Chapter 8 Photo Recce; Bangkok-Bang On; First Over Malaya; Vale the Hurricane

PHOTO RECCE

CAMERAS fought for the Allies on the Southeast Asia fronts. They bared the secrets of Jap bases far behind the front line, bases through which supplies had to pass on their way to combat troops, and when as result of photographs these bases were bombed, supplies could not go forward, and the little brown men in the jungles found themselves short of food and ammunition.

Among the men flying photographic reconnaissance Spitfires and Mosquitoes over Burma, Siam and Indo-China were many Australians. In fact, the R.A.A.F. supplied half the pilots of one Spitfire photo squadron.

Photo reconnaissance in South-east Asia has its own problems, mainly distance and weather. One Mosquito flew for 834 hours to make a record-breaking flight of 2,350 miles.

But an even greater problem than distance is weather. Pilots may fly for hours through monsoonal storms and then find that cloud over the target has rendered their mission useless. All through the monsoon flying must go on, for photographic reconnaissance depends on regular cover so that changes in target areas may be noted.

An example of the weather through which pilots had to fly is given in an official report on a sortie made by Flying-Officer L. Robb, of Moulamein (N.S.W.), and his navigator, Flying Officer C. ("Clarrie") Love, of Oakleigh (V.), the firs-t all-Australian photo reconnaissance crew to train in England.

When returning from a mission their oxygen supply failed, so they made for the nearest landing ground at Akyab. Low cloud forced them down to within 100 feet of the water between two small islands. Visibility was bad, and suddenly high ground appeared on another island ahead, so the Mosquito had to ascend sharply to 2,000 feet, where it flew into a brown squall. Extreme turbulence threw on a reciprocal course, and there were some hectic moments before Robb managed to fly out of the bad weather. When he landed he found that the fabric had torn from the wings and tailplane.

Another Mosquito pilot, Flight-Lieutenant J. J. Bannister, of Leichhardt (N.S.W.), had an engine fail when over the Andaman Islands. He flew for 675 miles on one engine to Rangoon, the nearest airfield, and for the last 300 miles had to fight his way through particularly heavy weather. When he landed on Mingaladon aerodrome, which had not long been recaptured from the Japs, he found it was too short, so to avoid running into a quarry at the end he had to collapse his undercarriage, but his cameras were unharmed.

The first photographic reconnaissance flight over Sumatra was made by Flight-Lieutenant J. L. G. Webb, of Mentone (V.), who brought back pictures which enabled damage to be assessed after the first naval strike on the Japanese base at Sabang.

A Spitfire squadron claims to operate over longer distances than any other single-engined reconnaissance unit in the world, and two of its pilots have had to walk back through the jungle after baling out because of engine failure. They were Flying-Officer Jack Mahoney, of Boggabri (N.S.W.), and Flying Officer S. W. Entwistle, of Sydney (N.S.W.). Fortunately, both landed on our side of the line.

Strategic targets covered by the photo recce squadrons range from airfields, docks, factories and oilfields to shipping and fortified installations.

Most of the work is done at high altitudes, but Mosquitoes sometimes fly along railway lines to secure low-level obliques of bridges damaged by our bombing. Completely unarmed, they rely on surprise and speed to protect them from the ack-ack positions with which the Japs invariably defend their major bridges. And their speed can be gauged that one P.R. Mosquito flew from England to India in 12 hours 25minutes, an average of more than 400 miles an hour.

In two years P.R. squadrons in India and Burma covered 3,000,000 square miles in 10,000 operational hours.

Although on many of their missions they had to fly straight and level runs back and forth across some of the enemy's main bases they were seldom attacked. The enemy's air strength in this theatre had for some time been slight, and in any event Mosquitoes and Spitfires normally operated at considerable altitudes. They seldom encountered ack-ack fire because the enemy hesitated to give away his gun positions.

Interpretation of photographs in Asia presented very different problems from Europe. Instead of German pocket battleships interpreters had to deal with sampans and coastal craft; in place of panzer regiments they had to pin-point small patrols. The jungle gave better cover than the European countryside, and the Japanese were masters at camouflaging sampans and barges underneath trees overhanging the water's edge.

But minute details gave the enemy away, and so the photo recce crews, unarmed though they were, did their share in destroying the enemy.

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT S. HUTCHINSON

BANGKOK-BANG ON!

"WE'RE going to dive-bomb Bangkok in Liberators," the Grouper tells us at briefing, and goes on to explain how some targets in Lower Burma and Siam are so small that they can be attacked only from low level. They are out of range of rocket-firing aircraft; only the Liberators can reach them.

