Chapter 9 Versus the V's; Underground Contact; Over the Rhine

VERSUS THE V'S

From the time the first V1 came over southern England on the night of June 13, 1944, soon after D-day, until the last fell near Sittingbourne, Kent, on March 29, 1945, Australians played a prominent part in their destruction. They were at least as active in the battle of the V2, or rocket, which first attacked Britain on September 8, 1944. The first Australian wing in Europe - a Spitfire wing-devoted itself exclusively to destroying V2 installations.

Bomber Command's offensive against the flying bomb, however, started long before the first of these monsters were seen trundling like aerial motor cycles over London. On the night of August 17, 1943, in brilliant moonlight, nearly 6oo Lancasters, Halifaxes and Stirlings-many from Australian squadrons launched a heavy attack on Peenemunde, near Stettin, where the Germans were known to be experimenting with their new secret weapon. This attack seriously interfered with the enemy's plans and delayed the launching of his flying bombs for a considerable time.

When the V 1s began coming over England in June 1944 Bomber Command began a prolonged offensive on their launching sites in which all Australian heavy bomber squadrons participated. In the three months after D-day the Command made 131 separate attacks on flying-bomb launching sites in northern France, and 130 attacks on flying bomb depots. In those three months it dropped 17,000 tons on the launching sites and 19,000 tons on the supply sites.

At this time the Australian night-fighter squadron, NO. 456, was among the defenders of southern England. The squadron had had a remarkable run of successes against enemy aircraft-a series of victories which overlapped slightly on the period during which it was put up against the flying bomb. In the latter period it was officially credited with the destruction Of 241 flying bombs-three over land on one night, July 27, 1944. Flying Officer F. S. Stevens, of Surrey Hills (V.) 9 and his navigator, Flying-Officer W. A. H. Kellett, of Moonee Ponds (V.), destroyed two of these.

One day in June 1944 Flying-Officer K. R. Collier, of Glebe (N.S.W.), who subsequently went missing-dealt with a flying bomb by upsetting,, it with his wing-tip, causing it to fall out of control and explode in open country instead of on a town. Later he received many letters of thanks from residents of the town, including one from the Southern England branch of the National Union of Railwaymen, which said: "We should like you to know that we are aware that it was your courage and initiative which resulted in so many lives and so much property being saved from total destruction."

Collier was a member of a R.A.F. Spitfire squadron which included Frenchmen, New Zealanders, Canadians, English and Scots and a Belgian in its ranks. This squadron, in his words, "extinguished about 170 flying blowlamps".

"It was my most exciting experience," Collier said. "It happened one day when we had been doing rather a dull patrol. In the evening, just as we were about ready to land, I saw a doodlebug come in over the coast. I chased it, and was gradually catching up on it. I kept firing short bursts and one of these must have hit it, for it slowed down and I caught it up fairly easily. But by this time I had used all my ammunition. This made me a little mad, I must admit. I was determined not to let it get away at this stage of the game.

"I came up alongside it-on the right-and had a look at it. It looked rather sinister. What struck me first was that the stove-pipe was white-hot. It was dusk and the flame shooting out at the back was rather bright, which gave it an eerie look. I was close enough to read the German writing on the side. I thought at the time it might mean 'Use no hooks' or something like that. I still don't really know what it means. There were no other markings on it - no swastikas or black crosses. The top part of the bomb was a bronze colour; the underside was pale blue-probably to make it blend with the sky, when there is any blue sky in England. The wings were rather square and stubby.

"There was a very solid look about them.

They looked very strange because they had no ailerons like normal aircraft. The body was very slim and cigar-shaped. It was round, and tapered to a point at the finish. The nose was pointed, too. The propulsion unit was set up on the rear end and there were two little elevators on the tailplane. These elevators kept wiggling. I expect that was the gyro-pilot trying to keep it flying on its set course. It seemed to get along straight and level, as if nothing in heaven or earth would move it from its course.

"It gave me a feeling of powerlessness to sit there watching it travel on and not be able to stop it. The whole thing seemed to get along with a little shuddering effect-probably caused by the crude explosions in the propulsion unit. I couldn't hear any noise from it, of course, because I had a helmet on and there was the sound of my own aircraft.

"I couldn't see where I had hit it and it seemed to be going along quite O.K. I had a good look at the thing and then considered how I could attack it. I thought I'd try out an idea that I had to upset the gyro-mechanism. Then the flying bomb would be out of control. I took a jab at the elevators with my wing, but got uncomfortably close to the flame so hastily moved out a bit. I decided I couldn't do much that way, and tried, instead, to manoeuvre my own wing under the wing of the flying bomb, but suddenly noticed the wing of the bomb was red -- so I moved out again quickly, thinking it was red-hot. I realized then that it was the reflection of the red navigation light on my own wing, so I maneuvered into position once more, with the bomb's wing resting on mine. I tipped my wing up and tilted the bomb until it slipped off and disappeared underneath me. That gave me a bit of a shock. I immediately hauled back on the stick and moved away.

"Seeing that nothing spectacular had happened, and it didn't blow up when I touched it, I got a bit more confident. I decided I hadn't tipped it up to the angle required to topple normal gyros so I would have another shot at it. I formated again, got my wing under it as before, only a bit farther under to get better leverage. I tilted it slowly till I thought I had it over far enough, then gave it a final push and moved away to see what happened. Much to my delight it rolled over on its back and spiralled down. The flame went out before it got to the ground, and it exploded in a field near a town. There was a brilliant flash. I felt absolutely jubilant and a bit staggered - I think I said to myself: 'Gee -it can be done that way."

The greatest balloon barrage in history defended London against the flying bombs. The planning of its development was a remarkable piece of organization. It involved the concentration, at the height of the flying bomb menace, of nearly 2,000 balloons in an area south-east of the capital. Balloons were brought from every part of Britain-some came from Midland cities and the north, some were rushed by sea from as far away as Scapa Flow to the London docks. Altogether the balloons destroyed 278 flying bombs out of those which escaped the outer defence ring of anti-aircraft guns and fighters and headed towards London.

In due course the V1 was succeeded by the V2 - the flying bomb by the rocket. The V, by the way, stands for the German word "Vergeltungswaffen", which means revenge weapon. For many months before the first V2 fell on Britain on September 8, 1944, objectives associated with enemy preparations for rocket assaults were attacked by Bomber Command and the United States 8th Air Force. The Germans, of course, took every precaution to prevent air attacks from interfering with their preparations. Components were produced in factories widely dispersed throughout the Reich and plants manufacturing parts were located underground or in areas heavily defended by ack-ack. In several towns making components, including Berlin, Leipzig, Dusseldorf, Mannheim and Friedrichshafen, Bomber Command caused much devastation in a series of attacks onwards from 1943, when the production of the V2 was to have begun.

Originally, the Germans had made extensive plans to fire V`2's at London and southern England from occupied northern France. When this territory was liberated by the Allied armies they concentrated their rocket organization in Holland, mainly in the region of The Hague.

