Chapter 12 Spitfires in Burma; Wide Horizons; Beaufighter Bash; On Borrowed Time

SPITFIRES IN BURMA

SUPREMELY confident, fighters and bombers of the Japanese Air Force launched a raid on Chittagong just over twelve months ago. Their confidence had been built up because of successes against the comparatively out-of-date Hurricane fighters, upon which the R.A.F. had had to rely during the previous two years, and because of their numerical strength.

Boxing Day, 1943, was the last day for that confidence to be so high, for it was then, for the first time in India, that the Japs encountered the redoubtable British Spitfire. Admittedly, on this occasion, they engaged only two Spitfires, but their meeting was disastrous. These Spitfires were flown by two Australians, Flying-Officer Geoffrey William Andrews, a bank clerk, of Hamilton, Newcastle (N.S.W.), and Flight-Sergeant Harry B. Chatfield, a civil servant, of Bendigo, who was making one of his first operational flights with the squadron, appropriately known as "Churchill's Own", because the British Prime Minister is the Honorary Air-Commodore, and of even more interest to Australia because the squadron was later commanded by the late Squadron-Leader David W. McCormack, D.F.C., and Bar, of Seddon, Melbourne.

On Boxing Day, Andrews and Chatfield intercepted a force of Japanese fighters and bombers south-east of Chittagong. Andrews was flying at 30,000 feet, when he saw the formation below him. He dived on the fighters, gave one a good burst and saw a number of strikes. He continued downwards and put a few shots into the nearest bomber at 24,000 feet. Completing his dive, Andrews climbed back into the sun, dived through the fighters, and saw strikes on another bomber.

Results observed from the ground revealed that Andrews had destroyed a fighter and a bomber, while the second bomber was damaged.

Chatfield followed Andrews in each dive and downed a bomber in each. The first bomber was seen from the ground to crash. A number of strikes were observed on the second bomber, his starboard engine caught on fire, and he dropped from the formation.

Previously Andrews had destroyed a Japanese bomber, and damaged two bombers and one fighter. Chatfield had had only ten operational hours' flying before he successfully claimed the two bombers as victims. Andrews, who has since returned to Australia, was trained in the Commonwealth, Canada and Britain, and Chatfield received his training in Australia, Rhodesia and England.

The success of the Australians had dimmed all memories of Christmas for the Japanese but worse was to follow. On the last day of 1943, Squadron-Leader (now Wing-Commander) A. N. Constantine led a scramble of Spitfires to the Naf Peninsula, where they intercepted fifteen bombers, one section on its way to bomb motor launches near St Martin's Island and the other one returning from that excursion. Below them was a force of fighters, and Squadron-Leader Constantine dived down to meet this force, only to find that it comprised R.A.F. Hurricanes. By the time he came out of his dive, he and his Number Two found that all that remained of the enemy formation was bits and pieces. Flying-Officer Denis E. W. Garvin of Bellevue Hill, Sydney, destroyed one, probably destroyed one and damaged one before his aircraft was hit by enemy fire and he had to return to base. Altogether eleven bombers were destroyed that day, one probably destroyed, and three fighters destroyed.

The Prime Minister (Mr. Churchill) cabled the R.A.F.-"My congratulations and compliments on your brilliant exploit", and the Secretary for Air (Sir Archibald Sinclair) cabled-" . . . the brilliant exploit of your fighters yesterday is more than news for New Year. Congratulations to you and to the Squadron that fought so well. Clearly the Spitfires have found their way into good hands. Good luck to you for 1944-"

The Japanese were certainly suffering from "an R.A.F. hang-over" on New Year's Day.

Japanese successes of other days were now distant memories. The Spitfire had again proved its superiority in Burma as it had done in Western Europe.

Determined, if nothing else, the Japanese

sent over about seventy fighters on January 15, and they were met by eight Spitfires from Squadron-Leader Constantine's squadron. Later a sister squadron joined it.

Contact was made near St Martin's Island. In this engagement Flying-Officer Garvin distinguished himself. After damaging one, he had a ninety-degrees shot at a fighter which was pursuing a Spitfire, and it crashed into the sea. After following on he pulled up under a Japanese fighter and at a thirty degrees deflection hit it in the engine and cockpit, whereupon it crashed.

