Chapter 12 These 4 were Gonged; Victory at the Alps; Partisan Job; Last Battle

THESE FOUR WERE GONGED

WE all know that a gong is not the final assessment of a flyer's worth. While comparatively few decorations have been awarded unworthily, we have all heard of instances of outstanding skill, courage and steadfastness to the path of duty which have passed unrecognized. The fault, perhaps, is nobody's; it's "just one of those things".

This story concerns four Australians whose deeds in the Mediterranean during the past twelve months or so won f or them, and for their squadrons, recognition justly deserved. Many others were decorated in the same theatre of war in the same period, and before. But these four cases, while perhaps above the average, are chosen as representative of the deeds of valour performed by almost every member of the three Australian squadrons in which these men served.

First, we shall tell you about Flight-Lieutenant Garry Blumer. Garry, who is from Griffith (N.S.W.), was a flight commander on NO- 450 ("Desert Harassers") Kittyhawk Squadron when he was recommended for a D.F.C., in recognition of an outstanding display of courage and fortitude. And Air Ministry thought so highly of his effort that the recommendation was stepped-up, and he received instead an immediate D.S.O.

Back in March 1945, when Desert Air Force was throwing its weight into the Allies' successful pre-offensive plan of disruption of the enemy's supply lines, Blumer led a formation of "Kitties" in an assault on barges in Northern Italy. After bombing, and leading two strafing runs, his aircraft was hit by ack-ack. The shell, which fortunately did not explode, entered his cockpit, breaking one of his legs at the knee, and carrying his rudder trimming wheel away. Calmly reporting over the R/T that he had been hit, the pilot handed the formation over to his deputy leader, then, to use one of his own favourite expressions, headed for home "quick-smart, like a ferret".

Although weak from loss of blood, and in great pain, he behaved on that grim homeward journey as though he were returning from an incident-free cross-country flight.

Only once, on the way back, did he use his R/T, when he asked that an ambulance should be standing by ready to take him aboard when he landed. Reaching base, the pilot made a belly-landing which would have done credit to a man in possession of his full physical and mental powers, then he coolly gave instructions to those assisting him out of the cockpit.

Then there was Flight-Lieutenant (now Squadron-Leader) F. J. Lawrenson, of Bexley Hill (N.S.W.), another Desert Harasser, who collected an immediate D.F.C. for a somewhat similar act of fortitude.

Lawrenson was in a formation detailed to bomb a road diversion north-west of Venice. His "Kitty" had almost reached the bottom of its bomb-dive-400 m.p.h. was coming up on the clock-when it was hit by flak. The cockpit canopy flew off, striking Lawrenson in the face and night arm, and carrying away his goggles and microphone. Although in Lawrenson's own words, he "felt pretty groggy", he went down and dropped his bombs. Then, with the rest of the formation, he turned for home, his fellow pilots meanwhile keeping a close watch on him. On the way back to base Lawrenson had to talk and shout to himself, to prevent loss of consciousness, for he was weak from bleeding and, with the hood of his aircraft gone, was feeling very cold. Through the injury to his right arm, he was forced to control his aircraft with his left.

But he made a copy-book landing at base, and an ambulance, summoned by his fellow pilots, was waiting there to whisk him to hospital, where he quickly recovered.

The third member of this gonged quartet is Warrant-Officer S. W. Holmes, of West Ryde (N.S.W.), who won an immediate award of the D.F.C. with two outstanding feats of airmanship on successive operations.

Holmes, who was captain of one of No. 454 Squadron's Baltimores, was night-intruding near Treviso, also in Northern Italy, towards the end of March 1945, when he ran into a barrage of intense and extremely accurate flak, which holed the Baltimore's port wing and carried away the pilot head-that insignificant looking little gadget which performs the important service of letting a pilot and his navigator know how fast they're travelling. Holmes brought his Baltimore back to base, where, in spite of his unserviceable airspeed indicator, he put it down safely.

Undeterred by this experience, he carried out another armed reconnaissance two nights later. Again his aircraft was hit-this time in the starboard engine and the bomb bay-while the hydraulic system was put out of action. The propeller of his dead motor could not be feathered nor could the bomb doors be closed; but, despite this lowering of the single-engine performance of his aircraft, Holmes once again nursed his damaged Baltimore back to base, to make a skilful one-engine landing without the aid of flaps or brakes.