Once the Germans opened the bombardment of Britain from Holland with their rocket weapon-which might be compared to long-range mobile artillery-it was impossible to adopt the usual type of air defence of Britain because the V2 was not, of course, an airborne weapon like the Vi and travelled at a speed and height exceeding that of a shell. It was always recognized that only capture of the launching areas and of the communications system leading to these areas could completely remove the menace of the rocket.

In order, however, to reduce the severity of the attack various counter-measures were undertaken in the execution of which two Australian squadrons were prominent. Storage depots, launching sites, headquarters buildings and billets of the officers and men of the rocket organization and lines of communication were repeatedly attacked from the air. Fighter-bomber squadrons of Fighter Command, including No- 453 and later No- 451, made precision bombing and cannon and machine-gun attacks which were concentrated chiefly on storage and maintenance targets as well as on railways and roads leading to the launching zone from Germany.

The actual launching sites were most difficult to detect from the air. Unlike the flying bomb ramps, they were not static; they were small and could be quickly set up on any convenient flat, hard surface. Moreover, they and the storage plants were in built-up or wooded areas and great care was taken by the enemy to give them effective camouflage. Heavy bombing attacks on launching sites so thoroughly concealed would have been 1-iipracticable, would not have prevented the enemy from establishing new sites in different locations, and being in and near built-up areas, would have involved casualties among the Dutch people and destruction of property.

Throughout the period of the rocket assaults between September 1944 and March 1945 Fighter Command, including these Australian squadrons, maintained the counteroffensive. That counter-offensive was assisted by R.A.F. 2nd Tactical Air Force, which supplemented the work of Fighter Command without detriment to its main and vital task of support for the armies in the land battle in north-west Europe.

No- 453 Squadron entered the battle against theV2 two months after the first appeared over Britain. The squadron had been one of the first to land in Normandy and had played its part in the victorious advance across France, Belgium and Holland. A few weeks before VE-day it was joined by No- 451 Squadron to form the first Australian wing to operate in Europe-a Spitfire wing which concentrated its activities exclusively against the V2.

No- 451 Squadron arrived in England on November 30, 1944, after three and a half years' service in Egypt and the Western Desert, Palestine, Syria, Cyprus, Corsica and the south of France. From its base near Calvi, in Corsica, it had provided air cover for the invasion of southern France in the previous August, and had then moved to Ceurs, near Toulon, hard on the heels of the Army.

Operating from bases in Britain and on the Continent, the two Australian Spitfire squadrons made 1328 sorties over Holland, bombing and strafing launching sites, storage buildings, workshops and transport, and cutting railways leading to the firing sites. The Australians were co-operating with R.A.F. squadrons on this work, but they alone dropped 23og bombs-5oo- and 25o-pounders-onV2 and fired scores of thousands of rounds of cannon and machine-gun fire.

Four Spitfires from 453 Squadron made the first direct attack against a V2 site in The Hague area late in November 1944- In a wood near The Hague called Rust-en-Vreugde, which means "peace and quiet", strange things had been happening. Then one day came a few crisp words over the wireless telephone: "O.K., chaps. Bomb switches on."

All was quiet in the wood called "peace and quiet" as the same voice said 8,000 feet above: "Going down in 10 seconds.... Going down now."

Suddenly the Spitfires turned over on their backs and hurtled in a screaming 70-degree dive. At 3,000 feet they pulled out, but some little specks continued to fall, and they exploded in the wood. Then the Spitfires came round again and raked the wood with cannon and machine-gun fire.

The four men who made the attack, the first of many, were Squadron-Leader E. A. R. Esau, D.F.C., of Brisbane (Q.), the squadron's C.O., Flight-Lieutenant N. K. Baker, of Westmore (V.), Pilot-Officer H. D. Aldred, of Bentleigh W.), and Warrant-Officer J. D. Carmichael, of Coorparoo. Squadron-Leader Esau was convinced that Spitfires could dive-bomb launching sites and storage depots with such precision that Dutch civilians would not suffer unduly, and he put for-ward his ideas when counter-measures were being considered against Hitler's new terror weapon. The result was that his squadron was the first in the R.A.F. to be fitted with a new and improved type of Spitfire fighter-bomber which came to be used with such telling effect against the V2.

When 451 Squadron joined 453 to form an Australian wing of which Wing-Commander Don Andrews, D.F.C., of Southport (Q.) was Wing-Commander Flying, the weight of the attacks was stepped up. The squadrons flew up to eighty sorties a day when the weather held good, bombing and strafing. No. 453 Squadron alone flew 1,013 sorties against V2 and dropped 1,582 bombs. In only a few weeks 45 1 flew 3 15 sorties and dropped 727 bombs.

Usually the aircraft operated in sections of fours, stepping up the attack as the need arose to squadron and wing shows. The Germans, as usual, made full use of natural camouflage, but by many methods the R.A.F. discovered the presence of firing and storage sites. The firing sites were usually in the woods around The Hague, but many rockets were fired from within the city itself. The natural and manmade camouflage meant that time and again the Australians bombed a pin-point objective marked on their maps, seeing nothing in their dive but the tops of trees. But on many occasions they saw explosions and left fires burning.

The rockets were brought up part of the way by train and finished the journey on special transporters. So the Australians cut the railway lines leading to The Hague on many occasions. They shot up all the military transport they could find.

The reaction of the Germans was to employ a much higher concentration of flak than usual. There were casualties, but the work, of course, went on.

While on these patrols the Australians carefully watched for firings and reported the sites. One day the Commanding Officer of 451 Squadron, Squadron-Leader C. W. Robertson, D.F.C., of Jerilderie (N.S.W.), had a bird's eye view of a launching while on patrol.

"We had just finished bombing and were re-forming when I saw a flash on the ground," said Squadron-Leader Robertson. "I saw the rocket leave the ground at what seemed no more than three or four miles an hour. It was wobbling as though it were going to fall over. Then it gained speed and shot up towards us. It passed 500 feet out from our formation, and the blast of gases from its tail rocked my aircraft more than any slipstream. Its vapour trail disappeared at 50,000 feet and it was then still going UP."

Usually the most the Australians saw was a little black dot on top of a long white vapour trail.

Later, larger storage buildings and oxygen filling stations were pin-pointed and dive bombed. When a long range flying-bomb (V1) launching platform of steel and concrete was found on a disused aerodrome at The Hague, Spitfires of the Australian Wing soon demolished it.

At first the Australian Spitfires carried long range tanks to enable them to cross 140 miles of water, bomb their target and come back. This limited their bomb load to two 250 pounders. Then bases became available on the Continent and the Australians would take off with one 500 pounder and two 250s, cross from England to The Hague, bomb and strafe installations, and land in Belgium. There they could refuel and rearm, take on another bomb load, and repeat the attack on the way back to England.

