Chapter 2 Test Pilot; More Mines; 4 Gongs and a clock

TEST PILOT

THE eerie whisper of a Beaufighter on the deck roused the spinebashers from their complaining cots. The Beau cycloned across the tent lines, zoomed in a textbook curve and, still climbing, rolled as prettily as ever you saw. At iooo feet the pilot straightened out, turned tightly back over the camp and dived down for a repeat performance. His audience, larger by this time, was both appreciative and expectant. Expectant because more requiems than reputations have been won by pilots getting too fresh with Beaufighters.

Next morning a notice appeared under the C.O.'s signature on the "G.G." board in the aircrew mess: "The practice of pilots subjecting their aircraft to undue strain must cease forthwith." The crews grinned. It was a safe bet that the C.O. smiled too when he wrote it. For the pilot on the mat was Flight Lieutenant Malcolm Baker, of Perth (W.A.), for three years one of the chief test pilots in the R.A.A.F., and who has flown practically every type of British and American operational and training aircraft. Rolling a Beaufighter was mild treatment compared to the "undue strain" to which he had subjected these Jap-feared machines in test flights before giving them the operational O.K.

Flight-Lieutenant Baker was eighteen years of age when he satisfied a boyhood ambition to fly, gaining both his "A" and "B" licences at the Maylands Aero Club in Perth, under the club's instructors Frank Collopy and Captain Snook.

Flying was his hobby only. He made engineering his career. But he had 7oo hours up when he joined the R.A.A.F. in August 1940. He won his wings on Wirraways, and after an instructors' course at Camden (N.S.W.) he steered potential aces through their elementary flying at Essendon.

He was one of the original team of six pilots selected from the R.A.A.F. in February 1942 for test flying at Laverton. Wing-Commander Jim Harper, A.F.C., of Toorak (V.), was first C.O. of the Performance and Test Flight later styled Aircraft Performance Unit. The others were Squadron-Leader D. R. Cuming, A.F.C., of Malvern (V.), Flight Lieutenant Laurie Brady, of Sydney (N.S.W), Wing-Commander Jim Emmerton, of Melbourne (V.), and Squadron-Leader John Williams, of Sydney (N.S.W.). Harper, Brady and Cuming later went to England and did an A.P.U. course there. Brady was killed on a test flight during the course. Emmerton became C.O. of a famous R.A.A.F. Boston squadron and was killed in New Guinea. Williams ended his active flying days after surviving three bad crashes.

For some time Flight-Lieutenant Baker was on loan to the U.S.A.A.F. as test pilot. One month taken at random from his logbook illustrates the variety of aircraft he has test flown-Anson, Spitfire, Kittyhawk, Wackett Trainer, Vultee Vengeance, Beaufort, Wirraway, Dragon, Boomerang, Fairey Battle, Beaufighter, Lightning, Thunderbolt, Hurricane, and Curtis Falcon.

On arrival at A.P.U. from Britain or America one aircraft of each type is put through a performance test. Next every aircraft destined for operations undergoes a rigorous test to determine its structural strength, engine performance at altitudes, and general operational airworthiness. On a pad strapped to his knee the test pilot records in flight the aircraft's behaviour at full throttle heights, its rated power climb, speeds at various heights, ease of handling and response to controls in aerobatics, and maximum diving speed. Test reports are published in bulletins giving pilots expert "gen" on the capabilities of their aircraft, what they have the right to expect of it normally, and under exceptional stress, and also its idiosyncrasies-a privilege aircraft appear to share with humans.

Test pilots will not admit that there is anything melodramatic about their job. They absorb all the known "gen" on an aircraft (even the cockpit drill which Pilot-Officer Prune scorns) before taking it up, and keep to a set test procedure. They are as keen to have grandchildren as any man.

