Americans' solution of their problems was by the designing of a high-altitude bomber for use in daylight. Their Flying Fortresses have undergone many modifications since their baptism of fire over France, and to-day they are extremely heavily armed, and fly in a special battle formation devised to afford them the widest arc and most concentrated fire, and thus the greatest mutual self-protection.

The R.A.F. took another view. Its early experiences of day bombing were unfortunate, and it decided not to expose its valuable, highly-trained bomber crews to unnecessary hazards of daylight bombing, except in exceptional circumstances. It therefore called for heavy night bombers. For the crews, night bombing propounded expert navigation and more difficulty in pin-pointing targets; but it also inferred some shelter from detection and less risk from fighters and ground defences, and also impelled a far greater concentration of enemy defence personnel to guard Germany.

These giant bombers, although reasonably fast, and reasonably well-armed and protected, have no great ceiling. They normally bomb from medium level, although sometimes they come down to roof-top to drop delayed action bombs. They carry a crew of seven and up to eight tons of bombs. But maximum pay-load can be carried only on a limited radius of action. If that radius is desired to be extended some weight must be sacrificed, for extra range implies extra tankage. Neither crew nor defensive or offensive armament can be sacrificed, and the only remaining denominator is bomb load. Thus, on the longest runs, the lightest bomb load is carried, less damage is inflicted and more risk is run.

It might be thought that in night bombing raids, speed is of no great importance, yet this is fallacious. If speeds of heavy bombers could be stepped up, other things remaining steady, to six hundred miles an hour, the task of strategic bombers would be immeasurably lightened. This would be so, even although the speeds of enemy fighters were stepped up proportionately. The heavy night bomber must leave its base, reach and bomb its target, and return to base, in the hours of darkness which afford it protection. It must do this because its most vulnerable moments are not when it is over the target but just after takeoff and just before touch-down.

At present speeds the heavy bomber, to complete its mission, must leave its base in comparative light. Thus while at its heaviest, and when it is clearly visible, it must pass over the enemy's fighter defence zones. On the return, when the crew is weary and less alert and responsive, when fuel is almost exhausted and the machine is perhaps damaged, it must again run the gauntlet of these hostile zones in daylight. This is particularly so in the short summer nights of Europe.

An increase of speed, therefore, which would enable the bomber to complete its mission in the hours of darkness, would confer a large measure of security not now enjoyed by the crews. It is possible, too' that similar security could be conferred (but with the loss of speed and range) by the mounting of heavier guns which would outrange anything enemy fighters could mount, and thus keep them out of range; or by the provision of a protective armada of similar type bombers equipped, not as bombers, but as aerial battleships, which would act as convoy to the bomber fleet.

These technical problems have been rendered less pressing by recent Allied successes, and the bright prospect of new bases north, south, east and west of Germany.

Meanwhile, within the limits imposed by distances and capacities, the incessant hammering of Germany's industrial centres has gone -on without pause, making the past year historic in the military sense. The softening process has been speeded by the exact co-operation of R.A.A.F. squadrons and Australians in the R.A.F. in Britain. They have played a tremendous part for so comparatively small a section of the mighty air arm of the Allies. Most heavily hit area is, of course, the Ruhr Valley. Borrowing that same sardonic humour from their British forefathers, they have nicknamed it "Happy Valley".

But their forays have gone far beyond those narrow confines, and in most strategically important blows at far distant targets, they have participated. Heavy industries, precision instrument works, diesel motor plants, U-boat bases, aircraft factories, armament works, waterways, transport junctions, railways, and every strategic target throughout one might almost say the length and breadth of Germany and the occupied territories have been blasted by Australians.

It would be gratifying to be able to record the exact figures the amount of damage they have done and the dimensions of their contribution to the defeat of the enemy. This is impossible- but some idea of the colossal damage inflicted on Germany may be gained from official R.A.F. figures over a period.

In the first six months of this year, 1943, the Allies dropped 112,000,000 pounds of bombs on Germany. In April, May, and June of this year, they dropped 84,000,000 pounds, or more than three times as much as in the corresponding period of 1942 - 26,880,000 pounds. In the last twenty nights of June, Germany trembled and panicked under the weight and fury of 33,600,000 pounds of high explosive. Since the beginning of the war to June's end, this year, 224,000,000 pounds of bombs had been dropped from Allied aircraft on to industrial and military targets in Germany.

It is estimated that the decrease in war production in the Ruhr as the result of these raids was thirty-five per cent, and that the decrease in German war production over all was twenty per cent.

These crippling blows were continued in the next month and are growing increasingly ponderous. In one week towards the end of July, the R.A.F. rained down another 7000 tons of high explosive on Germany. The one hundred and twentieth raid was made on Cologne, scene of the first one-thousand bomber raid, and the one hundred and fifth was made on Hamburg, great German port. On July 30, Bremen had its one hundred and fourth raid from the R.A.F. In the heaviest raid of the war to that stage, 2,500 tons of bombs were dropped on Hamburg on July 27. Nine days earlier, the R.A.F. spread its favours and dropped 2,100 tons of explosives on Rome.

In one week in July the average R.A.F bomber losses in these raids were less than three per cent. This figure, if it does not add anything to the controversy of war-winning by bomb-aiming, certainly vindicates aerial bombing as a means of spreading military devastation with the minimum in loss of life and material.

To cover the raids made in one week on Germany, R.A.F. Fighter Command made 2,000 sorties, and Axis plane losses in that week were estimated at fifteen per cent. Total Axis air losses from 1939 to the end of June were estimated at 18,031 aircraft. Total R.A.F. losses in the same period were 9,613.

Other figures, taken at random, will help ,to complete the picture, and prove completely how, this year, emphasis is on bombing.