There were all kinds of restrictions to be observed because the V2 was being fired from Dutch territory, and the civilians of The Hague had to be safeguarded. No German transport could be attacked in a town, and strictest instructions were issued that bombing must be accurate-and it was.

The large number of sorties put a big strain on the ground staff of the squadron and frequently they had to work through the night to make the aircraft serviceable for operations at dawn. Paying a special tribute to the ground staff, Wing-Commander Andrews said: "Never once did we go out short of aircraft, because somehow, and I don't know how, the ground staff always managed to give us the numbers we required."

While the people of London and southern England carried on, never knowing when death would fall noiselessly from the sky, the Germans operating V2 from Holland were in fear of their lives whenever the Spitfires could operate. The Spitfires, patrolling above in relays when the weather held good, lessened activity for hours.

Australian pilots on quick dashes to London on leave knew first hand of the city's ordeal. Two of them, Pilot-Officer R. Lyall, of Geelong (V.), and Warrant-Officer N. A. Stewart, of Kyogle (N.S.W.), were blasted out of their beds when a V2 landed 150 yards from their hotel. Just to spur their comrades on they went immediately to a post office and sent this cryptic telegram: "Pull your hooks out, chaps. They nearly whoofed us last night."

The message was addressed to "Pilot-Officer B. S. Inglis and others": Inglis, who comes from Ocean Grove (V.), flew on eighty sorties against V2, always wearing the A.F.C. brevet his father wore in the last war as a pilot in the Australian Flying Corps. He passed the message on.

It was a proud moment for the Australians when their squadron's Commanding Officers read to them the following letter sent from the A.O.C. in Chief of Fighter Command, Sir Roderic Hill, K.C.B., M.C., A.F.C., to all the squadrons who took part in this work: "With the intermission0f V2 attacks on this country ... I should like to take the opportunity of congratulating all ranks of these squadrons on the outstandingly good work which they put in while attacks were in progress. The fighter bomber attacks carried out in The Hague area undoubtedly did much to prevent the enemy stepping up the weight of his attacks and thereby achieved a lightening of the burden which the Londoner was called upon to bear.

As fuller information becomes available, it may well transpire that the attacks had a more powerful dislocating effect than is generally believed. I fully realize that the targets which the squadrons were called upon to attack day after day were heavily defended by flak, and I am most pleased at the manner in which attacks were pressed home in spite of this. I consider the accuracy attained in bombing was a great feather in the cap of the aircrews and that the high number of sorties was an achievement on the part of the ground crews."

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT S. B. PRIOR

UNDERGROUND CONTACT

OUR Lancaster, L for Lily, droned steadily on into the night. The seven members of our crew worked in silent co-operation. We were a mixed crew-the skipper, navigator and bomb-aimer were Australian; and the engineer, wireless operator, rear and mid-upper gunners were English. Our target was Stuttgart. We had been there the night before, but we wanted to make sure of getting the factories and marshalling yards before the moon became too bright. As we crossed the Channel, navigation lights winked and went out, and farther ahead the ack-ack opened up.

Once over the French coast, we forgot about flak and all eyes were peeled f or enemy fighters. The occasional bump of a slipstream told us that we still had the company of friendly bombers.

We entered cloud at 12,000 feet, and the navigator quietly remarked that freezing level was 11,000 feet. Hoping to elude this danger we lost height, and with a pleased grunt from the skipper, broke cloud at 10,000 feet. By this time we were about 100 miles southwest of Paris and were approaching the main fighter belt.

Suddenly a burst of green tracer streaked across the sky on our port beam. Simultaneously a long burst of red spat from the attacked aircraft. But it was too late - a small red glow appeared, and as it grew, the aircraft dropped lower and lower and finally exploded with terrific force on impact. I was reminded then of the "cookie" (4,000 pounder) in our own bomb bay. Instinctively the skipper turned away from the glow, but now the enemy fighters were among our bombers and in a few minutes there were four burning aircraft on the ground.

Suddenly I felt the nose of our Lancaster dip, and, thinking that it was another slipstream, I took no notice until the skipper tersely called the engineer to help him with the "stick". Immediately the skipper gave the order "Prepare to abandon aircraft", and the whole crew went mechanically into the well practised routine. In a matter of seconds all escape hatches were open and the whole crew was waiting for the order to jump, and hoping that it would not come.

But come it did, for the aircraft had gone into a dive and would respond only to the ailerons. We learned later from the rear gunner that the whole of the port rudder, fin and tailplane had been carried away by the jettisoned bombs from one of our stricken aircraft above. As bomb-aimer, my position was over the forward escape hatch, so I was the first to leave the aircraft. We were about 7000 feet up when I "hit the silk" and it seemed an eternity before I could see the ground by the faint moonlight. I was still about 4000 feet up and dropping fast in the semi-darkness when our aircraft hit.

The explosion lit up the countryside showing me what I thought to be a wood, directly below. As I got nearer the ground, I realized that I was being carried along backwards by a ten mile per hour breeze. Thinking that my legs would be caught in the branches of the trees I doubled them up, and the next instant, to my intense surprise, I was tumbling head over heels in black grass. The excitement of the jump left me breathless and it was a few seconds before I remembered what I had to do. "Hide the 'chute and Mae West" is the first thing and then "Get away from the aircraft" was what our intelligence officer had instructed. I judged that the aircraft had crashed about five miles south of where I landed, so taking out the little compass from my escape kit, I headed north-west, which was towards the Normandy beachhead. I calculated I had about 200 miles to go and would take twenty days if I were to walk all the way. I smiled grimly at the thought and set out.

As I was walking down a narrow lane, I heard someone approaching, whistling. I flung myself into a ditch, and lay there with the wind knocked out of me till the German passed. On another occasion I had to climb a high hedge to get out of a field, and dropping on the other side, fell into a three-foot ditch. Not only was the wind knocked out of me, but I tore my finger on a thorn. It did not worry me at the time, but when my hand went numb later on I thought that it was poisoned. My spirits sank, only to rise again when I undid my battle-jacket sleeve and the blood circulated again.

By half-past two I was thinking very much about sleep, so I kept a weather eye out for a good deep ditch. Twenty minutes later I found a satisfactory one, sheltered by a hedge. I woke shivering about half-past four, and heard the Lancasters droning their way homeward. How lonely I felt then! The sky was clear now and, securing my course from Polaris, I resumed my journey. At sunrise I was walking in a field behind a small farmhouse. A haystack stood close by so I decided to wait until someone appeared. Soon smoke poured from the chimney, and I crept cautious, around the side of the stack to see if I could see anyone. It was then I noticed the telephone wires and remembering the potential menace of the telephone, turned and walked on through the field, looking for a lonelier neighbourhood.