Holmes's action on these two occasions was described officially as "an inspiration to the remainder of the squadron".

Then, finally, there was Pilot-Officer M. R. Priest, of Stirling West (S.A.), who was D.F.C'd for carrying out what he described as "just another anti-shipping stooge", but what the Powers-That-Be thought was a pretty good effort. It was in September 1943, when Priest took off from an advanced landing field on the Italian Adriatic coast in a Wellington of No- 458 Squadron, on an anti-shipping sweep up and down the upper portion of the north-eastern coast of Italy. A convoy of three merchant ships each of about 1500 tons, with three escort vessels, was sighted and shadowed for an hour or more. Then Priest took his Wimpy in for the kill. Bomb hits were scored on one of the cargo ships, which caught fire and blew up.

There's nothing outstandingly spectacular about that particular episode, perhaps. But it was the culminating point in a long and trying period of operational flying in coastal work, a period during which Priest and the other members of his crew inflicted damage on the enemy's sorely diminished shipping, and upon his port installations.

These four men, then, were gonged....

The tiny piece of ribbon which each wears on his left breast tells that his deeds have been recognized....

But each would hasten to disclaim his decoration as a personal award. If you were to go as far as to ask Garry Blumer, Freddie Lawrenson, Sid Holmes and Mel Priest - and the scores of other Australians decorated in the Mediterranean and Middle East - how they came to get their gongs, ten to one you would be told: "Oh, the squadron won that for me!"

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT W. K. ROBERTSON

VICTORY AT THE ALPS

"AUSTRALIA can be proud of the R.A.A.F."

A simple sentence, that. But a sentence charged with meaning. And it was uttered by a man who has earned a reputation for never saying anything unless he had something worth saying. The man? Field-Marshal Sir Harold Alexander, Allied Supreme Commander in the Mediterranean, who, when the enemy had been beaten to his knees in Italy, paid a warm tribute to the men of the Royal Australian Air Force for their contribution towards the brilliant Allied victory.

Although two of them were never actually based on the Italian mainland, all seven Australian squadrons which saw service in the Mediterranean war played their part in achieving that victory at the foot of the Alps.

The two fighter-bomber squadrons (Nos.3 and 450) and the night-intruder Baltimore squadron (No- 454), all members of the Desert Air Force, were in at the kill. The other Australian unit to operate from Italian soil (No. 458 Squadron of Coastal Command), before transferring to Gibraltar early in 1945 made a valuable contribution towards the final Allied victory in Italy by harassing the enemy's sea communications at a time when he was attempting to build up reserves with which to withstand the Allied offensive which he knew would come in the spring.

And another Australian squadron, No. 451, flying Spitfires from Corsica before going into southern France as part of the invasion force, productively swept the skies of western Italy in search of enemy aircraft as well as ground targets, while No. 459 Baltimore Squadron, operating from its desert base in Africa, ranged out over the Mediterranean and Aegean on shipping recces and bombing forays which had an important effect upon the Germans' expulsion from Greece, and therefore a somewhat less direct influence upon their defeat in Yugoslavia and Northern Italy.

Then there were those hundreds of other Australians attached to R.A.F. squadrons. On almost every airfield reaching up the leg of the Italian boot, throughout the eighteen months of warfare on Italian soil, one was continually meeting men who wore, with honour to themselves and to their country, Australian wings and brevets.

Of the Australians who participated in the battle which finally smashed the Nazi-Fascist combination in Italy, the predominant number were concentrated on two landing grounds tucked into the Adriatic coast. From a pressed steel strip laid down in a pine-tree clearing at Cervia, a popular peacetime watering-place Some 20 miles south of the historic town of Ravenna-where Dante's tomb may be seen operated No. 3 Squadron with its Mustangs, and No. 450 Squadron's faithful Kittyhawks. From another strip nestling among the beach sand-dunes of Cesenatico, five miles to the south, flew the Baltimores of No. 454 Squadron. These three were real front-line units. for when the battle for the northern bank of the Senio opened on April 9, those on those two forward landing grounds were able to hear the crump of the bursting bombs, and see the dust and smoke sent up by the Mustangs and Kitties by day, and the flares and bomb flashes of the Baltimores at night.