The target is the Makasan railway workshops in the heart of Bangkok-the largest in Siam-and a vital link in the Japanese rail system.

Diving a four-engined heavy bomber is unorthodox, but on the bombing range we have worked out the new technique, first by day and then by moonlight. We know it is accurate, and are confident our tactics will fox the Jap gunners on the Bofors and the Oerlikons.

In the briefing room there are plenty of dark-blue Aussie caps among the grey of the Englishmen, Canucks and Kiwis, and the khaki of the South Africans.

We shall attack at 2130, when the three-quarter moon will be up 60 degrees, but we have a long way to go- 1,100 miles each way and when we take off at 1500 the sun is beating down from the brassy Bengal sky.

We settle down to the monotonous 800 mile crossing of the Bay of Bengal, and after three hours we lose height to 300 feet to get under an inter-tropical front. Off the Irrawaddy delta a course is set for the Burma coast and in another hour and a half we are climbing to get over the 5,000-foot range fringing the coast.

The weather is better now, and we are able to fly around the worst of the towering cumulus and cumulo-nimbus clouds-so beautiful in the light of the setting sun, but threatening death for any flyer who ventures into them. Then the sun goes down and the moon shows us a way through the banks of cloud, outlined in mauve every few seconds by flashes of lightning.

But we leave the clouds behind as we cross the hills and below us the plains of Siam are bathed in moonlight.

Again we lose height, this time to avoid alerting the Bangkok defences.

Picking up pin-points by the bright moonlight, we set course for the starting point of the raid, the mouth of a river to the west of the city.

In ten minutes we shall know how our tactics, good with practice bombs, work out with the real thing.

The pulse rate quickens; everyone is tense and alert; each man scanning his allotted portion of sky. The navigator bomb-aimer makes a final check of his bombing gear. The pilot scans his instruments. .

Suddenly the second dickey speaks over the intercom.: "Searchlights, two o'clock, skipper."

"Roger," replies the captain and gives a few final instructions: "Do not fire at searchlights or ack-ack positions unless they are directed at us; then give them hell! "

Streams of red tracer from Bofors guns curve through the sky at some Liberator in front, and searchlights weave in an effort to cone an aircraft. But we hear nothing except the steady roar of the four Pratt and Whitneys.

So far, no one is firing at us, although the sky is now alive with red tracer.

Then, over at eleven o'clock there is a string of dull red explosions, each throwing off hundreds of small balls of fire-the stick of incendiaries dropped by the first aircraft.

"Target sighted; eleven o'clock," says the bomb-aimer.

"Roger. I'll let you know when I'm turning on," replies the captain.

Now the flames are getting a hold in the railway workshops.

A Lib. is picked up by a searchlight. One of the gunners fires and puts it out. Nobody likes seeing a stream of tracer coming toward him, so the Jap searchlight men duck-or maybe they're hit.

It's time to turn on. It's funny, but we feel strangely calm and remote, as though we're watching a game from a seat away in the back of the stand.

"Turning on!" says the skipper, applying full left aileron and rudder and shoving the stick well forward.

"Bomb doors open," from the bomb-aimer.

The Lib. is in a dive-a steep dive for a heavy and the airspeed indicator goes up, up, up.

The skipper starts to ease out, making slight alterations to course to this is the gen," he thinks. track the Lib. bang over the middle of the target.

"It's burning like hell;

Then, suddenly, "Bombs gone," and the little yellow release light blinks at him nine times, once for each bomb. The red bomb-door light goes out as the doors close.

"Bang on, skipper! Every bloody one in the target-and is she burning?" pipes up the rear gunner.

By now we are down to less than 150 feet, and the captain weaves and undulates, because the Japs are after us with the flak. But tonight they seem to be trailing behind. Maybe it's because we still have plenty on the clock after that dive.

We stay low for another few miles, then start to climb.

"Single-engined aircraft, three o'clock, high, out of range," calls the mid-upper, but either the Nip doesn't see us or he is wary of our ten .5-inch guns.

"Captain to rear gunner: Let me know when you can no longer see the fires." We don't hear from him for a hundred miles.

We face the journey home. And that-if a basha in Bengal can be called "home"-is a long way off, nearly as far as from Brisbane to Hobart, or about seven hours' flying.

It's nearly breakfast time when we get back, after more than thirteen hours in the air. Suddenly we realize we feel tired. Our ears are ringing, and will do so for another twenty-four hours.