The area of central Dusseldorf devastated by the R.A.F. is two-thirds. The increase in bomb tonnage dropped on Germany in May this year compared with May last year is three hundred per cent. The percentage of Allied bombers lost for each one hundred tons of bombs dropped is forty per cent less.

The increase in British aircraft production in the first quarter of 1943 compared with the corresponding period of the previous year, fifty five per cent; the increase in output of each worker in British aircraft factories for the twelve months ended May 31, between twenty-five and thirty per cent-and, the percentage of young Germans wishing to join the Luftwaffe in 1939-40 and the first six months of 1943, a decrease from seventy per cent to fifteen per cent.

WITH THE BLOCK-BUSTERS

IN all types of aircraft, on every front, Australian airmen stationed in the United Kingdom have flown conspicuously throughout 1943, which has seen the mounting of the greatest air offensive of the war. Some have operated in all-Australian squadrons; others have flown as members of crews in which several countries of the Empire have been represented. Some have waged successful war against the U-boat, now a diminishing menace; others have found targets deep in Germany or industrial Italy; others, again, have taken part in offensive fighter sweeps over enemy-occupied Europe and have won proud laurels in combat. For some the task has been relatively prosaic, as, for instance, sowing mines in enemy waters or patrolling lonely seaways. Others - such as the dam-busters and the bombers of strongly defended centres of enemy war industries - have not lacked excitement.

A price has necessarily had to be paid for the resounding successes-particularly the block-busting and heavy bombing blitzes which have placed the Allied air forces so strikingly on the offensive in 1943- Many aircraft have been lost-although in the long-term view the losses have not been excessive -and hundreds of highly trained and highly adventurous men have been lost to the Service. Yet the spirit of the men who daily and nightly dice with death has never faltered. It burned brightly in the dark days of the Battle of Britain; it burns even more brightly in this great year which has marked a vital turning point in the war, particularly in the air.

Lancasters, Halifaxes, Sterlings, Wellingtons, Mosquitoes, Sunderlands, Spitfires, Typhoons-these have been some of the vehicles of victory. Our aircraft have been resoundingly named and have won the personal interest of the man-in-the-street-and, more particularly, the boy-in-the-street. But with the men who fly those aircraft resolutely to their targets, the pilots, navigators, wireless operator air gunners, flight engineers, this chronicle will mainly deal. In a year so crowded with exploits of high courage and tenacious purpose it is impossible to do more than try to pick out some especially meritorious sorties or combats to illustrate the spirit of the men of the R.A.A.F. operating from Great Britain.

Most spectacular bombing-exploit of the year, the breaching of the Moehne and Eder dams, brought awards to seven Australians. This daring attack was made in May by a force of Lancasters, led by Wing-Commander G. P. Gibson, R.A.F., who was awarded the Victoria Cross. Gibson made the first attack on the Moehne dam. Descending to within a few feet of the water and taking the full brunt of the anti-aircraft defences, he made his attack with great accuracy. Afterwards he circled very low for thirty minutes, drawing the enemy fire on himself, to leave as free a run as possible to the following aircraft, which attacked the dam in turn. Gibson then led the remainder of his force to the Eder dam, where he repeated his tactics and once more drew on himself the enemy fire so that the attack could be successfully developed.

Announcement of the awards to the participating air crews stated that the operation was one of great difficulty and hazard, which demanded a high degree of skill and courage and close co-operation between the crews.

A telling blow was struck at the enemy by the breaching of the dams. Photographs taken during the next few days showed the wide devastation and damage to war industries caused by the release of the dammed waters.

The Australians who were honoured for their part in this, one of the most imaginative and daring raids of the war were: Flight Lieutenant D. J. Shannon, of Bridgewater, South Australia; Pilot-Officer L. G. Knight, of Camberwell, Victoria, who were awarded the D.S.O.; Flight-Lieutenant J. F. Leggo, of Spear's Point, New South Wales; Flight Lieutenant R. C. Hay, of Gawler, South Australia, who were awarded Bars to the D.F.C.; Pilot-Officer F. M. Spafford, of Wayville, South Australia, and Pilot-Officer C. L. Howard, of Subiaco, Western Australia, who were awarded D.F.Cs; and Flight-Sergeant T. D. Simpson, of Hobart, Tasmania, who was awarded the D.F.M.

As the year advanced, the raids on enemy targets, particularly in industrial Germany, grew heavier and heavier. As the Allies acquired more convenient bases in North Africa, a technique of "shuttle" raids was developed, whereby bombers flew from the United Kingdom, blitzed the targets, flew on to North Africa, and a then later flew back to Great Britain, dropping more bombs on the way. A feature of the year's bombing was the stepping-up in the intensity of the raids on Italy, particularly the industrial cities in the north, which previously had suffered only spasmodic raids. But in 1943 the concentrated bombing wrath of the Allies was systematically turned on Italy.

In March one Australian Lancaster squadron bombed Berlin three times, Essen twice and Hamburg, Munich, Nuremberg, Stuttgart, Duisburg and St Nazaire, and carried out several mine-laving operations. Nor was that an exceptional performance. In June, for instance, an R.A.A.F. bomber squadron operated on eleven nights and carried out 143 sorties, which totaled 800 operational flying-hours. Training accounted for 400 additional hours that month and the ground training of new crews occupied many hours when the weather cancelled operations. In all. the squadron dropped more than 520 tons of bombs, and on several occasions had eighteen aircraft over one target.