None who participated, even in a minor way, in that smashing air offensive will forget the day and night of April 9. It was as though the thunderbolts of all the heavens had been mustered and directed against that one small target area. The pilots and crews of the three Australian squadrons who flew in the first 24 hours of that battle gained a vivid round-the clock impression of the tremendous air effort. And one point upon which they all agreed was that never had they seen such terrific punishment inflicted upon the enemy in so concentrated an area. "He can't possibly stand up to it," was a general prediction which proved to be well founded. Another aspect of that great air blitz which impressed the Australians was the perfect timing which enabled fighters, fighter-bombers, mediums and heavies to dove-tail their attacks into one big smooth co-ordinated plan.

To No. 450 Squadron-perhaps better known as the "Desert Harassers"-fell the distinction of "opening the bowling" for the Desert Air Force that day. Led by the Australian Commanding Officer of their Wing, Group-Captain B. A. Eaton, D.S.O. and Bar, D.F.C., of Canterbury (V.), the Harassers wiped out a "casa" which housed a suspected headquarters. Eaton later described how, while the Kitties were carrying out their attack, dozens of other aircraft were milling round the target area, waiting to go in.

"Each section of aircraft," he said, "was allowed three minutes in which to get in, do its stuff, and get out again. It was an amazing achievement in organization and timing, that order and effectiveness of effort could be produced out of what appeared to be but a mad, milling mass of aircraft."

The impress of wise and careful planning, down to even the most minute detail, which so obviously was borne by the plan of battle in the sky, could be seen, too, in the coordination of the ground-air effort. Never, since El Alamein and the triumphant months that followed, when Desert Air Force and Eighth Army became almost synonymous terms, has such co-operation existed between the Army and the Air Force. Almost daily, throughout that final three-weeks battle, the Australian Mustangs and Kittyhawks were called upon to attack targets within a few hundred yards of our ground forces, and the messages of thanks which came back from the Army were evidence of the effectiveness of those attacks, and expressed the faith which our troops placed in our pilots.

Our fighter-bomber boys had some real hay-making days in the course of that battle. But by far the best was April 29, when No. 3 Squadron's bag, in mechanical transport alone was 28 vehicles destroyed and 38 damaged.

The pilots and other aircrew of all three Australian squadrons, while the battle raged, flew almost double the number of hours for a similar period under normally busy operational conditions, while the men on the ground toiled long hours in daylight and darkness at tasks which, though reflecting little glory upon the performers, were no less essential in the winning of the battle than were the sterling efforts of the men who flew.

Nobody who watched the "erks" of our Mustang, Kittyhawk and Baltimore squadrons at work on D-day, and on the days and nights that followed, will forget the wav they slaved. As though in answer to the challenging battle-eve message issued by Field-Marshal Alexander those men brought to the execution of their tasks a grim determination which enabled them to conquer bodily exhaustion; to work long hours with only brief breaks for meals; in short, to achieve the apparently impossible.

The squadrons' operational records tell in cold figures their own irrefutable story. No. 3 Squadron, for instance, flew 119 missions during that decisive month of April, and its pilots made 673 separate sorties. The 920 hours which its aircraft spent in the air constituted a squadron record. No less than 274 tons of bombs were dropped, and 144,000 rounds of ammunition were expended.

And the result? During the month 105 mechanical and horse-drawn vehicles were destroyed, and the squadron also wiped out two locomotives, two self-propelled guns, two aircraft of the type used for carrying important passengers, and 29 railway goods trucks. In addition it damaged a large number of vehicles, locomotives, and railway trucks, as well as enemy-occupied houses, gun-pits, and other odd targets.

In the same period the Desert Harassers flew 118 missions, and, by dropping 383 tons of bombs, exceeded by three tons its previous record established in July 1944. The squadron destroyed 21 motor vehicles and many animal drawn vehicles, two tanks and two self propelled guns, and damaged 23 mechanical vehicles, two half-track vehicles, and one locomotive.

