No. 314 Squadron.
Target for Tonight,
Date: 18th/19th August 1944;
Railway infrastructure located at Dijon, Central France.
Percentage of bomb payload dropped on target: 0% - D.N.B.
Enemy aircraft shot down: 0.
Wireless set playing inside the Royal Oak; a quaint thatched country pub located near to base and regularly frequented by the Squadron's airmen, aircrew and WAAFs.
The time: 19:00hrs, 19th August, 1944:
"This is the B.B.C., Home Service … Here is the news … Government sources say that two enemy parachutes discovered in a field near Lewes in Sussex yesterday, probably fell from an enemy intruder aircraft reported damaged over the area on the night of the 17th, and that there is no need for the public to be alarmed. Yesterday, saw Russian forces continuing to mount a strong defence against German forces in The Baltic. Last night, a number of raids were conducted with great success by allied forces, against many enemy targets in Central France and Northern Germany, not least Berlin. Regrettably, several of our aircraft are missing. And now for some personal messages for our friends overseas … Mr Fox, will be wearing scarlet. Repeat, Mr Fox, will be wearing scarlet … The Colonel's plum duff, was said to be very sweet. Repeat, the Colonel's plum duff was said to be very sweet … Oranges and lemons, ring the bells of St Clements … Repeat, oranges and lemons, ring the bells of St Clements … and now for some music …"
WAAF Newman; a petite and shapely redhead, sat tightly in a corner seat by the pub's open fire, turned her ears away from the set. The news she had been listening closely to, only seemed to sharpen her pain … Then, as if feeling a need to break the tension se felt, she turned to look closely at her friend seated beside her.
"Don't you worry. It'll be alright," Newman's friend bid to reassure her.
"I do hope so," Newman, replied. "I'd never of imagined Boom and the boys going missing … Not Boom."
Newman; always a loyal waver-offer as the aircraft set out on a raid, had been on duty in the Op's Room as the men of No. 314 Squadron had set out for the night to Dijon, and felt guilty at missing their departure. Having been clad with earphones in a bunker for hours on end, she'd had to endure the tedious task of listening to the wash of static playing through a head set, should any troubled aircrew attempt to make contact with base, and even now, she could feel the effect still running through her ears.
Many hours earlier: Inside No. 314 Squadron's Op's Room …
Newman, quietly sighed, though badly sought to deny her air of resignation. The spirited Londoner felt pained at the thought of Lancaster Lady-X having failed to make any form of contact since its departure from base, let alone making any contact to hint at it's return.
"Perhaps Boom and the gang will manage to make it to an emergency strip," she told herself, before steering her attention to a wall clock nearby.
An earlier calculation by the Group Captain, had found that for those aircraft now declared absent from the night's flying operation, the very latest that any could expect to make a safe return, was 05:44hrs at the very latest.
She had watched studiously as the hand counting down the seconds swept on past the heavily set numbers on the clock's shadowy face like a predatory enemy intruder, and each hour tick by before watching it finally scuttle to escape the minute hand, as it sought to strike hard into place — the time, now 05:45hrs.
Newman, swallowed hard as she felt her throat began to turn dry. In a bid to maintain her composure, then steered her eyes across a plotting table at which No. 314 Squadron's Station Commander was stood; a Group Captain, busily motioning the execution of the night's raid to an unidentified visiting guest. The Station Commander; catching her looking his way, then noted the shake of her head. It was an all too familiar pattern, and without uttering a solitary word back to her, he nodded to a WAAF, waiting patiently ahead as he turned on his heels to make the few fatal paces to a large blackboard at which she stood. "Corporal. You'd best mark that last one up as an F.T.R.," he hailed, as he drew his hand neatly from his battledress breast pocket, from which a cigarette case then appeared in his hand. "Be X in the drink or down at some emergency strip is anyone's guess … See to it that you chalk it up," he added, with a nod, before turning to thrust a cigarette clutched between his fingers into life. "There's nothing more that we can do for them now."
15:22hrs, 22nd August, 1944.
*** International Telegram ***
To: No. 314 Squadron Station Commander
" " Squadron Commander,
From: The International Red Cross,
Geneva, Switzerland.
via: Bomber Command H.Q., High Wycombe, Bucks, England,
***The following aircrew
>>F/Sgt George Short & W/O Simon Templar<<
confirmed captured and prisoners of war*** STOP.
18:50hrs, 26th August, 1944.
*** International Telegram ***
To: No. 314 Squadron Station Commander
" " Squadron Commander,
From: The International Red Cross,
Geneva, Switzerland.
via: Bomber Command H.Q., High Wycombe, Bucks, England,
***The following aircrew
>>F/Sgt Michael Styles & F/Lt Rupert Winterbourne Gunner<<
confirmed deceased*** STOP.
22:00hrs, 28th August, 1944.
To: No. 314 Squadron Station Commander
" " Squadron Commander,
From: International Red Cross,
Zurich, Switzerland.
via: Luftwaffe Records Office, Berlin.
via: Bomber Command H.Q., High Wycombe, Bucks, England,
***The following aircrew
>>F/Sgt Michael Styles & F/Lt Rupert Winterbourne-Gunner<<
reported last as deceased.
Nature of death: F/Sgt Styles is believed to have
died as the result of his parachute having
failed to open.
A Luftwaffe doctor, believes that
F/Lt Winterbourne-Gunner, died on his exit
from the aircraft, as his body was found
to have a head wound consistant with
striking the aircraft on exit *** STOP.
09.11hrs, 29th August, 1944.