Risks necessarily have to be taken, and are readily accepted by test pilots as part of the

responsibility they owe to the men who will fly these machines against the Japs. Few test pilots cannot recall occasions when for a few never-to-be-forgotten moments Charon was their co-pilot. Flight-Lieutenant Baker has had half a dozen "prangs". His closest call was when testing a
Kittyhawk. It was clocking 450 m.p.h. in a power dive when the radio mast snapped and took the rudder with it. He ruefully recalls that he "did a couple of smart slow rolls" before he pulled the Kittyhawk out of that dive. He could only maintain control with the wheels and flaps down at 150 m.p.h., and landed at that speed-just double the Kittyhawk's normal landing speed.

While giving a service pilot a flying check on a Vultee Vengeance it got out of control, and the pilot flew it into gun-testing butts. Flight-Lieutenant Baker pulled him out of the blazing wreck, and for this action received a Mention in Dispatches-and a plastic nose. The pilot's injuries were fatal.

When the airscrews: and wheels of a Beaufighter he was testing tangled in electric power lines strung in error across the runway a few seconds after take-off he thought his number was up. One engine cut out, to make matters worse. He had to think and act fast to make a forced landing without damage to the Beaufighter or himself.

Flight-Lieutenant Baker was flying alongside the late Wing-Commander J. Stevenson, commanding officer of No. 1 A.D., on the morning of December 1, 1942,when Stevenson's Spitfire dived out of control into the sea off Point Cook. He was also flying in the A.R.P. display in Sydney on September 4, 1944, when Flight-Lieutenant Dick Rowe, D.F.C., a member of the original 30 Beaufighter Squadron, met his tragic death when his Vultee Vengeance rolled on its back and dived into the ground.

There were laughs too. At Laverton he took up an Airacobra to test a new type of parachute for fragmentation bombs. Released at 450 m.p.h., a parachute tore, and the frags landed in the C.O.'s much prized lake. Luckily they were not "live", and the only casualties were two ducks. The C.O. was Group-Captain J. R. Fleming, later C.O. of an Army Co-op. Wing operating against the Japs in Borneo.

In June 1943 Flight-Lieutenant Baker and Flight-Lieutenant Neil McCulloch, of Hamilton (V.), pioneered the overland route for ferrying fighters to northern operational bases. The idea was to obviate the long coastal haul. Flying Buffaloes, their route was Melbourne-Bourke-Longreach-Townsville. They covered the route again later in Boomerangs. Both trips were unescorted. Ferry crews use this route today but with escort aircraft as navigational aid and rescue cover.

Flight-Lieutenant Baker was chosen to demonstrate the Australian Boomerang to the British Parliamentary Delegation in June 1944, and led the Mark VIII Spitfires in formation flying for the newsreels.

The Spitfire is the sweetest aircraft to fly, in his opinion. From his eulogy you gather it is the pilot's aerodynamic dream. He considers the Mosquito and Boston also are extremely pleasant aircraft to fly. The Beaufighter is the most difficult aircraft to handle, he contends, especially taking off and landing. He is flying them now over Borneo.

Flight-Lieutenant Baker did valuable work testing captured Jap aircraft, but his comments on them are "off the record".

The Hollywood conception of test-piloting is not held by Flight-Lieutenant Baker. "There is nothin glamorous or particularly thrilling about it," he says. "As a matter of fact it becomes rather boring. We used to look forward to loan-campaign displays as an opportunity to enjoy acrobatics free from the bind of a pad on our knees."

A kind of busman's holiday!

PILOT-OFFICER E. SPEEDY

MORE MINES

Long after Japan has been defeated, men of the Catalina squadrons will remember 1945 as the year in which the flying boats, striking at enemy sea communications, wrote a new chapter in the history of the R.A.A.F. Their success at aerial mine laying made 1945 a "glorious year" for the Black Cats.

The Catalinas had a long record-they had been in the Pacific war from the start. Their first offensive blow was struck when a single flying boat bombed Truk on January 12, 1942. They had dropped bombs, torpedoes, even propaganda leaflets. They had been used for convoying, for reconnaissance, and for submarine patrols. But it was not until they were switched to mine laying that they really displayed their vast capability for disrupting Japanese shipping.