No such rule-of-thumb method can be employed to assess the value of the Baltimores' work, for the reason that, by operating at night, their crews found it difficult to observe results. However, reports sent back to the squadron by ground observers testify to the great worth of their effort. After that first big night on the northern bank of the Senio, when it showered down small but highly destructive fragmentation bombs and incendiaries, the squadron's work consisted mainly of armed recces which were an important feature of the Allied plan to keep the Hun awake and on the defensive by night as well as by day.

When the battle had been won, the men serving in these three squadrons, together with their fellow Australians in other Desert Air Force units, were able to see some of the fruits of their efforts. Travelling northward to landing grounds in the Undine area, where they were to encamp amid green and pleasant surroundings while awaiting disposal, they saw, by the roadside, enemy motor trucks which had been knocked out and burnt; houses that once were enemy strongpoints razed to the ground; blackened railway locomotives and goods trucks lurching drunkenly across permanent ways and the metal tracks on which they had run rearing their twisted lengths to the sky.... All these, and many other sights, reflected the part which the Air Force had played in the enemy's crushing defeat.

And one of those other sights was convoy after convoy of enemy soldiers and airmen' bound for the prisoner-of-war cages. It was a sight which those who had fought in Tunisia had seen before, but with this difference: even after their defeat in Tunisia, many of those Nazis obviously still clung to hopes of a final German victory; but in the face of almost every one in these latest hordes of enemy prisoners could be read a frank admission of failure of the Teuton dream of conquest by the sword.

There could be no better way of ending this story than by quoting in full the message of praise from Field-Marshal Alexander to which reference was made in the opening paragraph. This is what the Allied Supreme Commander said:

"Air power has played a decisive part in our great victories against the enemy.

"The battlefields of North Africa and Italy have been its proving-grounds. The pattern which has been evolved is the pattern for all campaigns.

"In the moulding and perfecting of these tactics, Australians have taken a full share. For when the Australian Imperial Force left Africa to defend its own imperiled shores against the Japanese, it left behind it a small but virile air fighting force.

"For four years Australian airmen have fought in this theatre. They have built them a tradition of virility and initiative and a will to destroy the enemy that match the legend of valour bequeathed them by the A.I.F.

"Australia can be proud of the R.A.A.F."

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT W. K. ROBERTSON

PARTISAN JOB

One of the most interesting and hazardous jobs in which Australians serving with the R.A.F. took part in the last few months of the European war was that of dropping supplies in Northern Italy and the Balkans. This is a story of a particular operation carried out by one squadron. It is a story which shows something of the difficulties encountered, and the determination applied to the surmounting of these difficulties.

BASICALLY, my squadron's job was to succour partisan forces with arms, ammunition, clothing and food and medical supplies. But on the occasion of which I write we were briefed for a rush job-to take clothing to Allied prisoners in Greece who had been robbed by the E.L.A.S. of their battle dress and boots. We were told they must be waiting for us near the village of Trikkala, in Central Greece.

The weather was foul and the squadron had been grounded for days. But the prisoners were reported to be in very bad shape and we were told to get through if we possibly could.

We went through heavy rain most of the way, and water poured into the kite everywhere, soaking my log and my charts. Visibility was almost nil, and after we had been out for an hour we ran *into increasing turbulence, and visibility became even worse. As E.T.A. closed to a few minutes we knew we would have to turn back to base.

just as we dropped one wing for the turn we struck a sudden burst that really shook us. We lost 6oo feet in that moment and were then just above the sea, still being bounced violently. My pilot called to the engineer for full climbing power, and the next few minutes were quite terrifying, as we climbed slowly away.

In the mess that night there was an endless repetition of the same story, the only difference being that while one crew had dropped from 800 to 200 feet, another had fallen from 500 to 50 feet, and so on. We could not help thinking of what would have happened if the aircraft which had lost 6oo feet had been flying at 5oo. Not a single kite had got through, but there was no doubt that the boys had tried.

Next day we were sent off again. We climbed to 13,000 feet, above the cloud. Four crews managed to get down through a lucky break, but we were not among them. We landed an hour after dark, and were told that we were to try again next day.