Here is a vivid description, typical of many, of the experience of a Lancaster bomber which returned to base from a raid on Essen in May with two hundred holes drilled in it by flak. Sergeant D. Coen, D.F.M. of Hornsby, New South Wales, bomb-aimer in the aircraft, said: "When the ground staff inspected the crate they almost wept for it looked more like a sieve than a bomber. The trouble was that lucky ack-ack put all our gun turrets out of commission. We were caught in the cones of searchlights and passed from one to another for ten minutes, which seemed like ten years. All the time we were a bright target for everything to shoot at us. And it seemed that everything did. We were hit in one wing, in a petrol tank, in the tailplane, in the hydraulics, and here and there as well. just as we decided to let the bombs go we were hit in one of the engines, which caught fire. Our pilot then decided it was time to go, and after ten minutes' frantic weaving and diving he found cover."

But there were lighter moments. For instance, during a raid on Milan, members of an Australian Lancaster squadron saw a sight to delight their eyes-another Lancaster chasing an Italian fighter. "It gave us our biggest laugh," said Flight-Sergeant Pat McCarthy, D.F.M. "The Italian fighters showed little inclination to engage us. Their effective range was 1,000 yards, but they seldom closed in nearer than 2,000 yards. The pursuing bomber, fully laden as it was, would ordinarily have had no chance of catching the Italian fighter but the bomber had just come over the Alps and was in a shallow dive. The fighter saw him coming and took to his heels. He made cloud cover just in time."

Australians in Wellingtons have also done invaluable service in a variety of tasks. One squadron rounded off its first year with record activities in August, and received from the A.O.C. of the group this tribute: "You have established a fine operational record in both bombing and mine-laying, and during August you have broken all records for the number of operations completed in a month by any squadron of your flying-strength in this group. Your last operation marks an important milestone in the career of your squadron.

This raid which was carried out with your usual efficiency and without loss, was a fitting close to a month of hard work in which you have flown a record number of sorties, laid hundreds of mines in enemy waters, and dropped a substantial weight of bombs - all this for the toss of one aircraft. You have no doubt found mine-laying, more monotonous and less spectacular than bombing, but I think you all appreciate the importance of mining and the considerable effect it is having on the enemy's war effort. The tenacity of purpose, keenness and efficiency in all departments shown by air crew and ground personnel alike during the past months has been of the highest order."

With the conversion of a Wellington squadron to Halifaxes during the year, Australia became represented by another four-engined squadron in the United Kingdom. This was the remaining one of three infiltration squadrons of the R.A.A.F. flying, twin-engined bombers to be converted into the four-engined type. Australian E.A.T.S. squadrons in R.A.F. Bomber Command had previously flown twin-engined aircraft. The first to be converted was the well-known Four Sixty Squadron. It was first converted to Halifaxes, but before it flew in operations was reconverted to Lancasters. A second R.A.A.F. Wellington squadron was also converted to Lancasters.

Typical of the determination of Australian bomber crews to reach their target was an incident in March when Bomber Command, operating every day and on twenty-one nights, was heavily punishing U-boat production centres, including factories which made submarine engines, component parts and other equipment. A Lancaster on the way to bomb St Nazaire was attacked in quick succession by two Junkers 88s. The first enemy aircraft came up suddenly out of the haze astern. The Lancaster gunners opened fire immediately, directing a 15-second burst into the nose and fuselage of the Nazi machine. The enemy's return fire hit the wings of the bomber, which dived to port and cork-screwed out of range.

Four minutes later a second Junkers opened up from one hundred yards below. In a fierce exchange of fire both aircraft were damaged. The Lancaster was hit in the tail, bomb bay, and fuselage, and spiralled down from 13,000 feet to 4,000 feet to shake off its attacker.

Then the Lancaster was flown to its target, which was successfully bombed. It crash-landed on its return, the starboard outer engine burst into flames, and the aircraft was burnt out, but the crew escaped unscathed.

Some of the heaviest raids of the year were on Cologne in August, when two-thirds of the city was flattened. In one of those raids a Lancaster piloted by Flight-Sergeant J. Goulevitch, of Brisbane, was severely damaged. As the target was approached the aircraft was hit by heavy flak and the hydraulics were blown away. The bomb doors could not be closed and the trimming-gear was unservice2ble. The resourcefulness and courage of the flight engineer, Sergeant A. G. Ewing, of Rockhampton, in clinging to the rudder bars throughout the homeward journey enabled the aircraft to complete the flight.

Even after the most dangerous missions the pilots are apt to make laconic reports. For instance, Flight-Sergeant G. J. Sharpe, of Lismore, New South Wales, whose machine was hit by anti-aircraft fire over Cologne, reported "Uneventful trip." And Flying-Officer F. N. Robinson, of Yinnar, Victoria, dismissed a large-scale raid on Turin with "Very good raid; quiet trip." Seemingly, quietness is all a matter of relativity, for actually Robinson's aircraft experienced severe icing on the way out and one of the port engines caught fire. After the fire had been put out the target was bombed and the long return journey through stormy weather was completed on three engines.

Even briefer was the comment of Flight Sergeant R. B. McPhan, of Kanwal, New South Wales. After the first of a series of devastating raids on Hamburg, he summed up his impressions thus: "Beautiful."

And here is a final story of the experience of a Lancaster piloted by Flight-Sergeant L. J. Christensen when an Australian squadron was making its sixteenth raid on Essen. The aircraft was hit by heavy flak, and then incendiaries dropped in and through it. One of the starboard engines became unserviceable and fire broke out in the elevator controls. On the way home the damage caused the aircraft to keep diving and climbing. It was attacked by a night fighter but escaped. When the pilot attempted to land the controls were "all haywire". At the second attempt the Lancaster crash-landed and burst into flames, but the crew were in crash positions and made a safe exit.