For months, mining operations were strictly secret. The enemy can take counter measures if he knows where mines have been laid. Even in intelligence reports, the only references to the Catalinas' work was "Mission completed" or "Mission successful". Black Cats mined Manila harbour in December 1944, but it was nearly four months, long after the Philippines capital was in Allied hands, before that story could be told.

Manila was one of many pre-invasion operations. Before the Allies landed in Borneo, the Halmaheras, the Admiralties, and Palau Islands, Catalinas struck at enemy ports and shipping routes. Early in 1945 they had closed every important harbour in the Dutch East Indies, and were seeking targets farther afield.

The China Coast was their next dropping ground-ports and shipping routes vital to the Japanese homeland were their objectives.

Previously, enemy vessels in this area, secure from bombing, were able to hug the coasts and move practically unmolested. Operating closer to Japan than any other R.A.A.F. squadrons, Catalinas made these shipping lanes so dangerous that the reluctant enemy was compelled to use blue-water routes, hundreds of miles out to sea. Desperate efforts were made to sweep the mines, but the flying boats were operating over thousands of square miles, and the task was beyond the enemy's power. Convoys were forced within range of Philippine-based heavy bombers, and many thousands of tons of merchant and naval shipping fell prey to Allied air and submarine attacks.

Jap armies in Malaya, the N.E.I. and Borneo, cut off from urgently needed supplies, lost much of their powers of resistance. At Tarakan and Labuan the enemy would have inflicted much heavier casualties on the invading forces if he had been receiving a steady flow of anus, ammunition and reinforcements by sea.

Balikpapan was one of the flying boats' most costly tasks. Of six Catalinas that went to this target, one crashed in flames, one was forced down, and two others were badly holed.

The actual mine laying is probably among the most nerve-racking of all air operations. Utmost precision is a necessity. If mines fall outside the narrow shipping channels, they are wasted. Often Catalinas have spent up to an hour circling over strongly defended enemy ports to make certain of laying the mines in their right places.

To do the work properly they must come down to within a few hundred feet of the sea. At this altitude even small-arms fire is dangerous, and blast from a prematurely exploding mine may wreck the aircraft. One Catalina, damaged in this way, made a 600 mile trip back to base with both mainplanes broken.

Close to many China Coast ports are hills and mountains rising hundreds of feet. With their vision obscured by the constant fog, mist, and low-lying cloud, pilots have had narrow escapes from crashing into mountainsides. More than one aircraft has been lost in this way.

At the targets enemy shipping, armed against air attack, is usually present. Near any port, fighters must be expected.

A round trip of nearly 2,000 miles is a normal night's work. Due to long and frequent operations, colossal numbers of flying hours are piled up. In an average fortnight on the China Coast, a few months ago, most crews spent well over a hundred hours in the air.

This entailed a tremendous physical strain. On a single operation they would sometimes spend twenty-five to thirty hours without leaving the aircraft.

The hazardous work demands the highest qualities from Catalina crews. Many of the flying boat men have records unsurpassed for courage and determination. Some have been flying since the outbreak of war.

Best known is probably Wing-Commander William Keith Bolitho, of Mannum (S.A.). Bolitho has been mentioned in dispatches, and holds both British and American D.F.Cs. His career with Catalinas began four years ago, when the flying boats were being used for bombing and for shipping searches from Cairns to Gasmata. In one period of twenty-eight days Bolitho completed nearly 280 hours' flying, a record it would be hard to beat in any squadron.

Experienced in every phase of operations, he flew Black Cats in days when bombs were dropped from the blisters, by hand. Incendiaries and fragmentation bombs were often carried stacked inside the aircraft, but crews were never very happy about them. One veteran Catalina pilot commented, "When we had to take evasive action, things would get lively. The bombs seemed to look for a chance to break loose."

Wing-Commander Athol Wearne, D.F.C., Midland junction (W.A.), who recently completed a tour as C.O. of a famous Catalina squadron, has an outstanding record. After serving in Sunderlands, he was posted to Cats on return from the United Kingdom. At Cairns while swimming he was attacked by a shark, and his right leg had to be amputated at the knee.