We scramble into a gharry to go to the Intelligence Section, where "Spy" cross-examines us over a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Then, at last, to breakfast and the charpoy (bed). It's been a long, long day.

FLYING-OFFICER L. A. HENDY.

FIRST OVER MALAYA

MORE than half the crew of the first Allied aircraft to fly over Malaya since the evacuation two and a half years earlier were Australians. They were reconnoitering Penang for the longest heavy bomber strike of the war, which took place late in October 1944

The reconnaissance aircraft, flown by Flight-Lieutenant P. L. P. O'Reilly, of Portsmouth, England, was navigated by Flight Sergeant Laurie Fisher, of Perth (W.A.), and three wireless operator-air gunners in the crew were Flight-Sergeants J. P. Donnellan, of Kelmscott (S.A.), R. W. Ellis, of Balgowlah (N.S.W.), and C. M. Pascoe, of Coogee (N.S.W.).

The strike, as well as being the longest, was probably the most successful undertaken in South-cast Asia Command. It was described by the Navy, even better qualified than the Air Force to assess the results, as a "copybook operation".

Crews took an average of 181 hours for the 3,000-miles flight, which was a supreme test in navigation for navigators and in economical flying for pilots.

For hour after hour they flew across the Indian Ocean, without pin-points for guidance, until late in the day they sighted a few islands with their sandy beaches sparkling in the sun.

As the aircraft approached the Malayan coast, they sighted a few fishing craft, and for their final run in they dropped down low in the moonlight.

They caught the Japanese completely by surprise. One crew passing over the north end of the town clearly saw dancers in a cabaret.

Each aircraft completed its task in a few minutes, but the whole attack was spread over an hour. Yet, during that time, only one gun was fired at them, and not a single enemy aircraft was sighted.

When they left, both the north and south approaches to the harbour were sealed by mines and Penang, an important base for both Japanese and German submarines as well as merchant shipping, was disorganized for a considerable period.

It was a long, weary flight back to base, but despite the time the crews were airborne, an analysis of navigators' logs showed that even at the end they had lost little of their efficiency.

One Australian captain, Flying-Officer V. E. ("Ted") Willing, of Rose Bay (N.S.W.), whose flying time of ig hours io minutes was at the time an operational record for the type of aircraft he was flying, carried a gramophone to relieve the monotony. His wireless operator was Warrant-Officer W. H. Wheeler, of Broken Hill (N.S.W.).

Much of the credit for organizing and leading the operation must go to Wing-Commander J. Blackburn, D.S.O., D.F.C., U.S. D.F.C., a R.A.F. veteran of five operational tours. In his crew, Flight-Sergeant J. V. Shillito, of Murchison (V.), was an air gunner.

Congratulations were showered on the squadron. From General Arnold, Commanding General of the United States Army Air Force, came a message commending "spirit and skill of a quality which makes victory certain

"I know you are proud to have the squadron under your command, and our heavy bombers are proud to be working alongside it," he told Major-General George E. Stratemeyer, Air Commander of Strategic Air Force.

In passing this message to Wing-Commander Blackburn, General Stratemeyer said: "Such manifestations of appreciation for a job well done are gratifying to me, and it is with genuine pleasure that I commend you and your aircrews for the brilliant accomplishment of this hazardous mission.

"The attack on Penang Harbour recently is a culmination of a series of excellent operations conducted by your squadron in the past three months.

"Detailed reports indicate the operation was exceptionally well planned and executed. The success of that mission is especially significant in view of the long distances involved and the special preparations made in order that aircraft could cover that extreme range. I wish to commend every officer and man whose efforts contributed to the success of the Penang mission, which was executed with great skill and determination."

The preparations of which General Stratemeyer spoke included long and careful tests of petrol consumption. So much petrol had to be carried that it would not have been safe to take off from a normal heavy bomber runway, so the aircraft were moved to a Superfortress airfield for the take-off.

At the time of the operation, the squadron had more Australians on its strength than any other unit in India. Three completed their operational tour on the trip. Warrant-Officer S. J. Gregory, of Granville (N.S.W.), required less than four hours to finish, but he was airborne for 17 hours 45 minutes. The

others were Warrant-Officer W. G. ("Hap") Hazard, of Lower Ferntree Gully (V.), and Warrant-Officer J. Scott, of Ashfield (N.S.W.).