I walked for another half an hour and came upon a farm-house which had been hidden from view by a hedge. Peering through the hedge, I saw several men and girls herding cows in preparation for milking. Several cows were grazing in the field where I was hidden, so I waited until someone came to fetch them. Presently a girl came and I whispered, "R.A.F." She smiled and spoke in French and I managed to catch the words "Mon père à la maison". She pointed towards the house, so I walked up the muddy lane, feeling many curious and, I thought, suspicious eyes upon me. Seeing a small man with a bushy moustache and several days' growth of beard, I approached him and said, "Royal Air Force". He said, "Huh?" So I repeated what I had said. Suddenly he understood, and grabbing my right hand in both his, he pumped it up and down and cried, "Bon camarade!" Then he led me into his humble kitchen and sat me down while his wife bustled around the stove frying eggs and making coffee.

After filling myself with the good food, I spread the silk maps from my escape kit on the table and endeavoured to find out where I was. This I managed by seeing the name of the nearby town on the local paper -which consisted of one page about six inches by twelve inches.

I tried to make them understand that I wanted to get to the British Army Headquarters at Bayeux, but my schoolboy French was not good enough. I sat down and tried to think but I found myself nodding, and seeing this the old farmer took me up to his hay loft where I slept soundly.

I was awakened about seven that evening and food was brought up to me. I stayed up there for three days, coming down only in the evenings for a short time to stretch my legs.

On the morning of the third day, I was brought down to the kitchen where a pretty young girl introduced herself as the local schoolteacher. She could read a little English but could not speak very well. We conversed on paper for some time and I told her what

I wanted to do. She said that she could get me a bicycle and some civilian clothes, which gave me a little hope. Next day she brought her husband, who was a member of the "Maquis" or "the resistance boys" as the young schoolteacher called them. He did not think it advisable for me to try to get to Normandy as there were too many Germans to pass. He offered to take me to a farm where I could stay till the Allies came down and liberated the country. He was quite sure that it would only be a few weeks, and at last I was convinced that it was the best thing to do. He promised to call for me in a truck the next day.

That evening, while I was eating supper with the family in the kitchen, the dogs began to bark.

The father jumped up and pointing towards a small storeroom, cried, "Voila', tout de suite! " He bolted the door behind me and I was left in darkness.

For minutes I hardly dared breathe.

Suddenly the door flew open, and standing in the doorway was not the Nazi I expected, but a young smiling Frenchman. He introduced himself as Georges. His fiancée was a schoolteacher in a neighbouring village and he had a note from her saying that they had found our navigator. On reading this I jumped up and took his hand and we were both laughing.

Georges showed me some "souvenirs" that the navigator had given him and among them I saw something that wiped the smile off my face. It was a small compass that I knew was given to the navigator by a girl in England, and I was sure that he would never part with it. The only thing that I could think of was that he had been captured and robbed and that this was a trap to get me. Realizing that it would be best to find out where he was, I asked to be taken to him. I changed my uniform for overalls and shirt, pulling the trousers down over my flying boots. I did not want to cut them off as they were warm at night.

We set out, walking down narrow lanes and across fields for about five miles, when we came to a small village. Sneaking down back lanes, we entered the backyard of a blacksmith's shop. Two knocks on the door brought someone with a candle. The door opened cautiously and we quickly stepped inside and closed the door. Georges took a candle and showed me upstairs. Half-way up he stopped and removed two boards from the side of the wall, and said I was to hide there if the Germans came. I asked, "But where is my navigator?" and Georges replied, "Tomorrow," and went on up the stairs. I followed with a heart of lead.

The bedroom was very pleasant with a big double bed and clean sheets. A big window faced the street, which was very quiet. Georges said that German convoys passed every night heading east and I was not to be alarmed if I heard German voices. I was by this time certain that our navigator was dead or in prison. The sheets were very soft and cool and I was asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.

Suddenly I was awake and listening.

Underneath the window a truck had stopped and I could hear German voices arguing. It seemed hours before I heard the motor rev and the truck moved on. I lay awake breathing quickly for many minutes while truck after truck went by. I wanted to go to the window and look out but I was afraid to move lest someone hear me. At last everything was quiet and I slept, only to dream of our navigator being tortured by the Nazis, and not saying a word.

Next morning, Georges brought me steak for breakfast, which I strongly suspected of being horseflesh. However, it tasted all right and I did not remark on it. After breakfast Georges showed me some photos of his fiancée and told me that he had been locked up by the Germans for nine months because he would not work for them. Later he told me that a doctor would come in a car that afternoon and take me to my navigator. This I only half believed, but it raised my hopes a little. At four o'clock, I heard a car pull up and a few minutes later a man and a woman came into the room. The woman spoke first, in good English, and told me that they were going to take me to a camp where I would meet several others of my crew. I immediately thought of a concentration camp and was not too happy about it.

During the half-hour trip in the car, the doctor's wife told me that they had a permit to use the car and that she could go along with her husband "to help with the patients". Now they were taking me to see a Scots woman who had not spoken to an Englishman since 1938. Knowing that the doctor was working with the underground, she had asked him to bring an airman for her to speak to. She was a lovely lady with blonde hair and blue eyes, and she was so thrilled to see me that she could hardly speak. I told her that London was not a mass of flames as she had heard, and that the robot bombs were called "buzz bombs". She had friends in England and was very pleased when I was able to assure her that their town had not been hit. After an hour's chat we said "au revoir" and I promised to come back one
day if I could.

We drove another few miles to another village and there I was taken by another family. A boy about fifteen and a charming little girl about eight who were trying very hard to learn English kept me smiling. It was here that I learned a little about the amazing camp to which I was being taken. It contained about 120 men, who had been found by the underground and brought there to wait f or the Allies. It had been organized seven weeks earlier by a Belgian who was a wing-commander in the R.A.F. He had parachuted into France on June 6 (D-day) to start the camp. He lived in a nearby village where he kept in contact with London by secret radio channels. He was told to expect the Allies about June 20, but it was now July 30 and they were still in Normandy. By this time the camp had grown so much that another one had to be organized in another wood about five miles from the first camp. The "camp commanders" were English Air Force officers who joined the camp soon after D-day.

Next day I was taken by bicycle to the edge of a wood, where we hid our machines and waited.

Presently a voice called, "Come this way, so I left my friends and followed into the thick wood. The woods were so thick that I could not see more than five yards through the foliage, and we had to stoop as we walked along the narrow path. The entrance was invisible from the road outside the woods, and even after I had been there a few days, I still had difficulty in finding it.

There was dead silence as we walked, but suddenly we came to a small clearing in the centre of the woods. Several tents were erected and about fifty men were sitting and lounging around, talking quietly, or playing cards. One or two were whittling sticks with pocket knives. Most of them were dressed in tattered civilian clothes, but a few wore R.A.F. battle dress and flying boots.