After convalescing, he asked to be returned to his squadron, but was refused. Posted north as an instructor, he surreptitiously went on ops, and finally, after repeated requests, he was returned to flying duties. He has completed more than 200 operations, and has more than 16oo operational flying hours to his credit. At the end of his last tour, while waiting for a southern posting, he quietly flew to the Philippines for a final hit at Jap ports on the China Coast. No one will deny that Catalina men have a Navy complex. Even their language is salted with nautical terms. One squadron lighted its mess with a ship's masthead light.

Port and starboard sidelights flanked the bar-invitation and warning. There was much of the adventurous spirit-and language-of Elizabethan seamen in that squadron. For a time the C.O. was Wing-Commander John McMahon, Port Pirie (S.A.). McMahon spent eighteen months flying a Walrus plane based on an armed merchantman, and is equally at home at sea or in the air. During his 2000 flying hours he has met all types of opposition, from fighters to small arms fire. But he has been lucky. A few months ago, mine laying, he ran straight in towards ground defences. Three bursts of Bofors fire struck his flying boat, but only one member of the crew was wounded.

With the squadron was Flight-Lieutenant Vic Wiseman, of Sandringham (V.), another skipper with the Navy background. Wiseman, attached to the R.A.N., served for months on the cruiser Hobart. His service with the Navy has given him much of the seaman's imperturbable outlook. His crew say that Wiseman's invariable description of an operation is "Things were fairly quiet". On one trip, his Catalina narrowly missed crashing into a hillside. In the darkness, for a few seconds, the aircraft was flying among the tree-tops. The skipper's quick thinking saved the Catalina and he still thought it was "a fairly quiet trip".

One skipper who has mined every important target is Squadron-Leader Ian Grant, of Hobart (T.). Grant ran into some flak on the Manila operation, but a few weeks later he had a worse time. Keeping low, and trying to avoid searchlights, he became a target for heavy machine-gun and Bofors fire. With tracers flying viciously towards his aircraft, he went on to put the mines in their right places, and brought his plane back to base.

Other Catalina men are of the same calibre. Squadron-Leader Brian Monkton, of Sydney (N.S.W.), with a total of more than 6ooo hours in the air, holds the record for the largest number of flying hours. Group Captain S. A. C. Campbell gained international recognition long before he joined the Black Cats. For his work with the Lincoln-Ellesworth expedition, he was awarded the rare Polar Medal.

Flying-Officer Hal Healy, of Sydney (N.S.W.), has been at war with the Japanese for more than seven years. On a holiday trip in China, he accepted an offer to fly for the Chinese government. On the outbreak of the European war, he returned to Australia and joined the R.A.A.F. He said nothing about his record, went right through aircrew training, and passed out as a pilot. Healy has had more narrow escapes in Catalinas than he had while flying for the Chinese. While second pilot to Wing-Commander Bolitho, his aircraft returned from one operation with more than a hundred bullet-holes in It. Another night, hundreds of miles from base, lightning put every instrument out of operation. "We were a bit lucky to find our way home," Healy said.

Not all the Catalinas' work has been destructive. For many months the flying boats have been used in an air-sea rescue service that has saved the lives of dozens of airmen. Probably the most daring rescue during the past year was carried out by Flight-Lieutenant R. M. Corrie, D.F.C., of Manly (N.S.W.), during a battle between R.A.A.F. bombers and a Japanese warship and fighter planes.

Before Corrie reached the scene, another Catalina had attempted to pick up crews from R.A.A.F. bombers shot down by enemy fighters and ack-ack. That flying boat was attacked and set on fire. Members of the crew were burnt as they swam through the blazing oil. While the battle was still continuing, Corrie put his craft down on the water, and for an hour took survivors aboard.