One Australian-Flight-Lieutenant Ken Alcorn, of Mayfield (N.S.W.), made the trip even though he was tour-expired. He was subsequently awarded the D.F.C.

Other Australians who took part in the Penang strike included Pilot-Officer W. R. Anderson, of North Perth (W.A.), awarded the D.F.C. for his work in this and other long-distance attacks; Pilot-Officer L. A. Hendy, of Elwood (V.); Warrant-Officer K. Brandon, of Eagle Junction (Q.); Warrant-Officer C. R. Delaine, of Winkie (S.A.); Warrant Officer J. W. Gribble, of Abbotsford (V.); and Flight-Sergeant C. Fristrom, of Caloundra (Q.).

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT S. HUTCHINSON

VALE, THE HURRICANE

THE curtain is slowly falling on one of Britain's noblest defenders-even its staunchest friends have been acquiescing in the ops room, in the billet, and in other places where airmen gather, that the Hawker Hurricane has had its day.

Some of them dislike saying, it, but-well, hang it, man, a kite that was on the drawing board ten years ago cannot compete with jet jobs and latest Mk XX Spits.

But there are still some-crusty diehards, perhaps-who refuse to believe that the gallant old Hurrie won't fly yet another campaign. All the evidence is against its retention as a front-line aircraft, but then it's been like that for so long now.

During the first year of war, Britain was in desperate need of a formidable fighter, and it was the Hawker Hurricane that came to her rescue. Very often outgunned, most times outnumbered, the sturdy Hurricane gave out more than it took, and kept up a high percentage of "kills". Ground crews ceased to gawk in amazement when it limped home licking its wounds-wounds that should have put it into a one-way dive-but didn't.

After the Battle for Britain, the big-wigs were looking around for a fighter-bomber. It had to edge out over the Channel, sniff out likely targets along the French coast and drop its bombs where they would do the most damage. This called for low-level bombing and the Hurricane was the logical choice.

Australians took part in many of these sorties. Old-timers like the late Pilot-Officer Col. Benjamin and the late Pilot-Officer Harry Moore flew in most of them and saw the Hurribomber out in Great Britain as high speed aircraft replaced it.

Moore, on one occasion, tossed his two bombs through the doors of a French hangar housing five Messerschmitts, which disintegrated like matchwood. Harry didn't claim to have originated the phrase, but he said "everything but the kitchen sink" was the only way to describe the profusion of junk that arose. Even two 25o-pounders have a satisfactory way of throwing things around.

Once more the big-wigs were looking over their varied armoury. This time they wanted an aircraft for accurate pin-point bombing of jungle targets in Burma. Once more they decided they could do no better than call on the trusty Hurricane, now practically jobless. And it was soon found that no other machine could fill the position so admirably as the Hurricane-the aircraft that was "finished".

Where once the Huns had felt the blast of its deadly accurate bombing and the zip of its four 20-MM. cannon, the Nip now began to fear the approach of "Harry with the Hump" as instructors at training school described the Hurricane in their aircraft recognition lectures.

At Palel airstrip in Burma, the ground staff would watch the Hurribombers attacking bunker positions on ridges above Imphal Valley. That's how close the fighting was. The Japs were hammering at the gateway to India then, and heavy fighting was going on to keep them out of Manipur State.

But gradually the Nips were driven back into the Chin Hills and the battle for Tiddim began. It had been fought so many times before that the local inhabitants could never be certain which force was in occupation. Finally the Fourteenth Army pushed the yellow men back-ably aided and abetted by the Hurricane. The aircraft that was "finished" two years before, remember?

Then in 1943, Mountbatten declared, "There will be no monsoon." General Pluvius didn't take much notice of the Supremo, however, because Burma still got its usual fall of 100 to 400 inches during the "wet". But the Hurrie boys obeyed their commander; they were called out all through the monsoon to give close support to the fighting, forgotten Fourteenth, caving in bunker positions and strafing Japs in their foxily concealed rat holes.

Army commanders placed such confidence in the accuracy of their bombing that on more than one occasion particular trees were singled out and an air strike demanded on positions at the bases.

In every operation accuracy was essential, for our own troops sometimes crouched a bare 150 yards from the bomb bursts.

After one sortie a Hurricane squadron was rewarded with a "strawberry" - Army's way of congratulating airmen for a job well done. Bomb blast had hurled Jap bodies into our own lines.

Rugged terrain always made navigation difficult and often monsoon clouds hugged peaks and ridges. Only the Hurricane with its good visibility, slow speed and maneuverability could have sneaked under the cloud canopy. And only the Hurricane with its amazing serviceability could have kept going day in and day out.