Suddenly one in battle dress gave a cry and sprang up. It was my skipper. Simultaneously three others rushed over and we were A hugging each other and laughing until someone warned us that we were making too much noise. The other three were our engineer, wireless operator, and our navigator. I was never so pleased to see anyone-except my family when I arrived home. My navigator explained that he had given Georges his compass in his excitement at meeting friends. His worry now was how to explain it to the girl in England. They all told me their experiences which were similar to mine except the skipper's. He had landed about a hundred yards from the camp, and so was able to keep his parachute, which made excellent cover for ten men at night.

Then I realized that the two gunners were missing. We spent the next days anxiously awaiting their arrival. One day we heard that an airman who had been shot through the ankle was coming in, and next day we welcomed our rear gunner. He had been accidentally shot when two "resistance boys" were showing him their revolvers. But still there was no sign of the mid-upper gunner. Every day we asked the chief when he returned with the news, whether he had heard of any other airman, but every day the answer was "Not yet".

Life in the camp was mixed. We had guards posted all around the woods, which was about 300 yards square, but all they could do was to warn us to keep quiet when anyone came near, as we only had one revolver and six rounds of ammunition between the lot of us.

An aircraft had dropped supplies of clothing and some knives about a week before I arrived in the camp, and the latter proved very useful in whittling away the hours. We could have started a good business in carved walking sticks after a few weeks.

The food situation was acute. Occasionally a friendly farmer would bring in a few vegetables or a leg of veal, and then we would have a royal feast. In the meantime we had nothing but beans, and only one meal a day. The usual menu was two pieces of black bread for breakfast, beans for lunch, and two pieces of bread and a mug of ground barley coffee for supper.

During the three weeks I was in the camp I lost one stone in weight. A lot of time was spent sunbathing in a little clearing at the edge of the woods . A notice on an improvised notice board said "No sunbathing on Sundays", the reason being that the Germans took their girl friends walking on Sundays, and being, "caught with one's
pants down" was a thing that would not have been appreciated.

The most looked-forward-to part of the day was when the chief came with the news. We had been surveying a nearby field with the idea that it could be used as a landing ground for transport planes with which we could be flown out. The chief had been trying to get this idea through to London, but each day he reported failure. Then came the report that another aircraft was to be sent with more supplies. Tobacco was very scarce so that and food were given priority on the load.

The night the aircraft was due, every man in both camps was out listening. About i a.m. we heard it coming. A Halifax flying about 500 feet. We all muttered a kind of prayer because we knew that there was an ack-ack battery only a few miles away. The aircraft thundered overhead toward the dropping zone, and soon we heard him returning. Everyone slept well after that. Next morning we awaited the arrival of the chief with great anticipation.

He was a little later than usual and he did not look very happy when he did come. Our hearts sank when he told us the aircraft had gone to the wrong field. As there were no recognition signals, it had to be returned to base with its precious cargo. Three days later the wireless operator received a message that the new field was to have been used. One explanation for the delay in the receipt of this message was that the Germans had intercepted it.

Several days later our interest was re-awakened by the news that the Americans had taken Cherbourg and were pushing down towards Brittany. Then the news came of their 200 mile dash in a single day and our morale soared. Every night now we could hear the Germans in full retreat. On several occasions horse-drawn vehicles parked alongside our wood and we hardly dared breathe till they had gone on. During the day Allied fighter bombers strafed and dive-bombed fleeing convoys and we were very careful to camouflage our tents with green branches lest we were strafed also. The day after the thrilling news of the advance, a jeep arrived, accompanied by the chief.

In the jeep were a British intelligence officer and two British paratroopers armed with sub-machine guns. They had driven 200 miles through the enemy lines to find us and give us the news. We welcomed them like heroes. The Intel. 0fficer earnestly apologized because the British were not up to schedule, but said that the Yanks were coming! We wanted him to stay with us, but he said he had always wanted to see Paris, so he changed clothes with one of the men and went off to Paris with his two paratroopers. He left the jeep with us, and we used it to break camp and return borrowed equipment to the French people.

It was Saturday night, and our bag of beans was empty. The Germans seemed much quieter, so we split up into groups of three or four and went out in search of food. The six members of our crew, each one conscious of the incompleteness of our team, walked slowly down the dusty road towards the village. We entered a small wine shop and sat down. It was not long before the rear gunner was in earnest conversation with a pretty girl. She spoke fairly good English and took pleasure in plying us with red wine. There was no food in the shop, and realizing that we were hungry, the girl went out and soon returned with three dozen eggs, which she cooked for us. They helped considerably to soothe our aching stomachs.

Realizing at last that the good people wanted to turn in, we left to seek a place to sleep. In our search, we wandered to the next village and found another wine shop, and also a baker from whom we bought white bread at black-market prices. Having acquired more eggs, we enjoyed another feast in the wine shop which by then was full of jabbering Frenchmen, all anxious to pat us on the backs and shake our hands.

After some time, we managed to convey the idea that we would like somewhere to sleep, so an old farmer took us to his barn. We soon fell asleep in the sweet-smelling hay, though we had a little trouble with the rear gunner who wanted to sleep with the engineer's bottle of wine. Early in the morning, we were awakened by heavy footsteps on the cobbled courtyard. We all froze while the navigator peeped through the door. At that moment the skipper decided to be violently ill, and despite harsh whispered curses to be quiet, not only continued to be sick, but provided a low groaning accompaniment. The footsteps suddenly stopped-and we stopped breathing. Even the skipper managed it for a few seconds. Then the footsteps started again and moved out of our hearing. We breathed again and the skipper resumed.

The farmer woke us just before dawn and, after we dipped our heads under the village pump, we set off slowly towards our camp.

Why we went that way we did not know because it was hardly a camp any more. Just as the sun broke the horizon, a motorcycle hurled itself over the hill behind us.

We instantly fell into Indian file and walked on, not looking back. As the cycle came alongside, the rider stood on the brakes and cried, "Any of you - - - speak English?" in a Southern American drawl.

In an instant we were all over him and "pinching" his last packet of cigarettes. He told us that a light armoured car out on reconnaissance had met a bunch of our boys, and had signalled back for a convoy which was now on the way to the camp. We ran as fast as our legs would carry us, and gathering up the skipper's parachute, jumped aboard the last truck. With an escort of armed jeeps and M-20 armoured cars, and led by two motorcycles, we set out for London, via Le Mans, Livre, Bayeux and the English Channel.

As we flew over the Normandy beachhead towards comfort and security, there were six minds with a single thought, "One of our crew is missing".

FLYING-OFFICER I. R. MURRAY

OVER THE RHINE

THE leaden-coloured Rhine ran swiftly between its shelving mud banks. Under the trees on the western side tense expectant men of the British Second Army waited in squat, ugly Buffalo carriers ready to cross the river on the last big lap of the dangerous journey they had made from the beaches of Normandy to the banks of the Rhine. It was late evening Friday, March 23, 1945 famous now as the evening of R-day, then, to the outer world, just another expectant evening in the drab succession of evenings before the final drama was played out in Hitler's Third Reich.