Australians flying in Venturas and Mosquitoes have also been prominent in bombing Hitler's Europe. The R.A.A.F. Ventura Squadron began operations a year ago in the daylight raid on the Phillips radio valve factory at Eindhoven, Holland. Subsequent targets included the marshalling yards at Caen and Abbeville, the docks at Cherbourg and Rotterdam, the chemical works at Ostend, and the oil refinery at Maasluis, Holland.

A feature of this squadron's work has been the great variety of targets attacked. A look at its record for May, which was not an outstanding month, reveals the excellent results obtained. The squadron began the month with an attack on the big steel works at Ijmuiden, Holland. Twelve Venturas took part and, in of accurate anti-aircraft fire, good results were obtained. Flying-Officer P. C. C. Kerr, of Harrisville, Queensland. said that, notwithstanding the flak, he managed a good run over the target and his navigator scored a direct hit on the steel plant. On the return journey the formation was attacked with determination by four FW 190s and a running fight took place, but, although several aircraft were hit, only one man was wounded and all the Venturas reached base.

Two days later twelve Venturas, heavily escorted by Spitfires and Typhoons attacked the marshalling yards at Abbeville. Eleven reached the target; the other aircraft returned to base with engine trouble. Complete absence of flak facilitated accurate bombing and the eleven Venturas returned to base without loss.

After interruption of operations because of bad weather, the squadron. again escorted by Spitfires, attacked the aerodrome at Morlaix in Brittany. Flak was heavy but inaccurate and none of the Venturas was damaged. The next target was Caen Capriquet aerodrome in France, which was bombed with telling effect. Although there was little flak, it was accurate and of heavy calibre. Five enemy fighters were seen taking off as the Venturas made their run, but no attack was made by the fighters and once more the squadron returned intact.

The last operation for the month was made in poor weather against coke ovens at Zeebrugge in Belgium. Flak over the target was intense and accurate. Because of the weather, results were difficult to assess. Again all our aircraft returned.

A variety of tasks also fell to Mosquitoes manned by Australians. During the heavy attacks in July, for instance, they flew almost every night and damaged enemy transformer stations and locomotives on railways in northern France and Germany.

But Mosquitoes penetrated, too, to the heart of Germany. Squadron-Leader W. W. Blessing, D.F.C., of Braidwood, New South Wales, and Pilot-Officer H. C. Herbert, of Fremantle, Western Australia, were pilots of Mosquitoes which dived out of the clouds over Jena at dusk one May evening and bombed two of Germany's most important factories-the works of Carl Zeiss, makers of all types of optical instruments for the German Army, Navy, and Air Force, and the works of Schott and Genossen, makers of raw and finished optical glass. To reach these targets the Mosquitoes had to make a round flight of about a thousand miles. For the first part of the journey over Germany they flew almost at roof-top level in excellent weather, but as they approached the targets the weather deteriorated and they had to climb. Then, when they were over Jena, they dived through the clouds and dropped their bombs when only a few hundred feet above the factories.

"The Zeiss factory was very heavily defended by flak and balloons, which shows the value the Germans put upon it," said Blessing. "Before I attacked I saw the bombs of the other formations hit the Schott works. Then our bombs went down on the Zeiss works. Flak followed us as we flew out of the target area but we came through without being hit."

Australians have also been flying in the single-seater, twin-engined Whirlwind bombers, which carry two 25o-pound bombs and four cannon, firing 2o-mm. shells, and have been used very successfully in attacks on railway trains in northern France and Belgium and in sweeps against shipping. Typical of the success achieved by Whirlwinds was the experience of Pilot-Officer M. T. Cotton, of Swansea, Tasmania, on two successive days. On the first day he was under Spitfire escort when enemy shipping was spotted south of Jersey. The Whirlwinds immediately attacked from a low level with bombs and cannon. In a few minutes one medium-sized ship was set on fire and another appeared to be sinking. Next morning Cotton's aircraft was one of four with Spitfire escort which attacked a convoy of eight ships off the coast of Brittany. In spite of intense light and heavy flak, a low-level attack was made. Cotton scored direct hits on a mine-sweeper, and other pilots hit a second mine-sweeper and several trawlers.

R.A.A.F. Set Up Camp by 266691. "Home" must be a portable affair on active service with the R.A.A.F. it is usually airy, too, with improvisation a necessity.

WAR AGAINST U-BOATS

REVIEW of Coastal Command activities by Australians operating from Great Britain immediately revives memories of the outstanding work accomplished by the well-known No. 10 Sunderland Squadron in protecting shipping and destroying U-boats.

This squadron has now flown more than 20,000 operational hours. But there is another Australian Sunderland squadron, the first to be formed with fully trained E.A.T.S. crews, which is building for itself a record of comparable lustre.

The past year has seen a striking series of successes against the submarine, which at one time gravely menaced the Allied life-lines and was the greatest single threat to the Allied cause.

May was a particularly successful month, and in a striking message to the Air Officer Commanding Coastal Command the Chief of the Air Staff, Air Chief Marshal Sir Charles Portal, wrote:

"The brilliant success achieved in this vital field is the well-deserved result of tireless perseverance and devotion to duty, and is, I am sure, a welcome reward for the air crews and others who have spared no effort during long months of arduous operations and training."

War against the U-boat calls for a very high standard of crew work. The patrols are long and arduous, and the constant watch that must be kept is exhausting, mentally and physically. But the job is very satisfying when it brings, as is not infrequent, an experience of the kind which fell to a No. io Squadron aircraft, captained by Flight-Lieu_ tenant G. G. Rossiter, of Subiaco, Western Australia, when patrolling off the Spanish coast in May.