Australians were in all of these Bunna sorties. Flight-Lieutenant Jack Frost, of Leichhardt (N.S.W.), Flying-Officer Alex McLean, of Brisbane (Q.), and Warrant-Officers J. ("Jacko") Jackson, of Coolamon (N.S.W.), J. ("Jimmy") Reid, of Cessnock (N.S.W.), and "Creamy" Ryall, of Cowra (N.S.W.) were a few actively engaged throughout the monsoon "wet".

As the Japs retreated down the Kabaw Valley and across the Chindwin, Hurricanes went out to attack more and more enemy

occupied villages, which writhed under their raking incendiary fire. Others became tank busters, spreading the name made famous in the Middle East by 40-mm.-cannon carrying Hurries. Still another bunch carried rockets and was largely instrumental in flushing Nips from their deeply entrenched positions.

All the way along the lightning advance to Rangoon the Hurricane played a prominent role, being more than usually active in support of the Irrawaddy bridgeheads and in the attacks on Mandalay itself.

As in Europe, newer and faster aircraft now take over many of the jobs the Hurricane has performed so well. Heads, like those in the U.K., begin to shake and then wag more emphatically that the Hurricane is "finished". They want to allocate names like Kohima, Palel, Tiddim, Vital Comer, Kennedy Peak, Kalemyo and so many blasted Jap villages on the plains to the limbo of history.

But will they have their way? Perhaps when our army drives into the mountains again, those mountains with their deep gorges and their razor-backed ridges, Hurricanes that have escaped the scrap pile will be called out like old war-horses to go on with the work they know so well.

FLYING-OFFICER A.G.WEBB

THE VICTORY IN EUROPE

THE strategic bomber offensive played a vital part in the crushing of Germany. Thousands of Australians in R.A.F. squadrons and five R.A.A.F. squadrons of Bomber Command 460, 463 and 467 flying Lancasters and 462 and 466 flying Halifaxes-were on this work.

The plan in general was laid down early in the war, when forces were comparatively small. It came to full execution in the last fifteen months, when great fleets of more than iooo four-engined bombers, with escorts of nearly as many fighters, became almost commonplace and the Allies were able to bomb at will at any hour of the night or day, in good weather and bad, anywhere within the German Reich, with only occasional opposition. Our forces had to fight fierce battles at times, but they were never prevented from bombing their targets.

These are some of the principal achievements of the strategic bomber offensive:

Air superiority was achieved before the invasion of Normandy and maintained in ever increasing proportion throughout the successive stages of the Battle of France, the crossing of the Rhine, and the Battle of Germany. During the last few weeks of the war the enemy's air force was destroyed wholesale on the ground.

The German oil supply was steadily reduced in a twelve-month period, despite a vigorous effort by the enemy to repair bomb-damaged plants, to a point where his over-all production was only 7½ per cent of what it was in April 1944, and his petrol production was only 31 per cent. This seriously affected his war potential on all fronts, land, sea and air, so that neither his air force nor his army was mobile.

When necessary, the Strategic Air Forces joined the Tactical Air Forces in isolating the battlefields. So successful was this offensive that the enemy could never move his reinforcements as he planned and any movement at all was accomplished with the utmost delay and confusion. On several occasions, this interdiction by all air forces was followed by an encirclement of the enemy and he was cut to pieces by strafing and bombing of the pockets or forced to surrender in large force. This occurred at Falaise, along the Seine, along the Loire and in the Ruhr.

At various stages of the campaign, by dropping a more concentrated weight of explosive than ever before used in warfare, the heavy bombers paved the way for a ground-force offensive that later broke through. This was the case at Caen, St Lo, the Roer and the Rhine.

The special weapons developed by the enemy, notably the V-bombs, and the jet-propelled aeroplane, were reduced in effectiveness by our bombing of components factories, experimental stations, launching sites (in the case of the Vi) and airfields (in the case of jet aircraft).

Australians serving in the ranks of Bomber Command, in both R.A.F. and R.A.A.F. squadrons, attacked a plethora of targets and provided a plethora of stories of valour, skill and endurance. One of the many was Flight Lieutenant M. G. Bache, of Adelaide (S.A.), whose Lancaster was part of a force which rebreached the vital Dortmund-Ems canal at Landbergen on January r, 1945. He received an immediate award of the D.S.O. Bomber Command attacked the canal six times between September 1944 and March 1945, and on each occasion Lancasters from 463 and 467 Squadrons were part of the striking force sent against this vast and vital part of Germany's inland waterway system.