Flying north he tackled two more and shots were registered between the engine and oil tanks, pieces falling off. This was claimed as probably destroyed. On his way back to base he was jumped and shot up and made a forced landing in a paddy field.

Squadron-Leader Constantine was also successful, destroying two and damaging one, while Flying-Officer Dudley J. Barnett, of Richmond (Q.), was another Australian to meet with success. Noticing that one Japanese fighter was hanging aloof, Barnett followed him and a long burst from semi-astern registered, the Japanese crashing west of Alethangyew. On his way back to base he had to adjust the rear-vision mirror, which necessitated opening the canopy, and it was only after he had completed this that he noticed that a fighter was on his tail 400 yards astern. The enemy got to within 100 yards, during which he registered a shot in the armour engine cowling, but then the Spitfire drew away.

Success also greeted the sister squadron which accounted for six enemy aircraft destroyed, one probably destroyed and five damaged. Of these Flight-Lieutenant Colin T. Doudy, of Tamworth, and Pilot-Officer Brian J. Bohane, of Wavell Heights, Brisbane, each destroyed one and damaged one, and Flight-Sergeant Jack Haley of Lithgow damaged one.

Driven to desperation, the Japanese, five days later, sent over eighty fighters and they were intercepted by one squadron over the Maungdaw area. Although the R.A.F. squadron was outnumbered eight to one, in the ensuing dogfight, five enemy aircraft were destroyed, four probably destroyed, and six damaged. A sister squadron arrived when the Japanese and the other R.A.F. Squadron were in battle, and destroyed two fighters, probably destroyed three and damaged three.

Squadron-Leader Constantine led the attack and concentrated on two fighters and saw strikes register. He continued on and succeeded in sending one down in flames. He probably destroyed three others and damaged one before experiencing a "black-out" during which he fell from 18,ooo to 5000 feet where he was flying inverted. After righting himself he fainted and righted himself again a few feet from the ground.

His Number Two, Flying-Officer Garvin, followed his leader in the initial dive attacking from astern. The air was so thick with Japanese aircraft, however, that he was not able to see how all his attacks resulted, but he sent one down in flames, another went down vertically and was claimed as a probable, and a third was damaged. On his way back to base he was jumped by a well-camouflaged fighter, on his starboard quarter, and was wounded in the leg and arm. He managed to return to base and despite a burst tyre made a good landing.

Another Australian, Warrant-Officer William L. Cousens of Tamworth (N.S.W.), also had a successful day, destroying one, and probably destroying two.

Minor skirmishes, with losses on every occasion by the Japanese, continued. The Seventh Division of the Fourteenth Army had been temporarily encircled in the Arakqn, and R.A.F. Dakotas were busily employed making hundreds of sorties, dropping supplies to the beleaguered troops. In an effort to stop this supply line, the Japanese sent over wave after wave of fighters, but the net result was only one Dakota destroyed, whereas just under 2oo enemy fighters were shot down, and of these more than two thirds were destroyed. Thereafter the Japanese retired from concentrated attacks, thoroughly beaten, the Spitfires having proved, as on the western front, that they are the masters of the skies.

BEAUFIGHTER BASH

WENT on a "bash" with Wing-Commander F. W. B. (Bill) Mann to sample Beaufighting. I was quite prepared to go in my regular apparel. But no! This was a really serious business and I was dolled up in a dark-green "commando" outfit. They girdled me with a substantial belt from which was dangled revolver, jungle knife, rations, water bottle, and ammunition. Then I staggered into the parachute room where I was harnessed and loaded with 'chute and rubber boat.

As I was handed into the truck I felt like turning it in. After all, I was only taking a flip for the fun of it. I laboured up the steps of the forward hatch and stood up in the small space behind the pilot surrounded by a veritable headache of wires, switches, pipelines, radio gadgets and other untouchables which didn't mean a thing to me. It was all very confusing. Anyway the target was still nearly 500 miles away and there was no sense in worrying yet.

We took off as thousands of planes have taken off. My only thought - that ten tons of Beaufighter takes a mighty lot of lifting.

I had been given a set of headphones, duly hooked up to the intercom., and when we were aloft the skipper checked the take-offs of the rest of the boys with his wireless navigator Ray Harber.