On the third day conditions were still far from promising. We reached the target area at 13,000 feet, above 10/10ths cloud, with the tops at 11,000. From the target we descended rapidly on a course that would take us over flat ground, provided we kept on track. We broke the medium cloud at 8ooo feet, and there was another layer below. Going into this lower layer at 4,000 feet, we broke it three minutes later at 1,000. And below the cloud there was mist! We could see the ground directly beneath, but it was impossible for the bomb-aimer to pin-point, and we could not remain at that height as ahead and around there was no visibility. So there was nothing else for it but to climb again.

Then we stooged about, looking for another break in the lower layer. We found one to the east after half an hour and, with another kite following, went through. The base was 1,200 feet and it was fairly clear beneath. The bomb-aimer pin-pointed to a lake, but it was impossible to get to the target area from where we were on any course at 1,200 feet. As the ground was flat to Larissa, we set course for there, with the other aircraft following, for there was a chance-our only one-of following the river valley from Larissa to the target some thirty miles to the west.

Visibility was deteriorating fast as we followed the river westward, and after a few minutes our river led off ahead between two mountains into an ominous-looking valley filled with the same sort of mist that we ha~ seen before. We circled outside to consider.

"It looks pretty grim in there," came over the R/T from M-Mother.

"We're going to do a circuit to have a look at it first," said my skipper.

It was the sort of stuff you might get into, and never get out of. The mist appeared to be right to the deck, with a cloud base of 1,200 feet, and a dirty looking mountain on either side of the gap. You would only have to get inside, lose sight of the ground, and - but I didn't care to think about it!

Then from the other kite: "We're going through at 1,000 feet."

We could see them. They were on their way. Intrepid explorers, exploring - a valley.

"What's it like inside?"

"Pretty grim, but we're still following the river," came the reply from M-Mother.

"O.K. We're coming in."

It was misty, all right, but it didn't seem so bad once we were in it, and we could see the ground. The river and a road showed below; beyond each wing tip there was high ground reaching above us into cloud; and ahead there was nothing but the mist blending itself with the snow. It was funny, sneaking in like that.

It was like creeping into a dark room, or poking along a shaded creek where there might be crocodiles and suchlike unfriendly things, feeling your way timidly, and ready to flee at the softest noise or slightest movement-or at the sight of a hill! And hoping that you would be able to get away.

The ground everywhere was under snow, and the little villages over which we were flying seemed completely desolate in their forlorn setting of white. I tried to think what the birds must be thinking about great, roaring monsters intruding into their valley.

Meanwhile M-Mother was having trouble finding the target, but after a while we found the spot between us. As we passed over the pin-point we saw a large-lettered "R.A.F." dug out of the snow, and down there men were waving madly. They must have been surprised to see us, but we were there! Each time we made our run they waved and waved, as if almost frantically grateful. It was good to see them. It would have been good to talk with them, but even at a few hundred feet there is a big gap between the air and the ground.

Our dispatcher did a good )ob, with the wireless operator's help, in getting rid of the load, and after the last run we waggled our wings in farewell and climbed straight to 13,000 feet on the safest track.

It was lovely above the cloud. The sun was shining and it was a different world. Down below there was darkness. Ugly mountains, darkness, and mist. But on top it was a world of sunlight, and different altogether.

We had been quiet on the climb - each, I suppose, occupied with his own thoughts about a job well done. But after a while when we were straight and level and on our way home the rear gunner called the bomb-aimer.

"You left a couple of 'chutes hanging on a tree," he said,

But the bomb-aimer was not perturbed. "So what?" he replied. "So what? Those guys would be willing to climb trees all their lives to get stuff they need as badly as that. . . . And so would you."

And in the silence that followed as we stooged pleasantly homeward, each of us said to himself, "How right you are!"

WARRANT-OFFICER H. NICHOLS

ODD-JOB MEN

THIS is a story about some of the war's odd jobs in the Mediterranean, and of the men who filled them.

At the head of the list stand the carriers of supplies-the crews who, in "maid-of-all-work" Dakotas, in Wellingtons, Halifaxes and Liberators, flew to the aid of partisans battling in isolated areas along the length of the Dalmatian coast from Greece to the northernmost extremity of the Adriatic, and in northern Italy, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Austria and Bulgaria, supplying them with the material without which they could not have waged their successful guerrilla war. Possibly a jeep was wanted; maybe medical chests required replenishment; perhaps the need was for high explosives with which to blow a strategic bridge.