Back in their bivouac areas several hours earlier the tough young commandos chosen for the initial waves had heard the satisfying drone of aircraft going over to pound once again the towns which covered the Rhine crossings. It was a sound they had heard hundreds of times before during the nine months' trek across France, Belgium and Holland, to the Rhineland. It was a sound symbolic of the power that had made that trek possible. Now however, it was quiet in the darkness, strangely quiet under the tree-shadows in the crowded water as the Buffaloes nosed out into the swift stream.

An Australian film cameraman, Flying Officer J. M. Rogers. of Cairns (Q.), was among those who watched the storm preparing on the west bank of the Rhine. Suddenly the soft darkness of the spring night was streaked across by livid lines of tracer, so rapid and continuous that they formed boundaries of fire to the black lanes across which the Buffaloes moved.

Rogers could not see the commandos' progress, but he could hear the sound of their movement and the chatter of machine-gun fire that accompanied them. Then quiet fell again. The commandos, although he did not know it then, were squatted in the mud of the river bank outside Wesel waiting for the next air blow to fall on the doomed town. It came at 10-30 p.m. First the rain of vivid flares, then the dull glow of the destroying fires under the enveloping pall of smoke. After it the commandos took Wesel with only thirty-six casualties.

"The first Lancasters were over about 5.30 p.m.," Rogers said. "Wesel literally dissolved in a cloud of smoke lit by huge flames. There was very little flak and we didn't see a plane hit. After the bombing a terrific barrage opened up from all sides of us. It was deafening in our camera position between the guns and the enemy lines. The shells kept up a continuous eerie scream going over us at the rate of hundreds a minute.

"The Lancasters came over again about 10.30 p.m. We saw the Pathfinders light the place up with coloured flares. When the bombing began it was a terrific spectacle until clouds of smoke obscured the flames. Early on there was plenty of flak. We could see it bursting in little white puffs in the light of the photographic flashes."

In the Lancasters other Australians could see the blazing town. They were aircrews from R.A.A.F. Squadrons 463 and 467 whose planes were among the large force of heavy bombers which took part in the attacks on Wesel. The Germans had turned the town into a fortified position, with strongpoints, machine-gun nests and tank obstacles designed to stop the expected British crossing. Wesel was already one of the most devastated places in Germany but the final blows were necessary to paralyze the troops who huddled in its ruins.

When the first Lancasters arrived at 5.30 o'clock on the afternoon of Friday, March 23, German troops were concentrated in the narrow and shattered streets. Over 400 tons of bombs were dropped and the prepared positions were destroyed. Five hours later the second attack began. In nine minutes over iooo tons of bombs scattered the defenders who were waiting to repel the British commandos. In all, more than i5oo tons of bombs were dropped in the two attacks. A similar weight of bombs had previously practically wiped out cities eight times the size of Wesel.

Thirty-two of the Australian squadrons' aircraft took part in the night raid that paved the way for Montgomery's men to enter Wesel. As soon as they arrived they could see that everything was going well. It was a clear night and the dark line of the Rhine below was arched by the vivid Allied barrage. Otherwise there was no sign of ground activity. The aircrews could not see the crouching commandos, but they left Wesel feeling satisfied that, if the British were about to enter, there would not be many fighting Germans capable of opposing them. They were right.

"The bombing of Wesel," said Field Marshal Montgomery in a message to Bomber Command, "was a masterpiece and was a deciding factor in making possible our entry into that town before midnight."

Certainly the results merited this eulogy. Within two hours of the last bomb explosion Wesel was in British hands. The passage of the Rhine was secure. Next morning the British Second Army had linked up with the American Ninth Army, which crossed higher up the river, and by daylight the Allies had a bridgehead thirty miles long by seven miles deep, besides two light bridges over the river.

The commandos were exultant. And they did not forget the part Bomber Command, Australians included, had played in their success. General Dempsey wrote: "Thank you very much for wonderfully accurate bombing. The commandos send thanks and greetings; to your crews and greatly appreciate their work."

For the veteran Australian crews who took part in the bombing of Wesel the occasion was exciting only for its significance. No planes were lost and the opposition was negligible. The time had long passed since the Luftwaffe was capable of doing anything that mattered, even on an occasion such as this. There were some bursts of flak and even some ineffective artillery fire, but the weight of the attack soon swamped the defences and Wesel lay open for the waiting ground troops.

Success, however, and the ease by which it was accomplished was not due to luck or the unusually favourable conditions. The Allies had achieved air superiority even before the invasion of Normandy. They held it because for one thing the Luftwaffe had insufficient fuel. For twelve months the R.A.F., including hundreds of Australian aircrews, and the American heavy bombers had hammered consistently at the German oil supplies. By R-day German petrol production was only 31 per cent of what it was in April 1944. This partly immobilized the German armies as well as the air force and, coupled. with the devastating night and day attacks on transport by English, Australian, Canadian, New Zealand and other Pilots of 2nd Tactical Air Force and by the U.S. 9th Air Force, made it physically impossible for the German High Command to coordinate effective resistance to the Allied invaders.

The virtually unopposed Rhine crossing did not mean that the Germans intended no counter-move. Classical river-defence tactics have always included a series of counter-attacks immediately following a crossing and before the invaders have time to consolidate. Such a move was expected from the Germans, never slipshod soldiers. To stop it, airborne troops descended in carefully chosen areas on
Saturday morning, March 24, and, after disorganizing German preparations, linked up with the beyond-the-Rhine bridgehead established the previous night.

Flying-Officer Rogers saw the air armada go over. The R.A.F. Film Unit had set up its cameras near Xanten, on the west bank of the Rhine, not far from Wesel. Xanten," he said, "had been flattened by earlier Allied air attacks, but the Germans were still sending over a few shells when we set up the cameras not far from the banks of the river ready to film the tow-planes and gliders. We saw mostly Dakotas towing one or two gliders each.

They were flying pretty low but we could not see the troop-landing operation. An accompanying Fortress was hit by flak as we watched and burst into flames. Those in it parachuted out one after another. One parachute did not open and we saw the little black figure plunge straight down. Behind the gliders came the Liberators carrying supplies. They were flying so low that we could see the supply packages ready for dropping from the open bomb bays."

Australian airmen played their part in this, the greatest airborne operation of the war, as they had in Normandy and Arnhem. They flew in the R.A.F. Halifaxes, Stirlings, and Dakotas which towed the gliders laden with the men, tanks, guns and equipment which smashed the German counter-attack preparations and turned R-day into a speedy and triumphant culmination of the long bomber preparation.

The job of "U-Q-Uncle Queen" was typical of the Air Force part in the airborne landing. "Uncle Queen" had a 22-year-old Australian captain, Flight-Lieutenant Ronald Hyde, D.F.C., of Riverstone (N.S.W.), who had taken part in the Normandy and Arnhem landings and was allotted a Horsa glider containing a and anti-tank gun and a crew of four gunners. The glider had to be landed beside a hedge in a small field near a bridge.