On this New Year's Day Bache and his crew went as close to disaster as anyone could and yet survive. Their trip was uneventful until the approach to the target. "About fifteen miles from Landbergen was where we first caught it," Bache said. "Three heavy-flak bursts got us in the bomb doors and the port wing root, but did not affect the handling of the aircraft so we were able to go in and bomb. Just after our bombs were seen to straddle the canal we were again hit. A two-feet hole was tom in the No. 1 tank, the port outer engine was damaged and lost power, the port inner nacelle was ripped away on the inboard side and the engine gave out brown smoke and flames."

Immediate action was taken, the port inner airscrew was feathered and the fire extinguisher operated, putting out the flames. With full power on the starboard engines and hard right rudder and aileron, the pilot fought the aircraft out of the target area, flying with 40 degrees of bank, losing height and well behind the rest of the formation. The crew saw another Lancaster spiral down in flames over the target area. "As we staggered along with all 'chutes on and the air bomber helping me with a gun-loading cable tied to the rudder bar, another Lanc. on three engines passed us at what seemed a magnificent turn of speed," said Bache. "But four Tempests and later two Spitfires of our escort stayed with us and we looked like having a chance of making our lines."

Fifteen to twenty miles from the Rhine the outer port engine cut and an attempt was made to restart the damaged inner. This gave about two minutes' service, but was stopped for fear its vibration would cause it to blow up or fall out. The two starboard motors had to be throttled back to prevent the machine swinging to port. At this juncture, with two dead engines, at 5,000 feet and losing height, the crippled Lancaster was hit by more flak. "This tore into our previously undamaged starboard mainplane, through the floor of the cockpit and the rest of the fuselage," said Bache, "but luckily, although we could not take evasive action, none of the crew was hit."

After a forty minutes' struggle from the target, the crippled Lancaster, flying at 3,500 feet, reached the Maas, Holland-Allied territory. Bache ordered the crew to abandon aircraft. Not until they were clear did he jump himself. He was then so low that as he got clear of the crashing aircraft he struck the top of a tree almost as his parachute opened.

In their expeditions over the Reich our bombers frequently faced swarms of fighters as well as flak. One night in February 1945 a former member of the A.I.F., who joined the R.A.A.F. after service in Libya and Syria, shot down two of these and won an immediate award of the D.F.C. This was on another "canal-busting" expedition-with the Mittelland Canal at Glavenhorst as the target.

Flying-Officer D. J. Davies, of Sydney (N.S.W.), was rear gunner in a Lancaster which was coming away from the target when the first fighter-an Me.110-came in from behind. Davies saw it a second before it opened fire. "He fired first, but missed us," he said ' "I opened up and saw my tracer strike the starboard engine. It burst into flames and the Me. dived down and we saw it hit the ground. During this attack the mid-upper gunner also opened fire, but after four rounds his guns jammed. Immediately after the first fighter went down, the second - an Me.410 closed in.

This time in attack from the beam. I saw him just before he turned in on the attack-just before he fired. He opened up, but by then all my guns but one had stopped. Ammunition built up in the tail and the violent evasive action throwing it around stopped them, I think. So I let him come right in close and then fired. He blew up in the air and the wreckage went straight in."

A few minutes later the Lancaster was picked up by a third fighter, a Ju.88 which came up underneath. "He followed us for twenty or thirty minutes," Davies said. "We managed to evade him all the time. Finally I got in one short burst and he cleared out."

Then there was the case of a 20-year-old pilot who hung by his flying boot from a burning Lancaster spiralling to destruction until he pulled the ripcord of his parachute in a final desperate effort to get clear-and was dragged out to safety. So violent was the tug that three panels of silk were ripped from the parachute, but it held sufficiently to carry him down.

Flying-Officer T. E. Evans, of Hamilton (N.S.W.)-who received an immediate award of the D.F.C. for this exploit-was on his way home from Munich in December 1944. He had pushed on to his target although soon after leaving England one engine began to fail and the rear turret became unserviceable. The Lancaster barely cleared the Alps, but the target was reached and the bombing run begun. Suddenly the aircraft was badly hit. The starboard fin and rudder were almost entirely tom away, 12 feet of the starboard mainplane were ripped off, the failing engine cut out completely and the bomber went into a spin.