When we had formed a course was set and I spent quite a time peering over the pilot's shoulders, first to port and then to starboard, watching the other Beaus and giving the "thumbs up " signal to the nearest pilots who were plainly visible and thoroughly enjoying the run.

I searched the sea for fish or anything else that would absorb my interest for a while. There was nothing but blue sky above us and nothing but water below. Australia was a hundred and more miles behind and Timor was several hundred miles ahead. There was certainly a lot of sea about and nothing of anything else.

The silence on the intercom. was broken only by the pilot's requests for checks on course and several times direction was changed slightly to compensate for drift.

I slumped down In my harness and, using my raft as a seat and the 'chute as a pillow, endeavoured to get comfortable. But no matter which way I maneuvered my frame the harness did most of the supporting and I just stayed uncomfortable.

"Forty minutes to go! Better get down on the deck" came over the phones from Ray, and I struggled into a standing position to see what it was all about. We came down to fifteen feet off the water. I leaned over the skipper's shoulders and saw that everyone had come down to approximately the same height.

The Beaus look good in formation-flying low-ready for business. The pilot pointed out that he was flying a good fifteen feet below any of the other boys. He said he always did that. He prided himself on being able to fly long distances at a lower altitude than anybody else in the squadron. Then I thought again of ten tons hurtling through the air at 250 miles per. And the large expanse of beautiful blue water so very close to our belly, the land so very far behind, the target so very far ahead, and the rubber dinghy behind me. Then for the first time I noticed that Bill Mann was really flying this kite. There was no "George" to do the work. This man in front of me had to work hard and intelligently to keep this kite on the job of getting to the target. He had to be 100 per cent awake. He couldn't afford to let up for a single second. He had to do this for four and a half to five hours if he wanted to get home.

"Ten minutes to go" comes over the intercom. from Ray. The skipper gets his gunsight into position. His eyes rove around the cockpit checking all the gadgets that matter. He shuffles his body about until he has a position of readiness; he searches the skies ahead; he checks the cockpit gadgets again. Land appears on the horizon.

"Leader to formation! Close up line abreast."

Now we are in the centre of a line of seven Beaufighters skimming the sea towards what? Will the ack-ack be heavy? Last strike over this area "Tiny" Wilkins was holed and

parachuted out over Bathurst Island. Perhaps it will be one of those dull shows that the boys talk about. I'm really glad I was draped with knife, water bottle, rations, revolver and the rest of the gear. Anything can happen now!

The land seems to come at us and in a matter of moments our belly is brushing the treetops and the pilot is looking for something with head and eye movement as speedy as that of a timid lizard.

Hillocks are skipped with the rise and fall motion of the Big Dipper; steep banking turns are made round the close hills. We tip from side to side, rise and fall, swerve and straighten out, then shake like a wet dog.

There's a road. A deserted native village. A river with banks and bottom of a whitish clay. "China River," says Ray over the phone. More villages. A plantation. "That hill is higher than we are," you say to yourself. But we are up, over, and down at 300 miles per hour and again searching for targets before your mental crash has time to materialize.

One second you feel like a tourist-next you wonder whether you really are. The scene changes every split second. Ray says, "There's a speck about 2 o'clock-keep your eye on it." ("It's only a large bird," says Bill.)

We had been flying over Timor for twenty minutes and I was beginning to realize that I had enjoyed every thrilling minute of it.

"Betano should be two minutes ahead on announced Ray. Bill looked to his gunsight, and glanced around his gadgets again.

We were swooping down on a Jap patrol headquarters. The cannons gave a shuddering blast. A European-built hut with a native thatched roof. Another burst. A Jap astride a standing horse, talking to two white uniformed officers, disintegrated from the saddle. The horse bolted. The cannons blasted. A figure fell from the doorway. Bill lifted the nose of the Beau and we cleared the hut by a few feet.

"We'll give those --s a bit more," Bill says, as we bank and turn for another run, all the while doing evasive action and throwing me about like a cork bobbing on the water.