"Near enough" isn't good enough for airborne operations. Rundstedt had two S.S. divisions near the area selected for "U-Q". The job of one group of airborne men was to take a vital railway bridge over a canal and to stop the S.S. making a counter-attack against the bridgehead. "U-Q's" anti-tank gun was to help hold the bridge. The whole plan hinged on getting the right gliders to the right place at the right time. It was done.

In the ops room before they left, Ron Hyde and his crew studied the photographs and maps which gave them the necessary "gen". They saw the bridge, the field, the hedge; here the Rhine, there the canal, all the broad features of the countryside which would pinpoint their position. They were told there would not be much flak over the release point. For weeks past Allied reconnaissance had noted the position of every heavy flak gun in the area. There were enough planes to put these out of action before and during the landing operation.

They were all pleased about the flak report. Tow-planes go in straight and level at not much over 100 miles an hour dragging a heavy glider or two behind them and unable to take evasive action. In such circumstances flak is something more than pretty white puffs dotted over the sky.

The glider carried a load of just under 7,000 pounds. The pilot was a member of the R.A.F.-surplus aircrew-who had transferred to gliders. Navigators and wireless operators had a separate briefing, but the two pilots had plenty to talk about getting clear on signals. Then, after a final before-dawn briefing, all was set for the take-off.

"U-Q" waited her turn and then pulled out quickly on to the runway. A tractor simultaneously brought up the Horsa and the ground staff clipped on the tow rope. Slowly the Dakota took tip the strain on the ropes. A miscalculation and they would easily snap. A green light signalled the take-off. The Dakota spun along the runway lifting the glider above ground level before its own wheels were clear. Then it gained height and formed up with the others, all flying straight and level and carefully keeping out of each other's slipstreams.

There was time, now, for everyone to relax a little. Ron Hyde called up on the intercommunication line threaded through the towrope.

"Hallo, glider. This is tug calling. How do you hear me? "

"Glider to tug. Loud and clear, go ahead."

"Everything O.K.?"

"Sure. Damned pleased we're not in the slipstream. Keep it up."

There was not much matter over the intercom. The sky was full of tow-planes and gliders and everyone had to keep their fingers free. But "U-Q" kept the glider informed of pin-points on the way.

"Hallo, glider. This is tug calling. That's Brussels on the left. See it.

"Glider to tug. Yes, vis. is good. Can see for twenty miles."

Soon the sky was more crowded than ever as the fighters giving top cover closed in and the streams of aircraft converged. Below, Typhoons roared in to shoot up flak guns and away to the right American Dakotas carrying parachutists came in below the R.A.F. glider carrying Dakotas.

Visibility suddenly fell away. An artificial smoke fog hung over the Rhine, and over

Wesel there was smoke and dust from the pounding the Lancasters had given it. Grey puffs of flak were bursting just above the smoke pall, tracer and light flak were coming from underneath.

"Hallo, glider. Tug calling. We're nearly at your release point. Have you picked up your pin-points?"

The glider captain was straining his eyes to see through the smoke haze. Somewhere down there was his bridge, his field and his hedge.

"Glider to tug. I can just make it out."

"It's pretty hazy down below. Make absolutely sure."

"I will."

"Tug calling. You're at release point now."

There was silence for fifteen seconds.

"O.K., tug. I'm right now. Cheerio."

"Cheerio and best of luck."

The tow-rope wrinkled like a piece of elastic and "U-Q" surged forward, turning sharply to get out of the press of aircraft and gliders at each side and behind. There were a crowded few minutes of near-collisions. Glider after glider merged into the smoke haze. Gun flashes starred the murk. They saw two Daks go down in flames. The heavy guns were out below, but there was plenty of light stuff coming in from the sides. Soon, however, they were out of it and on the return course, settled into a steady stream of returning aircraft, passing an equally steady stream of gliders and tugs carrying in more men, more guns, more equipment. And so "U.Q" returned from her third airborne landing.

On her first-D-day, 1944-she carried paratroopers to a spot near Caen and dropped them in the vanguard of the invasion. At Arnhem she towed a glider containing troops, a jeep, trailer and ammunition, and went back two days later to drop supplies to the beleaguered men. At Walcheren Island, covering Antwerp, "U-Q" dropped supplies on the beach. In all, since D-day, Ron Hyde's Dakota had made seventy trips to the Continent carrying supplies, mails and newspapers and evacuating wounded or bringing the home mail and leave personnel.

Flying-Officer K. P. O'Donnell, of Marrickville (N.S.W.), was pilot of the first Dakota to get back to his English base. "It was all right until we got to the Maas," he said. "Then the stuff began to come up. We could not see where it came from, because there was a thick cloud of artificial fog below us, and there had been some heavy bombing before we got there. The smoke was still coming up from that, too. We could see small arms fire, but we could not see the flashes from the flak positions. They were apparently pelting at us from some woods."

O'Donnell's navigator, Flying-Officer T. R. Holdsworth, of Elsternwick (V.), saw forty gliders released in one batch within thirty seconds. "We saw the gun flashes from the east bank of the Rhine," he added. "The noise of battle was so great that I heard it faintly even above the roar of our own engines."

Australia was well represented in every air phase of the cross-Rhine offensive. For a week previous to the crossing, and on R-day itself, Australians flying Typhoons, Mitchells, Spitfires, Mosquitoes and other aircraft Of 2nd Tactical Air Force, based on the Continent, helped bomb, cannon and rocket rail and road transport moving to and from the German front. Australian-manned aircraft were also among the Typhoons which picked off German batteries on the eastern bank of the Rhine in preparation for the crossing. Australians, too, were at the controls of the protecting fighters that dawn watchers in the south-cast of England saw flying out high above the heavy aircraft.

The bombing of Wesel was not the only role allotted Bomber Command in Field Marshal Montgomery's campaign. Following up the annihilation of Wesel, heavy bombers next day made a double attack on troop concentrations and communications. Australian Halifaxes were among the force which made these attacks. Another force attacked the marshalling yards at Sterkrade, one of the enemy's most advanced railheads. Earlier in the week attacks had been made in support of the ground troops massed for the offensive. By Friday, R-day, six bridges or railway viaducts which formed bottlenecks on the German main railway line had been broken down by bomber attacks.

R-day, however, was only the culmination of previous effort in which the Australians in Great Britain and Europe had played their part. Air superiority was achieved before the invasion of Normandy and maintained in ever-increasing proportions throughout the Battle of France. Biggest single factor in the crippling of the German army and air force mobility was the persistent successful attacks by Allied heavy bombers on oil supplies.