What happened then was described by the navigator, Flying-Officer D. K. Robson, of Cheltenham (N.S.W.). "The skipper regained control by sheer strength at 7,000 feet and ordered parachutes on," he said. "He was struggling hard at the controls and the whole aircraft was vibrating horribly. I could see that the port wing-tip was torn off almost to the outer needle, with pieces of metal streaming from it."

Two hours' flight from Munich, and at 3,000 feet, the Lancaster became completely uncontrollable and again went into a spiral dive. Evans ordered "Abandon aircraft". The aircraft was down to 1,500 feet when he himself jumped-with what were at first such unhappy results.

"We had our worst moment then," Robson said, "for the kite followed us down and looked like hitting us. But it hit the ground with a great explosion when we were still about 200 feet up."

Flight-Sergeant G. B. Ferguson, of Warrnambool (V.), mid-upper gunner in a Halifax from 466 Squadron detailed to bomb Essen in February 1945, "set a magnificent example of courage, self-sacrifice and devotion to duty' , in the words of the official citation to his immediate award of the Conspicuous Gallantry Medal.

As the Halifax was approaching Essen, Ferguson was struck in the face by a piece of shrapnel which crashed through the perspex screen of his gun turret. A piece of shrapnel two inches long was embedded in his cheek, his upper jaw was fractured, several teeth were knocked out and his right eye was completely closed.

But although he was suffering intensely he made light of his injuries and assured his pilot that he did not require assistance. When a comrade went to investigate he kept on his oxygen mask to hide the extent of his injuries.

Later Ferguson was taken from his gun turret, his mask removed and his injuries fully disclosed. These were so serious that the Halifax was brought down on an airfield in Allied territory so they might be tended.

The last moments of the Tirpitz, sunk by Bomber Command in Tromsoe Fjord, Norway, on November 12, 1944, were filmed by a cine-Lancaster piloted by Flight-Lieutenant B. A. Buckham, D.F.C., of Penshurst (N.S.W.), who was awarded the D.S.O. for his part in the attack. Buckham had a crew of five Australians, a Canadian, a Scot and an Englishman.

Buckham took part in all three attacks on the 45,000-ton Tirpitz. The battleship was seriously damaged in the attack of September 15, 1944, and was finished off when hit by 12,ooo-pounders in the November attack. The film of the sinking was shown all over the world.

"The first bombs fell just beyond the ship," said Buckham. "Then came three direct hits in quick succession; the first amidships, the next in the bows and the third towards the

stem. Her guns had been firing like blazes when we first arrived, but after the first bombs had hit her they stopped. Smoke began to pour up. It spiralled at first in a column; then it spread out in the shape of a mushroom. Afterwards there were several explosions. One of them was very big, and one of my crew shouted over the inter-com., 'She's on fire, skipper; she's on fire!' The fire did not seem to last very long-not more than two or three minutes I should say."

The cine-Lancaster's rear gunner, Flight Lieutenant E. H. Giersch, of Brunswick (V.), perhaps the last of the heavy bombers' crewmen to see the Tirpitz that morning, saw the battleship listing to between 70 and 80 degrees. "As I looked back," he said, "I could see her red hull through the smoke." These two Australians were representative of at least a score of R.A.A.F. men who took part in that last attack as members of the mixed crews of the R.A.F. squadrons engaged.

While the "back-room boys" were producing even bigger and better bombs, the aircrews who carried them to Germany adopted a very prosaic attitude about the whole business. To them the first 4,000-pounder was a "cookie", the first 8,000-pounder a "super-cookie", the first 12,000-pounder, a blast bomb, became a "super-dooper-cookie" or "factory-buster", and the streamlined armour-piercing 12,000pounder used to sink the Tirpitz was generally called the "earthquake bomb". Then came the 22,000-pounder-"ten-ton Tess".

The first Australian pilot to carry a 22,000 pounder to Germany was Flying-Officer P. H. Martin, D.F.C. and Bar, of Kelmscott (W.A.), who won his first decoration in December 1944 for his part in the breaching of the Kembs Dam. On that occasion, defying intense flak, Martin calmly made a circle of the target when his bombing run was spoilt. On the second run his Lancaster was hit by a 20millimetre shell, throwing it almost on its tall, but he brought it back in time for his bomb aimer to land their bomb on the target. Dropping his first 22,ooo-pounder was quite uneventful by comparison.