We fly over the trees and on to the target behind the protection of a hill. Up, over, swoop and then a quick burst again. A dozen figures rush for the house. Some are hit and fall. One is dragging himself along the ground. Two officers rush from the house, both are dropped. Tracers lash out in a shuddering blast and smoke starts to issue from the place. Not so bad, you think, as the Beau clears the house for the second time. Then you become conscious of the smoke and smell of gun-powder within the plane and you recollect that you have been in action. The Japs' only defence at this point was rifle-fire. Would there be heavy ack-ack at the next target? Will it be heavy or light? Thick or thin? Accurate?

I'm sure I can hear, almost feel, the trees brushing our belly. Who was it that told me about Phil Biven hitting a softwood tree over here, returning to his base with a sackful of bark and wood embedded in his Beau?

"Ray. Give me a course for --," the pilot says.

The coast comes into view again. Ray makes a visual check and advises that all the Beaus are present except "Wickie". "That silly little -- must have made another run." Bill sights him a few miles to starboard.

"Leader to formation. Head for home on course --. Leader to formation. Head for home on course --."

We're down "on the deck" again. The tenseness of the twenty-three minutes over Timor, looking for something to shoot up and the deep-seated expectancy of the something that might happen, are gone. I relax and slump once more on to my raft and neither the hardness of my parachute pillow nor the goring gadgets of my harness prevent me from enjoying a sleep.

Bill explained later: The primary target was shipping, which had moved on in the night, and the boys were disappointed that only the secondary target of Betano was available. "Of course," he concluded, "we might have run into an opportunity target, such as another ship or a motor transport convoy. You never know your luck on this job. If you really crave excitement come with us on our next strike on Dilli or Lautem."

FLYING-OFFICER E. T. MILLINGTON

ON BORROWED TIME

WHEN Squadron-Leader Geoff Coventry and his crew returned to base after a raid on Manokwari, they had something for the I.O.'s narrative report. What they had was a frank admission that they were back but didn't know how.

Coventry had flown in a Catalina on a bombing and reconnaissance mission over Manokwari Harbour. They came in across the bay at a very low height and were immediately met by a concentration of light and medium ack-ack. "There was tracer flying past us on every side," his crew admitted. It was the hottest show a Catalina had ever come out of. Coventry told the Intel. officer that he was "living on borrowed time".

Since Moresby's early days Coventry had been flying a lone Catalina through the night across long stretches of sea. For a few months he was a brassed-off controller at the fighter sector, and on many a night when Moresby was raided by the Japs, sat through the monotonous dog watches, waiting for the Jap flying boats to come down from Rabaul and plaster the seven-mile strip.

Back on Catalinas, Coventry played an important role in the Battle of the Bismarck Sea. On the night of March 2, 1943, he stuck with the convoy, radioing its position back to Bomber Command, whose great force of heavy and medium bombers was poised to strike its greatest blow the following morning provided the convoy came within range. Just before nightfall the Jap convoy had turned toward Wewak from a point at the north of Vitiaz Strait. But, when darkness came, it wheeled about and made full steam for Lae. ,Coventry hovered over the ships and sealed their doom, his wireless operator sending
through regular messages. The staff chiefs at Bomber Command began rubbing their hands again, for it meant that the convoy was entering the range of the medium bombers and Beaufighters.

Coventry unloaded bombs at intervals during the night and drew ack-ack from the destroyers, "just to
give them a hell of a night". He did not observe any hits, but his greatest contribution to the Bismarck Sea Battle was his regular plotting of the convoy's course well into the dawn of Wednesday, March 3. Before lunch on that day most of the Jap ships were destroyed.

Coventry was always on top of the game and it is difficult to say that this or that adventure was his greatest. His series of flights from Moresby across central New Guinea, for the Australian New Guinea Administrative Unit, were perhaps his most outstanding. He and his flight of Catalinas were the first to do a series of such jobs, and they brought back a wealth of material that was invaluable later to A.N.G.A.U.

A few days after the Manokwari raid Coventry was called upon to deliver a pump to a small American ship which was in difficulties due to a leak. The ship was lying some distance out from Milne Bay in the open sea. In heavy weather, and against his better judgment, Coventry set down his flying boat on the rough sea and delivered the pump to the Americans. Damage had been done to the Catalina on landing, and, when the flying boat attempted to take off, rivets were sprung and the aircraft crashed on its nose. Coventry was killed, but the rest of his crew escaped.

Coventry had used up his borrowed time.

PILOT-OFFICER G. B. GRAHAM