The crew sighted a fully surfaced U-boat and attacked immediately. On the first run depth charges were dropped just forward of the conning-tower. Both front and rear gunners opened fire and scored numerous hits. The submarine began to circle violently in an attempt to escape further attacks. But its doom was soon sealed. Four more depth charges were dropped, this time aft of the conning-tower, and oil began to trail from the submarine, which soon became stationary with the stern and conning-tower awash. Slowly it submerged and an oil patch, 250 yards by 500 yards, appeared. The Sunderland circled the area for some time but nothing more was seen and it was obvious that another U-boat had submerged for the last time.

The younger Sunderland squadron also achieved some notable successes about this time. For instance, there was the "kill" in the Bay of Biscay, made by Flight-Lieutenant E. C. Smith, of Thorpedale, Victoria.

"We sighted the U-boat about ten miles away," said Smith. "After maneuvering for position we dived to the attack and dropped a 'stick' across the aft portion of the conning tower. This put the submarine out of control. apparently, as it circled and gradually stopped. listing slightly to port. We saw the crew c; the sub. Jump; we counted at least fifteen splendid photographs were obtained which confirmed the success of the action."

Not U-boats alone provided excitement for the Sunderlands. The Germans tried to counter the work of the Sunderlands by using big formations of long-range fighter aircraft- For instance, Flight-Lieutenant J. G. P. Weatherlake, of Brisbane, Queensland, and his crew were investigating two fishing-vessels when they were attacked by six Junkers 88s. A thirty-minute fight followed in which the enemy aircraft, by use of the sun, were able to attack the Sunderland from all angles, thus giving the Sunderland gunners little chance to get a perfect sight on their attackers.

Cannon shells and machine guns were causing extensive damage but the Sunderland was diving as much as it got. One Junkers passed within one hundred and fifty yards of the Sunderland's tail and the rear gunner put a five-second burst of machine-gun fire into its port engine. Immediately another Junkers passed at a range of fifty yards over the nose, and the front gunner hit one of the engines. Both fighters made off with smoke pouring from their damaged engines. Of the other four Junkers, only two came in for a further attack, but it was a desultory effort and they soon made off.

When the Sunderland reached base two hundred bullet holes were counted in its fuselage. Two cannon shells had exploded in the starboard mainplane, one had exploded in the base of the turrets, breaking control wires, and four had entered the fuselage under the tail-turret, causing internal damage. Not one member of the crew was injured in this vigorous combat.

Another member of this squadron, Flying Officer G. 0. Singleton, of St Kilda, Victoria, performed a novel feat when he landed his flying-boat on a land 'drome. Singleton had alighted when on patrol to rescue a crew from a dinghy. When the Sunderland was almost airborne it was struck by a huge swell, and so extensive was the damage that Singleton realized it would be fatal to attempt a sea landing. He signalled that he would land at a nearby bomber aerodrome, and so skilful was his effort that little more damage was done to his aircraft.

These incidents are just a few of the highlights in the relentless hunt for U-boats. The past ~,ear has seen a great diminution in the threat to vital convoys crossing the Atlantic, but there has been no relaxation in the vigilance and determination of the Sunderland air crews, nor will there be until the seas have been blasted clear of the under-water enemy.

-No astra to-day, boys ... just ardua.

SPITS. AND TYPHIES

MANY dashing sorties have been made throughout 1943 by Australian fighter pilots in Great Britain. In July an Australian Spitfire squadron celebrated its first anniversary with a record number of offensive operations in which two enemy aircraft were shot down, two others were probably destroyed and four others were damaged. The squadron was commanded by Squadron-Leader K. M. Barclay, of Peterborough, South Australia, and operated in the wing commanded by Wing-Commander J. S. Ratten, D.F.C., of Sandy Bay, Tasmania, who was the squadron's former commanding officer.

Ratten, one of the first pilots to join the R.A.A.F. under the Empire Air Training Scheme, has been an inspiring leader. He arrived in England just after the Battle of Britain to join a R.A.F. squadron, in which he gained invaluable experience.

Probably Ratten's best effort was during a fighter sweep over France when he saw fifty FW190s about a thousand feet below while he was leading, his section over the Somme Valley. Although outnumbered, the section promptly dived to attack. Ratten picked out one quarry and steep-turned to attack from two hundred yards. One cannon jammed, and, although he damaged the FW190 with his remaining cannon, he did not bring it down. Two other FW190s immediately jumped on Ratten in an endeavour to protect the attacked pilot, and in the general mêlée the damaged FW190 escaped.

The Germans then broke off the engagement and turned back toward their base. Ratten found himself on the tail of a straggler and determined to get a substitute victim. Closing to within one hundred yards, he blazed away with his one cannon and his machine guns. Smoke began to pour from the engine of the FW190. Ratten closed to sixty yards, firing more bursts. The FW190 burst into flames, flicked over on its back, and crashed to earth.

As escorts to British and United States bombers, which attacked power stations and factories in daylight raids in Europe, R.A.A.F. fighters have carried out valuable work in 1943, and frequently have strafed targets On their own account. On twenty-two days in July, for instance, Australian fighter pilots went out over France and the Low Countries to escort bombers having assignments at Brest, St Omer, Amsterdam, Ghent, Zeebrugge and similar targets. Usually enemy fighter aircraft showed a disinclination to "mix it" with the protecting fighters, but there were exceptions. For instance, Flight-Sergeant N. A. N. Turnbull, of Collingwood, Victoria, was one of a formation which was attacked by eight FW 190s. The formation at once broke up and many individual dogfights followed. With three other pilots Turnbull dived on five enemy aircraft, all of which were damaged and one of which Turnbull claimed as destroyed.

But the old strategy of dog fighting, based on the principle of "every man for himself", has largely been discarded, and combat tactics have been greatly improved. An interesting account of this changed aspect of fighter technique was given by Flight-Sergeant Vincent Madigan, of Melbourne, who returned to Australia recently after serving with a Spitfire squadron operating from the south coast of England on sweeps, fighter patrols, and shipping and weather reconnaissance. He said squadrons were instructed to maintain battle formation rigidly unless instructed by their leaders to act independently. Fighter technique was being constantly studied and was being improved wherever possible.