Although the youngest air command in the Mediterranean - it came into being as recently as June 1944 - Balkan Air Force, which directed these operations from its headquarters in southern Italy, built up a remarkable and romantic record of achievement. Its thrilling work of supply and rescue-for its aircraft usually carried human freight as back-loading -in the remote fields and forests of enemy occupied countries gathered almost the same romantic prestige that attached to the part1sans themselves. In Yugoslavia, for example, British officers and airmen were dropped by parachute behind the enemy lines, and, with the help of the Yugoslavs, selected sites and prepared secret airstrips on which unarmed transports, many of them carrying Australians in their crews, would land with supplies.

There was the occasion when an Australian captain of a Dakota-he was the C.O. (Flying) in his squadron - was required to land on a strip only 480 yards long. But he got down safely, picked up a number of Aussies who had escaped from a P.O.W. camp, and took them safely to Italy.

But not always did the Dakotas land with their supplies. Often, like the Halifaxes and Liberators, they dropped their precious cargoes by parachute. Few of the many varieties of operational flying which modem warfare has produced placed a more exacting demand upon the navigator than these "dropping" missions. His target, usually, was a tiny valley, far from any prominent landmark, a place not even distinguishable on the map. And he had to find his way there, often at night, by dead accurate navigation. Usually not until his skipper had made several circuits inside the valley would lights and fires-set out in a prearranged pattern, to guard against the supplies falling into the hands of the enemy-be displayed on the ground to signify that the correct spot had been found.

Then the pilot was given a chance to show his skill. The usual height from which the Hallies dropped their supplies was as low as 800 feet, to prevent the wind wafting the 'chutes into enemy territory, which, possibly, was only a few hundred yards away., Any pilot will tell you that it's anything but child's play to make a tight circuit in total darkness in a four-engined aircraft inside a small unfamiliar valley hemmed in by mountains towering to 5,000 feet or more. Nor was it a "piece of cake" to fly 400 feet above the rooftops of Warsaw, tipping out supplies to the Poles battling within the city for the liberation of their capital. Many crews were lost on those hazardous trips to Poland, and Australians were among them.

All honour to the men who played a vital part in this successful back-door war which relentlessly harassed the enemy behind his front lines, and often deep in his rear.

Among the other odd-job men were the forward controllers, known as "Rover David", "Rover Jimmy", "Rover Paddy", and so on, according to the zone in which they were operating. They were the very backbone of the close support which our fighters and fighter-bombers provided for the army throughout the Italian campaign.

Spying on the enemy's positions from a forward observation post, the Rovers were able to direct our aircraft on to their targets, and to inform our pilots on the R/T of the results of their attacks. Most of the Rovers were flying types who were resting after the completion of strenuous operational tours-if the occupation of a forward observation post, often under enemy shellfire, can be termed a rest! It was a job which was filled with distinction by a number of Australians, among them Group-Captain Brian Eaton, D.S.O. and Bar, D.F.C., of Canterbury (V.); Squadron Leader Murray Nash, D.F.C. and Bar, of Brighton (V.); Squadron-Leader Jack Doyle, D.F.C. and Bar, of Longreach (Q.); Squadron-Leader J. H. Hooke, D.F.C., of Buangor (V.); and Squadron-Leader F. J. Lawrenson, D.F.C., of Bexley (N.S.W.).

Then there were those other tour-expired pilots who, as it were, knocked off work to carry bricks. Flying "puddle jumpers", by which playfully disrespectful but most descriptive term their small communication aircraft were known, these men were at the service of high-ranking officers and other key personnel whose duties often demanded that they be transported with speed on short cross country flights. The puddle-jumpers fell for other highly essential jobs, too. Did a forward medical unit require urgent supplies? The Austers and Fairchilds could, and did, deliver them, often literally at the door by landing in a tiny field beside the medical dressing station. And highly precious cargoes of mail almost as important as food for the front-line man-and daily copies of the Eighth Army News-another important booster of morale were carried, too.

