Danny gets Bombed - the biter bit!
(Sorry to muscle in, Taphappy, but the customers are getting restive)
In November '43, shortly before Stew and I were posted away from K to 8 Sqdn, the Jap decided that our people there had become too much of a thorn in his side, and he decided to do something about it. Shooting sitting birds may be a bit unsporting, but it is by far the most effective way to deal with our sort of bird. He put in a high-level air raid on the place; this was unusual for him; his normal tactic was to use the Oscar in low level hit-and-run raids. These were mainly ineffective, as our aircraft were usually well dispersed among the trees, or (exceptionally, as in "A" Flight's case now), in the luxury of three sided protective "pens".
It was a glorious day. North India in the cool, dry season must have one of the best climates in the world. We had six aircraft bombed-up ready for an army-support strike later that morning. We had had the briefing, delivered by an Army liaison officer. This would amount to little more than telliing us the name and position of the the place we were going to thump. If the target was difficult to identify, it would be marked by a mortar smoke bomb when we arrived on the scene. Other than that, the sortie would be so much like all the ones we had flown before that we could almost fly it in our sleep.
We had enjoyed our preflight glass of "char", and were making final preparations, when a signal came down from 168 (?) Wing: "Japanese bombers in the area. Scramble all aircraft not bombed-up". We could sense their dilemma. There was no certainty that an attack was coming our way. If we put the bombed-up six into the air, and kept them hanging about until the danger had passed, they would have to be refuelled and turned round after landing; this would then make them late for the (timed) attack by the Army, which might have to be abandoned. On the other hand, if the attack were on us, and we were all on the ground, we could lose the lot.
There then followed a mad scramble to get all the other flyable aircraft into the air. S/Ldr Traill, (45 Sqdn) started one of his, knowing that it had no wheelbrakes, but hoping to steer with rudder and prop blast down to the runway. You move a Tiger Moth about like that, and might manage it in a Spitfire. But not in our lump! He got out of his pen, across the taxiway and straight into a tree. Fast growing tropical vegetation is relatively soft; no damage was done - except to the tree - and to his self-esteem!. (en passant: he would be killed with his crewman in a flying accident the following year). The scrambled aircraft got off, took up a grandstand position a couple of miles away, and settled down to watch the fun. My aircraft and I waited on the ground with the rest of the box, one unflyable one and the one stuck up a tree.
All was quiet for a time, then we heard the drone of approaching engines. They came in from the East, nine "Bettys" (a twin engined thing about as big as a Wellington - or "Sallys"? - very similar) at around 10,000 ft. Their formation was immaculate, three vics of three. Our nice new white concrete tracks must have caught the eye of the lead bomb-aimer. There was nothing to distract him, we had no AA and the nearest Hurricane was 200 miles away in the Arakan.
Now was the time for all good men to make themselves scarce. Some slit trenches had been dug round the dispersals, but we aircrew decamped to a small ravine nearby, snuggled into the sides and waited. The bombs came down with a rush like a flock of starlings and burst like firecrackers at Chinese New Year. Some came into our ravine, but nobody got a scratch. The Japs wheeled away to the south, and we climbed back to survey the damage.
Two of our airmen had been killed instantly. It seemed that they had decided, at the very last moment, to "find a better 'ole", mistimed it, and were caught in the open when the bombs fell. I still remember the sharp ferrous smell of fresh blood mixed with the hanging smoke. One was a sad sight indeed. He must have flung himself down at the very last moment before a bomb landed on the concrete right behind him. The shrapnel sprayed round at ground level; one piece had opened up his back along the spine from bottom to top as cleanly as with a tin-opener. Blast had torn off shirt and flesh, the result looked for all the world like a side of meat you (used to) see hanging up in a butcher's.
I looked at this pitiful mess, stunned, for a few moments before someone came up with engine covers to shelter him and the other man lying nearby, not visibly injured but just as dead. I'm afraid I don't recall their names (but they'll be in the 110 Sqdn. ORB). Apart from these two, I don't think anyone else suffered any injury; as they had all been down in one or other of the slit trenches.
That's all for now,
Danny42C
Very well!