A number of Australian-trained fighter pilots have also been flying Hawker-Typhoons, which have been engaged on defensive and offensive operations in and about Britain. First R.A.A.F. pilot to fly Typhoons was Flight-Sergeant Colin Leagh-Murray, formerly of Guinea Airways, who spent many hours testing these aircraft.

NOT BOMB HAPPY

THE war took on a particularly grim aspect for Warrant-Officer H. C. Herbert, D.F.C., during a raid over Germany, when he was pursued by one of his own bombs.

The startling information was conveyed to him by his observer, who shouted out, "Get out of the way, a bomb is chasing us." Herbert got out of the way. These boomerang bombs are one of the war's curiosities. They bounce on impact with the ground when released from low level.

The phenomenon was not new to Herbert, who had been chased before when he was bombing shipping in Tripoli harbour. He saw what he thought was a huge anti-aircraft shell sail up alongside him. It was proved later to have been one of his leader's bombs on the bounce.

Herbert served for a time in the Mosquito squadron in Britain which was commanded by Group-Captain H.I. Edwards, V.C., D.S.O., D.F.C.

WHAT ODDS?

EVERY now and again, the volcano of war throws up a piece of the incredible. This happened recently in an unequal conflict in the Bay of Biscay between a Sunderland flying-boat of the Australian Anzac Squadron, working in Coastal Command, and eight Junkers 88s, crack German long-range fighters.

The cumbersome, ancient, slow Sunderland won. Four of the German fighters were shot down into the sea, the other four were damaged, and broke off the fight. The Sunderland flew majestically home-a flight of three hundred miles.

Even the most timid gambler would offer odds on a single Junkers 88 in a combat with a Sunderland, which must now be reckoned a flying-boat of old design. Sunderlands were among the first seaward reconnaissance aircraft used by Britain to guard her sea lanes.

They are in direct line with the comfortable, but not-too-speedy Empire flying-boats which ran on the England-Australia mail and passenger service before the war.

Combat Sunderlands, at their best speed, are probably not capable of more than 210m'les an hour. Their bulk does not lend itself to maneuverability. Yet they have proved time and time again, that in the hands of resolute crews, they can perform deeds which come close to the miraculous. The Biscay Bay battle was one of these times.

The German Junkers 88 is a very good aircraft. It was designed for long-range bombing or fighting, is twin-engined (the Sunderland has four engines), and its top speed is near 300 miles an hour. In the hands of capable pilots, it has made a very good showing against single-seat fighter aircraft. Its appearance on the Biscay scene followed the failure of the German giant Focke-Wulfe Kondor flying boats when pitted against units of R.A.F. Coastal Command. Coastal Command had made the Bay such a place of terror for U-boats, outward and inward bound on attacks on Allied shipping, that the Germans decided to attempt to give them some air cover by sending out their best twin-engined long-range fighters-the JU88s.

What odds, then, would be offered, for the chances of a lone Sunderland, remote from its base, against the concerted attacks of eight JU88s? Odds can mount amazingly, and those against the Anzac boat must have seemed overwhelming. Yet the impossible happened. It was a magnificent victory for the stout lads that manned the Sunderland.

The flying-boat was on patrol in the Bay one day in June this year, the crew scanning the water below for signs of U-boats sneaking out for the mid-Atlantic for strikes against our convoys, or returning to rest, refuel, before going out again. Suddenly, from the blue, the eight JUs appeared. The Sunderland must have appeared to the Germans their equivalent of "a piece of cake". Simultaneously, from all quarters, they dived to the attack. The Sunderland gunners replied.

It was inevitable that the Sunderland suffered much damage. One incendiary shell caused a fire in which the captain of the aircraft, Flight-Lieutenant Colin Braidwood Walker, of Wooloowin, Queensland, suffered bums. He stayed doggedly at his post, and continued the battle. Flying-Officer Kenneth McDonald Simpson, of Manly, New South Wales, acted as fire controller, and as the fighters swept in, he shouted directions to the gunners, who poured streams of lead into the enemy. First one Junkers and then another, another, and another, went down in smoke. Still the battle raged. Flight-Sergeant Roy Marsden Goode, of Henley Beach, South Australia, one of the gunners, did especially sterling work.

With their effective strength reduced to half and the rest of them showing the scars of battle, the Nazi pilots decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and departed from the scene of their defeat.

It must be admitted from the point of view of the Sunderland. that theirs was a Pyrrhic victory. One gunner was killed and four other members of the crew were wounded by the enemy. Although hit in both legs, Simpson navigated the Sunderland home to base.

Three gallantry awards were made as the result of this engagement. Walker gained the D.S.O., Simpson the D.F.C., and Goode the D.F.M.

When the account of this struggle was brought under the notice of the Chief of the Air Staff, Air Chief Marshal Sir Charles Portal, he wrote:

"I have just received an account of a fight by a Sunderland against eight Junkers 88 on June 2. I should like Flight-Lieutenant Walker and the surviving members of his gallant crew to be told of the admiration and pride I felt on learning the details of this epic battle which will go down in history as one of the finest instances in this war, of the triumph of coolness, skill, and determination against overwhelming odds.

"I am sure that not only the heavy losses inflicted on the German fighters, but above all, the spirit and the straight shooting of the Sunderland crew, will have made a profound impression on the morale of the enemy in the

Bay of Biscay, and will thus greatly assist in the war on U-boats."

That letter is a treasured entry in the squadron log of the Anzac Sunderlands.