While still taxiing, the Catalina was warned by a covering Liberator that enemy fighters were coming in to attack. Two Jap fighters made a pass almost immediately, but they swerved away under fire from the Cat.'s guns. Before the flying boat could take off they closed in again. Then the Catalina got into the air, and raced for cloud cover over the Jap-occupied Flores Islands. The fighters made another attack before Corrie could lose them. After escaping in the cloud, Corrie flew his aircraft 6oo miles back to base.

A second audacious rescue was made by Flying-Officer Armand Etienne, who flew 1,850 miles, in daylight, and mostly over enemy territory, to save nine members of the crew of another flying boat. The stranded airmen had been forced down on an enemy shipping lane, almost within sight of a Japanese airfield. This was the longest rescue flight ever made by a Catalina, and it earned Etienne the D.F.C.

Another crew, forced down in the centre of a group of Japanese-held islands, was picked up by Flight-Lieutenant Robert ("Nobby") Clark, of Myrtlebank (S.A.). Flight-Lieutenant Brian Ortlepp, of Adelaide (S.A.), flew 1,400 miles to save a crew drifting helplessly along a hostile coast. After flying through a storm to reach the men, Ortlepp had to come down in a heavy swell. Waves punched a hole in the flying boat, but an improvised patch stopped too much water getting in. Ammunition, a machine gun, and other equipment had to be jettisoned before the Catalina could take off again.

Although the rescue service has been invaluable, mine laying is the Black Cats' most important task. Months ago the Commander in Chief of the United States fleet paid tribute to the energy and skill displayed in the planning and execution of these operations. He added, "The resulting losses and damage inflicted on the enemy reflect great credit on all concerned."

Since that was written, the Black Cats have operated over much greater areas, striking closer towards the heart of the Japanese Empire. The full story may not be told until after the final defeat of Japan, but enough has been disclosed to show that 1945 was the Catalinas' greatest year.

FLYING-OFFICER JACK EVANS

FOUR GONGS AND A CLOCK

WHEN a small formation of Beaufighters of the First Tactical Air Force (R.A.A.F.) left the Wama strip on Morotai Island on a tropical March morning, their crews little realized the heap of trouble towards which they were heading.

It is true that the target was tough-Japanese installations on faraway Amboina Island, and not far off the safety limit of the range of the Beaufighter. The flak there was hot, too. Others had come back from previous missions with holes in their mainplanes and tails.

On their way out they passed, but did not see, the lumbering Catalina which had set out before them, and before dawn, to provide the air-sea rescue service for a Liberator raid on Balikpapan.

The attack was routine and successful, and the leader then called on his formation to close up for the long haul back to base. One of the pilots suddenly found that both his motors had died and he was only 500 feet above the water, and just offshore. He just had time to call to his navigator, "We're going to ditch," when the machine hit the water, and sank within fifteen seconds.

Somehow the pilot scrambled out and found his navigator standing on the submerging wing tip. How the navigator got there, neither ever knew, but the two airmen broke out their rubber dinghy and paddled seawards.

The Catalina, making a little better than 100 knots, drove on.

Meanwhile the rescue machinery was set in motion. Young Flying-Officer Ken Sounness, of Mt. Barker (W.A.), saw his mates ditch, and he immediately radioed the position of the helpless flyers to base, which instructed the flying boat to change course to pick up the Beaufighter men.

"We'll cover these blokes until the Cat, or something comes along," Sounness said to his navigator, Flight-Sergeant Ian Roberts, of Adelaide (S.A.).

44O.K."

"Gas is going to be a bit sticky, though. We can afford to stooge around until 10-3o a.m.,

but if we wait after that we won't have enough juice to get back."

"So what, then?" queried the navigator.

"So we stay," was the laconic reply.

Back at Morotai the plight of the men in the dinghy and of the covering aircraft was known, and two more Beaufighters became airborne in a hurry to take over the vigil from Sounness.

Over the radio, the Catalina had another call from Sounness.

"What time can you make it? " he asked after the preliminaries.

"Not before 11.30, I'm afraid, old chap," replied the flying boat's radioman.

"O.K., but you'll probably have two crews to pick up by then, because we won't have enough gas to get back."

"Pleased to do business with you-at our usual fee, of course."