The first Australian bomb-aimer to look through his sights and send ten tons of bombs falling on to German soil was Flight-Sergeant W. M. White, of Devonport (T.). Flying in the crew of Flight-Lieutenant H. V. Gavin, of Yarraville (V.), he had just dropped his 22,000-pounder on the railway bridge at Br Jemen when the Lancaster was attacked by a )et fighter. The jet came out of the sun at terrific speed and with a burst of fire hit one of the engines and damaged the mainplane. With only a split second to aim and fire, the rear gunner, Flying-Officer L. Burrows, of Mackay (Q.), managed to get in a burst before the fighter was lost to sight. With one engine feathered, the Lancaster got back to base.

There is no need for the bomb-aimer to say "Bomb gone" when a 22,000-pounder leaves the aircraft. Everybody in the aircraft knows already. Flight-Lieutenant J. L. Sayer, D.F.C., of Brisbane (Q.), described it this way: "We all know when the bomb is about to fall and are prepared for it. The Lancaster shoots right up, and you can level it out within 200 or 300 feet if you want to. When we dropped ours on the Bremen U-boat pens I had another Lancaster right in front of me, so I used that upward motion to get out of the way. I let our aircraft rise 500 feet before stopping it."

His bomb-aimer, Flying-Officer E. W. Weaver, D.F.C., of Brisbane (Q.), said that when a 22,000-pounder goes the swift upward motion holds the bomb-aimer tightly against the floor of his compartment. The bomb is so big that its downward fall can be followed easily right to the target. That is how he saw his 22,000-pounder land right on the U-boat pens at Bremen, over which the Germans built a roof of concrete 24 feet thick.

Baling out from a Lancaster which collided with another at 19,000 feet while on its way to bomb Wiesbaden in February 1945, Group Captain K. R. J. Parsons, D. S.O., D.F.C., Commanding Officer of a R.A.F. station upon which an Australian Lancaster squadron was based, was the only survivor of the crew.

When the collision occurred the control column locked and the Lancaster was flung into a spiral dive. There was much noise and vibration and the port outer engine fell off. Parsons ordered the crew to bale out and himself attempted to escape through a hole in the damaged Perspex. He got his head and shoulders through, but his seat-type parachute jammed and the slipstream, owing to the flat

ness of the spin, was not strong enough to suck him out. Eventually, with a tremendous effort, he broke out and dived off the nose past the dead port inner engine.

Parsons was probably under iooo feet from the ground when his parachute opened. He landed in a field covered in melting snow only I So yards from his blazing Lancaster. While he was vainly trying to warn French gendarmes in dumb show to keep away from the aircraft, because of the 4000-Pounder probably still in the bomb bay, British soldiers arrived and saved the situation.

On April 2 5, 1945, Bomber Command made its last three heavy bomber attacks of the war. The most spectacular of the three was on Hitler's Berchtesgaden chalet. While Australians in Britain were gathering at the Cenotaph and in church to remember Anzac Day, their comrades were helping to smash this Nazi retreat. They flew out from Britain in both R.A.F. and R.A.A.F. Lancasters, escorted by Mustangs, and through heavy flak went in to drop their bombs on the Fuhrer's home, on S.S. barracks in the chalet grounds and on Hitler's refuge in the mountains five miles away. Group-Captain Parsons, who flew one of the Lancasters, said they had covered the whole area with bombs.

Describing the raid, Warrant-Officer D. McMasker, of Heidelberg (V.), pilot of one of the Lancasters said: "Some of the early aircraft had to orbit before attacking, but about two minutes before we bombed we saw the markers. In very clear weather our bomb aimer visually identified the target. There was accurate shooting from ack-ack guns going on right over the top of Berchtesgaden. It was so clear that the ground gunners easily located us. All they had to do was stand there and blaze away. We got small holes in the fuselage and one wing and two holes in the radiator."

One of the Australian Lancasters was hit by a heavy burst of flak, and the starboard inner engine oil pipeline was holed. The engine had to be feathered. The rear gunner's oxygen supply was cut and the starboard wing damaged. There were holes in both tailplanes, the bomb doors and the fuselage, but the Lancaster returned safely.

Flying-Officer J. W. Buckley, of Goondiwindi (Q.), pilot in a R.A.F. squadron which dropped 12,000-pounders said: "There was a pall of smoke and dust over all the aiming points. The largest pall was over the chalet. The whole area seemed to have been straddled. I would not care to have been Hitler's insurance company."

The blasting of Berchtesgaden was a fitting climax to the vital war job of the heavy bombers and their Empire crews.

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT S. B. PRIOR