In the log of another Australian Sunderland squadron is related an incident which reads curiously like the one above. It happened two months later, not far from the scene of the previous encounter. On this occasion, the Sunderland was attacked by seven enemy aircraft, and fought a successful battle for more than an hour. The aircraft was repeatedly hit by enemy fire, the intercom. was put out of commission, the starboard main petrol tank was holed, and much other damage was done.

Four members of the crew were awarded decorations for their part in the combat. Flying-Officer Basil Alfred Williams, of Mitcham, South Australia, the pilot, and Flying-Officer Reginald Williams Stuart Grose, of North Brighton, South Australia, the navigator, received the D.F.C., and Sergeant William Cheseldon Henson Moser, of Coonamble, New South Wales, the armourer-air gunner, and Sergeant Rhys Frederick Owen, of Saratoga, New South Wales, the flight engineer, received the D.F.M.

Throughout, Williams fought with great determination, and when the intercom. was put out of commission, Grose, although wounded, did everything he could to keep the captain informed of the enemy's tactics. -When the petrol tank was pierced, Moser crawled into the mainplane and attempted to prevent the loss of fuel, so necessary to get the Sunderland back to base. He afterwards manned the galley gun, relieving Owen, who had fought with great resolution and had remained at his post although wounded in the knee by cannon fire from the attacking aircraft. Moser assisted in frustrating many attacks.

After the battle, Grose assisted greatly by skilful navigating in difficult circumstances, in getting the Sunderland back to its base. In trying circumstances the four men decorated, their citations stated, displayed great courage, skill and determination.

THE GRUDGE

IT should have been said of him, not simply that he nursed a grudge, but that he coddled it, petted it, made of it a spoilt and petulant thing that soured his life in the Service, and brought only grumbling discontent for the men who had to share that life with him.

Where his grudge had been conceived, how it had developed, no one knew. But by the' time he reached New Guinea, attached to No. i Fighter Control Centre, his grudge was concentrated, consumingly, against the particular job in the Air Force that circumstances had arranged should be his.

He was, in the Service, a radio telephony operator. This much about his work, a great part of which was in the highest degree secret, can be told: that it was his duty to maintain radio communication with all the aircraft based in the area, so that at all times, no matter where they might fly, they could be directed by the controller, the officer in charge of their operations, who would tell them just where to go to intercept an enemy air attack, where to go to aid a force that needed their support, when to switch their attack from the planned target to another that might be more vulnerable, or just where they should locate an enemy convoy. And all this, which his fellow operators found fascinating ("Next best thing to being up with the kites yourself," they said), he hated with an unreasoning hatred.

"What a job," he jeered. "Sitting on your backside twiddling knobs."

The other operators, hunched before their sets, scarcely heard him. He was the finest operator of them all; but they had given up arguing with this man who bore such a crazy grudge against the work he did so brilliantly.

To him his job was a matter of pure repetitive mechanics. You heard a voice, you flicked a switch, asked what the plane wanted, you juggled your dials so as to hear the reply clearly, reported to the controller any message of importance-forgot it. Disembodied voices out of the ether-and knobs.

A voice jarred in his headphones.

"Control No.1, this is Transport 52. Give me a radio check."

He flicked a switch.

"52, this is No. 1. Receiving you loud and clear. Over."

"No. 1 from 52. Roger."

Mechanics testing the radios before the planes took off.

"Your transmission is distorted," he told another.

"Roger."

"You are 20 kilocycles off frequency. Your frequency is 70 k.c. high."

"Roger."

Roger, Roger, Roger! The little word that meant "Received your message, thanks a lot, that's all" was to him an infuriating chorus, mocking him and his footling job. Kids, playing at codes.

"Oh God," he moaned aloud. "Isn't there any job in the whole Air Force that would mean something more to me than this ?"

The corporal roused him at 11-30 to go on watch at midnight. He woke to the roar of sheeting tropic rain, to the roar of it on the roof of the tent, the roar of it hammering into the mud outside. Half a mile of that mud to plough through to the hut where the radio sets were housed, half a mile through that solid rain, to sit for six hours, listening, on a night of tempest when no plane could possibly be in the air-six hours of listening to nothing. And they called it doing a man's job! Lightning seared through the blackness as he buttoned his waterproof, showed for a moment the falling flood of water. At midnight he went on watch, cursing, his grudge gigantic within him.

The static crashed in the headphones. Every lightning flash outside brought a torrent of noise that tore his ear drums. He pushed the phones forward, thrust his fingers deep into his ears, trying to still their jarring. The rain pounded on the iron roof of the hut. Why. why, why did they have to have men listening on a night like this? Two o'clock. Four more hours. In a sudden rage he spun the tuning dial like a top. Four more hours. He sucked a deep breath, held it, gushed it out as he eased the phones half-back over his ears and wearily twisted the dial back to its correct position.

And then he heard it.

He twisted his fingers angrily in his ears. He'd been like this on other nights; imagining sounds in the static that weren't there at all. Automatically he increased the volume of the set. Crash of the static, tearing rip as the lightning struck down-and then there it was again. No mistaking it now. the rhythm of it, the regular pattern of it against the splurge of meaningless sound. Impossible to hear what it said, but no mistakenly that broken whisper of speech out of the blackness or the night.

He took his pencil. noted the fact that at one minute past two he had received an unreadable call. Some where on the ground wanting a radio check ready to make an early start in the morning. probably away on the other side of the Island: nothing to do with his area, with him. Must be a long way away to be as faint as that. Hard to tell on a night like this, though. The sound came again, and this time he understood a fragment of it between the bursts of interfering noise.