"Oh yeah," replied the Beaufighter, "and what's that? "

"Why, that beaut clock you've got in your kite."

"Roger and off," signalled the Beaufighter.

It was a nice clock. It would be a pity to leave it in the aircraft to get all fouled up with salt water.

Sounness called for a screwdriver from his navigator, and loosened the screws holding the clock.

His intention, of course, was to hand it over to his squadron equipment officer as soon as he reached base, and shame on anyone who may impute lower motives.

A tiny native craft, manned by one man, edged slowly towards the men in the dinghy. Drawing his pistol, the pilot waited, and Sounness, ensuring his guns were cocked, watched closely from above.

The native stopped paddling ten yards from the dinghy, and said something unintelligible to the airmen. By gesticulation, he then invited them to board his craft. The native may have had the best intentions in the world, but there was no mistaking the meaning of the pilot's reply: "Get to hell out of here before I shoot you." The native paddled briskly away. He understood.

Ken Sounness looked at his clock. It was 10.25, and he looked at his petrol gauges and shook his head. "Hope you're a good swimmer, mate," he called to his companion. Sounness knew what ditching involved. He had had to go into the drink himself earlier in the year, and had later been picked up.
The squadron's intelligence officer was very jumpy back at Morotai. He didn't leave the phone for an instant. In the Sig. office quite a crowd had gathered to listen to the drama. It was just about 10.30 a.m., when they heard a cool voice from Sounness's machine advise that two more Beaufighters had arrived, and that they would try to make base. The relieving Beaufighters had pressed on with all possible speed, to take over the vigil. To tie up the rest of Sounness's part, he reached base after being airborne for more than seven and a half hours.

"Do you remember how much gas you had left when you got back?" he was asked later. "Am I ever likely to forget it-fifteen gallons."

There was another hour to wait for the flying boat, and those in the danger area had time to think. They were particularly struck by the lack of opposition from the Japanese-held shore. They knew there were guns there, and they had noticed a bit of activity, but not a shot had been fired at the helpless men in the dinghy.

Then it dawned on them. The Japs were purposely leaving the dinghy as a decoy. It would draw bigger
fish-perhaps a P.T. boat, or even a flying boat. Shortly after 11.3o a.m. the Catalina reached the
scene. Flight-Lieutenant Wally Mills, of Sydney (N.S.W.), set his ship down nicely on the water near the dinghy. To give the big flying boat steadiness, he let down his wheels.

Then the fun started.

With machine guns, rifles and even field pieces, the Japs opened up from the shore on the stationary Cat.

The two covering Beaufighters raced shorewards and commenced a series of strafing runs over the Jap gun positions. Flying-Officer T. ("Jungle") Ellis, of Bellingen (N.S.W.), so called because of his jungle knowledge gained as a pre-war patrolman in New Guinea, went daringly low, and one motor coughed into silence. Handling his machine with consummate skill, he continued his strafing runs on one motor, and the two Beaufighters kept up their harassing tactics until they saw the Catalina lift off the water and head north.

The flying boat was only down for four minutes, but it was a hectic four minutes. While some of the crew helped the airmen into the blister, others manned the machinegun armament and answered the Jap fire. Flying-Officer W. ("Bill") Hastie, of Vaucluse, Sydney (N.S.W.), was hit badly in the stomach, and the aircraft was holed, but Mills lifted the big flying boat out of the water, and set course for home.

"Jungle" Ellis faced the long journey with only one engine, but his companion throttled back to shadow him. The damaged flying boat, with the badly wounded Hastie on the stretcher, lumbered along. It was a procession of lame ducks.

There is not much more to this story except a few addenda. Bill Hastie made a remarkably quick recovery and he and his skipper each got the D.F.C. Sounness, who was prepared to ditch if required, and "Jungle" Ellis, the one-engined strafer, also got D.F.Cs. The awards were all "immediate".

That is the story of how four gongs were won, and a clock was nearly souvenired -or rather-salvaged.

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT BERNARD GORDON