Intensive elimination of the Ruhr's ten synthetic-oil plants (which produced about a third of Germany's synthetic resources) began in June 1944, and Australians took a big part in the elimination process. When all these plants had been put out of action by the combined efforts of the R.A.F. and the U.S.A.A.F., coking and tar-distillation plants, which produced benzol as a by-product, were bombed. They were all very large plants and the fact that they were not only kept working but also repaired as rapidly and efficiently as the synthetic-oil plants themselves, was clear proof of the importance the enemy attached to them.

Subsequently petrol, oil and lubricating depots were systematically attacked so as to drain the enemy's supplies to the last dregs. By April 1945 little oil was being produced in Germany, and that little could not be efficiently distributed. It would have taken too much to take the oil where it was most needed. In mid-April 1945 the output of all oil products was down to 7½ per cent of the original and the production of motor and aviation fuels was down to 2 per cent. Nor was there a plant left in Germany capable of any substantial output.

To most R.A.A.F. Lancaster and Halifax crews, Gelsenkirchen meant oil. Biggest Ruhr synthetic-oil town (fifth largest in the Ruhr) it was repeatedly attacked, and Australian squadrons went there seven times, five of them in the last ten months of the war. Two Australian Halifax squadrons and a Lancaster squadron took part in the heaviest attack on Gelsenkirchen of the war on the afternoon of November 6, 1944, when over 700 Halifaxes and Lancasters, escorted by Spitfires and Mustangs, left huge fires which served as markers for squadrons of Mosquitoes which bombed the town again after dark.

In addition to the Australian squadrons ,which took part in the planned liquidation of Gelsenkirchen, many Australian pilots and aircrew flew as members of R.A.F. heavy bomber crews, among them 25-year-old Squadron-Leader Brian L. Duigan, D.S.O., D.F.C. and Bar, of Colac (V.), an Australian in the R.A.F., who was a sheep farmer in Australia and a miner in South Africa before he became a heavy bomber pilot. He was in Rhodesia when the European war was cooking and decided to try for a short service commission in the R.A.F. He set out from Northern Rhodesia on a two-stroke motor cycle he bought for £20 and travelled through the Congo, Uganda, Kenya and Tanganyika on his way to Europe and England. He joined the R.A.F. in 1940 and had a distinguished service career in Europe and the Middle East.

Squadron-Leader Duigan's thirteenth trip as captain of a Lancaster was over Gelsenkirchen. They were after the oil plants. They took off in dirty weather and climbed through low cloud to settle down on a steady course to the Ruhr. Picking up the Rhine a trifle south of where they had intended, they were going up towards the target from Dusseldorf when they ran into heavy and accurate flak. Duigan took vigorous evasive action but the enemy kept on in a persistent attempt to cut the Lancaster's trip short. It was the only aircraft in the neighbourhood at the time, and consequently received a good deal of concentrated attention.

"Suddenly the flak got even hotter and shells were bursting all round us," Duigan said, describing the affair later. "One exploded immediately below us and threw the aircraft up with a terrific bump. We got fifty-four holes from that one. We counted them next day, and I suppose we were lucky to have got away with it. The port engine was hit and went on fire in the air intake but it burnt itself out without my having to use the fire extinguishing device. However, it was missing very badly and jumping about so much that I had to throttle back to cut down the vibration, otherwise we might have had more trouble. That meant I was getting practically no power from this engine at all, and we were forced to turn for home. The fire, of course, made a good aiming point for the ground batteries. They were firing at us all the time. I tried to keep height but couldn't. We were dropping rapidly.

"Another shell went through the starboard wing but fortunately failed to explode. The wireless operator had been wounded by the first one that hit us. A piece of shrapnel hit him in the thigh. He was thrown off his seat on the floor, but he was still plugged in on the intercom. and I could hear him. I spoke to him, but didn't get any reply. He was bleeding very badly and was practically unconscious. I told the navigator and second pilot to look after him. They cut away part of his clothing and bandaged his leg, wrapped him up in a couple of blankets, and gave him morphia to case the pain. They didn't try to get him on the cushion bed because that would have meant shifting him about a good deal and would have made things worse, so they made him as comfortable as they could on the floor. One of them stayed with him all the time.

With the bombs gone, I found that I could maintain height. Then the port engine picked up again, but the aircraft was difficult to fly because the damage we'd got made it leftwing-low, and I had to allow for this. It was a bit tricky towards the end. The navigator couldn't use some of his maps because they were soaked in blood and quite useless. They must have fallen on the floor. However, the front gunner had taken over the wounded wireless operator's job, and he got us some homing bearings. All our hydraulics were out of action, which affected the undercarriage, the flaps, and both front and rear turrets. We came back with the emergency hand system and managed to get in all right, even without flaps."

Every attack on Gelsenkirchen was not equally hazardous, but every bomber crew had a healthy respect for this and every other target in "flak alley", especially the synthetic oil plants. Australians also took part in attacks on oil plants outside the Ruhr, notably on the night of January 16, 1945, against the Zeitz plant at Leipzig, the Brux works in Sudetenland, Czechoslovakia, and the great industrial and railway town of Magdeburg, on the Elbe.

Twenty-eight Lancasters from 463 and 467 Squadrons went to Brux among the 200 planes which made the round flight of well over 1,600 miles. All previous attacks on Brux had been made by American bombers. American attacks had kept the plant inactive for long periods during 1944, and it had just begun to work again, but by no means at full capacity, when Bomber Command took a hand. There was cloud over the target when the Lancasters arrived, but not enough to hide the ground markers. The defence was so active that one pilot described the area as "ten-tenths cloud and ten-tenths flak". The attack, however, was highly successful.

Twenty Lancasters from 460 Squadron were among the strong bomber force which went to the Zeitz; plant, 530 miles from London, another target that had been previously bombed by American aircraft based in England. Enemy fighters were over this area, where there was a clear sky, but the main opposition came from intense flak which was finally beaten down by the bombing. Later reconnaissance showed that exceptionally severe damage was done to the plant, which was only working at half-capacity when attacked.

Previously the Germans had begun reconstruction of synthetic-oil plants within a few hours of the bombing. More than a month after the January attack the Zeitz plant was still a mass of debris amongst a dense concentration of craters. Most of the pipelines were destroyed or broken down and all the vital parts of the plant were hit.

In addition to helping annihilate Germany's oil potential, Australian Lancasters and Halifaxes from Bomber Command, with hundreds of aircrews flying with R.A.F. squadrons, shared in the strategic bomber offensive which joined with the Tactical Air Forces in the task of isolating the battlefields after D-day, disrupting communications and giving close support to ground troops.

Figures give a quite inadequate idea of the extent Australians shared in the Battle for Germany. For instance, there were twelve R.A.A.F. squadrons in Britain and northern Europe when the war ended, but for every Australian serving with an Australian squadron there were over three serving in the R.A.F. The total number of the R.A.A.F. in the European theatre when the war ended was 11,515, including 9,643 aircrew. Australian heavy bomber squadrons made a total of 692 attacks, originally in Wellingtons, but finally in Halifaxes and Lancasters.

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT NORMAN BARTLETT