Danny's Last Operation (it come t' pieces in me 'and, Mum) (Part I)
On 24th February '44, Stew Mobsby and I took off on our 53rd sortie, flying No. 3 to BBB. We were going some way down south (Donbaik?), and the formation was climbing more slowly than usual, as we had plenty of time to get up to our bombing height. I think we took off from Ramu II, but cannot be sure - there were so many places, we were moving all the time and they all looked the same.
So quite soon after taking off we passed over the battle area (the Second Arakan campaign was reaching its climax) fairly low. Johnny Jap would take a pot at us, of course, but then he had a go every time we came back from a sortie and did no serious damage, although it was not unusual for aircraft to land back with small arms hits. On this occasion, I felt and heard nothing out of the ordinary, and neither did Stew. Twenty minutes into the climb, I had a look round the instruments. Oil pressure was zero.
Engines don't run long without oil, and I didn't fancy life as a Japanese prisoner. I signalled BBB (drew my hand across my throat, and pointed to the engine!), and started back. I warned Stew to be ready to bale out, we were at 3,000 ft and could easily manage it. The next few minutes were nail-biting, but then we were back over friendly territory again.
I was thankful, but starting to have doubts. The engine was still running smoothly. What was more, neither oil nor cylinder head temperatures were rising. I began to think that all I had was a dud oil gauge. With every mile my suspicion grew. By the time base was in sight (there was nowhere closer to land), I'd convinced myself. My screen was clear of oil, so the prop can't be throwing it out. Stew said we weren't making smoke, so we can't be burning it through the engine. The two temperature needles hadn't shifted. It had to be the oil pressure gauge, and I felt a bit of a fool.
Even so, I might have put it down off a straight-in approach, but these were awkward and difficult in a Vengeance because of the very poor forward view at low speeds. So we normally flew circuits. As there seemed to be no hurry, I did so now. Bad mistake! Downwind, I dropped the wheels and started my checks. The engine seized.
It had shown no sign of distress. Now there was just dead silence and a stationary propeller blade staring at me. The Vengeance was a poor flying machine and no glider at all. It went down like a sash weight. It was doing just that from a thousand feet - too low to bale out and no time even to think of dumping bombs. I took a last look at the runway, but it would have been suicide to try to get in from where we were with no power.
Nothing for it but crash-land straight ahead. I yelled "Brace" at Stew, lifted the wheels and cut the main switch, to stop the fuel pumps and avoid sparks. I can only remember thinking "I must keep 150 on the clock to have any hope of rounding-out at the bottom". Then my mind goes blank.
A mile or so away was an RAF Repair and Salvage Unit. I would think that most of its trade was in salvage. They did not have to go far to collect mine. As far as they could see, I was making for their clearing, but sank into trees before I got there. I must have rounded-out all right, for the aircraft survived touchdown to go skidding through the jungle. They told me that the tail unit came off first, then trees removed both wings. So far things may have been tolerable inside, if a bit bumpy, for we were having a ride in a sort of high-speed tank. Then the engine broke out.
Deprived of its battering-ram, the relatively light remaining structure hit something hard, broke apart just aft of the gunner's cockpit, and stopped abruptly in the shape of an inverted "V". The front fuselage and cockpits remained intact, the bombs stayed good as gold and the fuel did not go up. Thank Heaven for the brick-built Vengeance! (anything else would have disintegrated and killed us!)
More of the story next time,
'Night all,
Danny42C
These little things are sent to try us!
Last edited by Danny42C; 26th Jan 2014 at 20:45.
Reason: Spacing Title.