". . . K33 - - "

K33! That must be a Fortress. Only a Fortress had a call-sign like that. Why would a bomber be wanting a radio check? There couldn't be a plane from his area that hadn't landed after the day's raids; he'd have been warned when he came on watch. He half turned to check with the supervisor as his hand went up to uncover his ears. the voice whispered into the phones

"..ergency."

Emergency? he spun back to his seat. Both hands clamped the phones hard down over his ears. He cut down his noise limiter, to get rid of some of the mad crackle; up with the tone, the better to pull that tiny voice through the howl of the storm; down with the radio control so as not to distort the message, up with the audio gain to compensate; ready on the tuning dial. He closed his eyes, his head drooped, his mouth sagged open. His face was vacant as an idiot's. All the lif of him was concentrated in his straining ears and in his searching, twitching finger-tips.

". . . from K33."

Listen for it!

"No. 4 Control from K33. Emergency. Emergency. Answer. Answer."

No. 4 Control. But that was two hundred miles away. That ship must be completely off course, if it belonged. . . . He glanced through the window, saw the tumult of rain against the vivid flash-and suddenly, clear in his mind, he saw the picture, saw the plane fighting through the immense blackness, surging through the squalls, her wing now flung up crazily by the wind, dropping down the lightning path now, quivering as she righted.

"Control No. 2 from K33, Control No. 2. No. 2. No. 2."

So he was calling the other centre on the far side of the island. Must be headed for there-or should be. The voice from the plane was more insistent. To the operator it was no longer a disembodied voice in his headphones, it was the voice of a man, of a man in peril of his life. He thought of that man, in the plane, tense-faced at his radio table-saw the others gathered round him, engineer, navigator, bombardier, gunners, saw them huddle closer as time went by, crowding silently round the one among them who might save them and the plane. And suddenly the set in front of the man with the grudge ceased to be just a thing of steel; the dials ceased to be just the knobs of his work. They were instruments of life and death.

There had been no answer from No. 4 Control, no answer from No. 2. He heard the despair creeping into the voice of the man in the plane. saw the others glancing at one another, licking their lips, shrugging their shoulders, moving away silently to stare out at the ugly hell of the night. And the man with a grudge swore at the thought of it under his breath, his fingers flashed over the controls, snapped on his microphone. .

"K33, this is Control No. 1. K33 from No. 1. Do you hear me? Do you hear me? Over."

No voice in his phones. He called again. The dial under his quivering fingers moved an immeasurable fraction. And the reply came.

"No. 1 from K33. We hear you. We hear you. This is an emergency. Give us our position. Give-us-our-position."

The voice of the man in the plane was jubilant, excited, worried all at once. They must be running low on gas. The voice of the operator was calm as he phoned the controller, the voice of an operator making a routine report to his superior officer. Inside his heart hammered.

"K33, sir. Wants his position."

The controller's voice was a startled shout.

K33! Why, that's the missing Fortress from No. 4- O.K. Hang on to them."

The operator hung on. The controls turned questingly under his fingers. No matter how much the transmission from the plane faltered, their contact could not be allowed to break down now.

So the Fortress was missing from No. 4. His grudge whispered a complaint into the midst of his elation. Why couldn't they have told him. Couldn't they have warned him a bomber was missing, so he'd know something about it if he did happen to hear a call? What if it was from a base two hundred miles away? The plane must have flown across the width of New Guinea in the storm; when he'd picked up its distress signal the pilot, thinking apparently that he was still approaching the northern coast, must have been flying his bucking plane out into the wastes of the Pacific. He was glad he'd heard that whisper in his phones; had stepped in and brought the ship into touch.

"K3 3, sir, asking for bearing to nearest landing-field."

"O.K., operator. I'll take over."

Ah, said his grudge, there it was. The controller would take over. The operator merely maintained contact so that the controller could send out his instructions. The plane was safe now; all the miracle of modern radio was probing the night, every direction-finding station in the area was on the watch, guiding the Fortress home. She was roaring in, to get to ground before her gas gave out. He could imagine the pilot, fighting his controls, watching the fuel gauge while the radio man called and called. How long had he been calling, calling, before he had been heard? The operator sickened at the thought of what might have happened, out there in the immensity. He was glad he'd not fallen down on the job.

Over the drome the big searchlight stabbed its beam vertically through the blackness; the plane reported that she sighted the light. She'd land any minute now.

That was how it went, he sneered to himself. His grudge was gaining strength again now. What else do you expect in a job like this? You pick them up out of the madness of the night, tune in their unintelligible call through the crash of the storm, hold their voice pinned under your fingers on the dials, their message clear in the jarring phones, make it possible for them to come in to safety - and you're left with only a throbbing headache. They never think of you.

They'd be on the ground now, clapping one another on the back, patting the streaming sides of the plane, grinning like schoolboys. The radio man would have switched off his set, the pilot would be running through the rain to the phone to tell the controller all about it and what a great guy he was. The operator felt tired after it all. Idly he turned the dial back and forth over the spot where he had fought with the devils of noise for ten men's lives and for the life of their ship. The static swelled and crackled, hissed and raged-and then through it, loud now they were close at hand, came the hum of their transmitter.

He slid the dial into position. Weren't they going to use the 'drome 'phone, then? He twirled up the volume. The radio man hadn't switched off his set, after all. The last message came crisp and clear.

"K33- We're on the ground. Thanks a lot, No.1I. You got us out of a damned tight spot.

He snapped his switch. His voice was calm, the voice of an operator, acknowledging a routine message.

"K33 from No.1. Roger."

Roger! The word was a triumphant chorus in his heart.

"We're on the ground." Roger!

"You got us out of a damned tight spot. Roger!

They knew who'd found them. They hadn't phoned the controller; they'd called him over his own life-giving radio.

Roger! Roger! His heart shouted the word.

And the grudge was dead.

"MUIR"