But the list of chores performed by the puddle-jumpers-many of whose pilots were Australian - could be recited almost endlessly.

So could the list of other odd jobs carried out by Australians in the Med. But perhaps enough has been said to help show that it's not only the flying type who goes out on an offensive mission, and, say, prangs a ship or a train or a bridge, who is doing a good flying job in this war.

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT W. K. ROBERTSON

THE LAST BATTLE

THREE R.A.A.F. squadrons participated in the final and triumphant phase of what Field Marshal Sir Harold Alexander, Supreme Allied Commander in the Mediterranean, proudly described as "the great and victorious campaign which will long live in history as one of the greatest and most successful ever waged".

Two of them, flying fighter-bombers, relentlessly hunted and harried the enemy in the long chase from the gates of Alexandria to the slopes of the Alps and beyond. The third was a Baltimore night-intruder squadron which, before beginning operations in Italy last August, harassed the Germans' Mediterranean supply lines from its base in Africa.

These three squadrons all belonged to the Desert Air Force. And when one has said that, one has said all, for the exploits and achievements of that desert-born formation stamp it as one of the greatest fighting forces of all time.

Long before the devastating air-ground offensive opened on the banks of the Senio on April 9, our Australian squadrons were helping to pave the way for the brilliant victory which was to crown a brilliant campaign. From dawn to dark, and day after day, the fighter-bombers ranged over enemy territory, cutting his bridges, hacking his railway lines, smashing his rolling stock, and disrupting his lines of communication generally. And he was allowed no quarter, for when the fighter-bombers left off, the Baltimores, with other night-operating aircraft, took over.

Then, on D-day, came the urgent call for a maximum effort on the part of air and ground crews alike. And the response was made with a degree of fullness befitting the occasion. "There's a job to be done; a real job. Let's hop in and do it," sums up the attitude of ground and air personnel alike.

And the job was done.

The men on the ground, irrespective of their service mustering, tolled long hours, in daylight and darkness, at their unspectacular but highly essential tasks. And the pilots and other aircrew personnel, while the three-weeks battle raged, flew almost double the number

of hours for a comparative period under normally busy operational conditions.

In a battle eve Special Order of the Day to his soldiers, sailors and airmen, Field-Marshal Alexander said: "Final victory is near. You must be prepared for a hard and bitter fight. . . . But you, who have won every battle you have fought, are going to win this one." And, imbued with the faith and determination of their supreme leader, our squadrons threw themselves into the battle with an inflexible resolve to see it through to the end.

I watched the "erks" of our Baltimore, Mustang and Kittyhawk squadrons at work on D-day, and on the succeeding days and nights of the offensive. And I shall never forget the way they slaved. Aircraft, returning from a mission, would land, and taxi to their dispersal bays. Then, even before the engines were dead, fitters, riggers and armourers would be clambering over the kites, and in what seemed but a matter of minutes the aircraft, checked over, re-armed, and re-fuelled, would stand ready for their next take-off.

Figures as a rule make pretty dull reading. But only they can give a true conception of the contribution which our squadrons made towards the winning of this last battle in Italy. During April, for instance, the Australian Desert Harassers Kittyhawk squadron flew 118 missions, most of them in close support of the army or in attacks on houses which had been set up as enemy strongpoints. No less than 641 individual sorties were flown, running into 917 operational hours. Dropping 3,831 tons of bombs, the squadron exceeded its record Of 380 tons established the previous July.

The Australian Mustang squadron flew one more mission than the Desert Harassers, and its pilots made 673 separate sorties. The 920 hours which its aircraft spent in the air constituted a squadron record. The tonnage of bombs dropped was 274 and 144,000 rounds of ammunition was expended.

The Australian Baltimore squadron made 295 operational sorties during the month, totalling 508 hours' flying. Both of these tallies were almost double the figures registered in any other single month since the squadron's conversion to night-intruder work early in 1945.

Reviewed from the fighter-bomber angle, the great air battle may be divided into several distinct phases, each dove-tailing perfectly into the general strategic plan of campaign. First came the battle of communications, which preceded the opening of the major offensive. Then, on the day on which their old comrades of the Eighth Army were to cross the Senio River, our squadrons threw their every ounce of weight into the tremendous air effort which so pulverized the enemy that our troops were able to secure their bridgehead with comparatively little difficulty.

With our troops astride the river, the fighter-bombers were required to provide them with close support, a highly specialized form of operational work in which their wing first made-and has since maintained-its reputation. In several of the eight messages of thanks and congratulation which the wing received during the month from the Army and other sources, special mention was made of the value of this work. Often the battle was so fluid that an almost impossible degree of accuracy in bombing was demanded of our pilots; on a few occasions the targets were so close to our ground troops that a margin of only 100 yards could be allowed.

Dove-tailing into this phase of the fighter-bombers' operations was the battle of the 44 "casas"-the demolition of houses which the enemy had converted into strongpoints and defended positions from which to harry our troops. Here again the accuracy of bombing was of an extremely high order, there being only a few occasions when damage was not done to a target house. Direct hits on buildings were reported with almost monotonous regularity, and in many instances gun positions set up beside them were wiped out. Tanks, self-propelled guns, and road transport also came in for their share of attention during this period.

By January 22 the enemy was fairly disorganized, and the fighter-bombers were switched to the bombing of ferry terminals first on the Po, and later on the Adige-in an effort to hinder and further disorganize his withdrawal. Our Baltimore squadron is entitled to a share of the credit for the success of these missions. In the period immediately preceding the battle it had obtained night photographs of the enemy's river crossings and ferry terminals, many of which he used to dismantle and conceal by day. These pictures were of the utmost value in planning the subsequent daylight attacks on these targets.

The waning month saw virtually the end of German and Fascist organized resistance in Italy, and as this opposition crumbled our squadrons created havoc among the limited amount of mechanical transport which remained to the enemy. The Australian Mustang squadron's score in motor transport alone on April 29 was 28 vehicles destroyed and 38 damaged-a worthy contribution towards the wing's tally, for the last three days of the month, of more than 500 vehicles destroyed or damaged in north-eastern Italy.

And here, finally, are a few more figures to illustrate the effectiveness of the part played by the two Australian fighter-bomber squadrons.

The Mustangs during April destroyed 105 motor and animal-drawn vehicles, two locomotives, two self-propelled guns, two communications-type aircraft, and 29 railway goods trucks. In addition, they damaged 225 motor and 2o animal-drawn vehicles, 26 locomotives, 26 railway trucks and two barges.

In the same period the Kittyhawks accounted for 21 motor vehicles and many animal-drawn vehicles, two tanks and two self-propelled guns (all destroyed), and they damaged 23 motor vehicles, two semi-track vehicles, and one locomotive.

Both squadrons also wiped out or damaged a large number of defended houses.

By reason of the fact that they operated by night, the Australian Baltimore crews were unable to observe fully the results of their attacks, but from ground reports which found their way back to the squadron it is evident that the effect of their efforts can be assessed at a high level.

The wing to which the squadron belongs received a message of congratulation from Eighth Army Headquarters upon its all out effort on the opening night of the battle. Towards the total of 72 sorties that night-a wing record for any one night-the Australians' contribution was 28 separate operational flights, an effort which won, for aircrews and ground personnel, a word of praise from wing headquarters. Each crew flew twice that night, and shortage of crews necessitated "turnarounds" on several other occasions. With an average of 15 operational crews, the squadron averaged 10 sorties a night throughout the month.

After the grand opening-when it showered highly destructive fragmentation bombs and incendiaries on a small target area just north of the Senio-the bulk of the squadron's work consisted of armed recces. Enemy-occupied villages were bombed. transport was attacked, and the Hun was generally harassed in accordance with our plan to keep him awake and on the defensive by night as well as by day.

As the enemy showed signs of breaking under the strain of the terrific day-and-night onslaught, the Baltimore crews, both in the air and on the ground, toiled and flew with a renewed determination finally to smash him before he could escape into his so-called "southern redoubt". Night after night the areas in which he was attempting to withdrew were patrolled, and, by low-level bombing and strafing, he was forced to keep his head down and "stay put", or be wiped out.

Many of the enemy, of course, were wiped out. And those who kept their heads down found their way into the P.O.W. cages a few days later.

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT W. K. ROBERTSON