*** CONFIDENTIAL - MOST SECRET ***
To: No. 314 Squadron Station Commander
" " Squadron Commander, ONLY.
From: M.I.9., Escape and Evasion Section,
via: Ministry Of Defence, Whitehall,
London.
via: Bomber Command H.Q., High Wycombe, Bucks, England,
***The following aircrew
>>F/O Green, F/O van der Boom & F/Sgt White<<
are confirmed in the hands of 'friends' and will be duly returned
to you as soon as can be made possible*** STOP.
Note: This telegram is highly confidential and must not be passed to any third party, other than to those duly deemed authorised or otherwise, at the discretion of the above appointed officers.
23:44hrs, 31st August, 1944.
*** CONFIDENTIAL - MOST SECRET ***
To: No. 314 Squadron Station Commander
" " Squadron Commander, ONLY.
From: M.I.9., Escape and Evasion Section,
via: Ministry Of Defence, Whitehall,
London.
via: Bomber Command H.Q., High Wycombe, Bucks, England,
***The following aircrew
>>F/O Green<<
has been returned to you via 'friends' by way of a Lysander
aircraft, and is now in temporary hands at R.A.F. Tempsford,
having a light wound to his left shoulder tended to. F/O Green,
will be returned to you by a member of the base's M.T. Section,
by 06:00hrs, 2nd September, 1944*** STOP.
Note: This telegram is highly confidential and must not be passed to any third party, other than to those duly deemed authorised or otherwise, at the discretion of the above appointed officers.
23:49hrs, 31st August, 1944.
*** CONFIDENTIAL - MOST SECRET ***
To: No. 314 Squadron Station Commander
" " Squadron Commander, ONLY.
From: M.I.9., Escape and Evasion Section,
via: Ministry Of Defence, Whitehall,
London.
via: Bomber Command H.Q., High Wycombe, Bucks, England,
***The following aircrew
>>F/O van der Boom & F/Sgt White<<
are currently in the process of travelling with 'friends' and
consequently no further details can be given as to their expected
time of return*** STOP.
Note: This telegram is highly confidential and must not be passed to any third party, other than to those duly deemed authorised or otherwise, at the discretion of the above appointed officers.
06:00hrs, 2nd September, 1944.
No. 314 Squadron Interrogation Room …
F/O Green:
"Sir, it was a terrible op', my worst yet. We had a plum take-off, everything went like clockwork until we crossed the coast … It was when we got a little south-east of Paris, that we ran into trouble.
F/Sgt White; my rear-gunner, made an early sighting of a Ju-88, climbing up fast towards us against the shimmer of a river set far below. Calling it out as the '88 neared, I then commenced a tight corkscrew to port, but this fellow had no intention of letting us slip. The jerry was clearly no novice — far from it. If you ask me, I'd say the fellow was a bit of an expert; he stuck tight on our tail and chased us badly, must have been for the next ten-to-fifteen minutes or so. Anyway, I had both my air-gunners engage him as best they could, but without success. That bloody '88 just wouldn't let go … Then the '88 started tearing my kite to pieces. My rear-gunner's turret got shot up bad, very badly indeed. F/Sgt White, angrily remarked over the intercom how it had come to resemble a 'bloody collander', before cutting short as his station was hit yet again; this time rendering the ammunition feed useless, along with the rudder and another strike on the tail turret as a whole.
White's station, then lost its feed of hydraulic fluid and the turret siezed-up — needless to say, by this point, we felt dangerously exposed!
It was only by some utter miracle that White, somehow avoid being injured, though I'm afraid the same cannot be said for my mid-upper gunner. My new egg; F/Sgt Short, bagged a shot in the chest, as his station got raked. Poor chap, he was on his first outing as well. Short, managed to exchange fire with '88 several times, but this jerry was very experienced. Despite my best attempts to lose the enemy by diving and weaving, he stayed with us all the way … We thought he might have had enough when Short remarked that the '88 'was dipping out of sight', but jerry's disappearance was only to enable him the chance of engaging us 'schräge musik' style, as less than a minute later we came under the most intense volley of fire. The starboard wing got knocked badly, and the autopilot took a heafty hit, but it was when the '88 rose up again to level with our tail that the writing was really on the wall. The mid-upper turret took a beating and Short- by then already hit — narrowly avoided being taken completely out, as the '88 knocked his guns clean out of action.
Staying level with us, the '88 then took full advantage of our absence of firepower, and really opened up on us, starting an oxygen fire in the tail-section … I by then had no option other than to stick the nose down and dive the lanc toward the deck, so it was a speedy descent from 16 –6,000ft, at which level I found a large bank of cloud present, and then made a hasty dash into it to evade the foe, and there we remained for a while.
At this point we were roughly over the Champagen-Ardenne area and approximately 115 nautical miles north of Dijon — and with not a hope in hell of making the target. Exiting the cloud, we found that we were over Le Breuil.
I laid the cards firmly on the table with the crew and ordered that they prepare to, a) be ready to bail-out at a moments notice, and b) be braced for a very long walk home. I believe, in light of the damage to Lady-X at this point, my decision was a sensible one, and the only one viably open, thus I then decidedn to bank the lanc' 180 degrees and began steering for home.
I steered for base for as long as possible back through the same bank of cloud from which I'd come, but eventually it thinned and vanished and it was a case of returning to the perils of flying in a black but naked sky, and no sooner had we, were we jumped on yet again by an unseen '88! Despite undertaking a very fast corkscrew manoeuvre and steeply weaving and diving, desperate to loose the foe, this '88, just like the other, remained glued tight behind and soon opened up on us to damage the airframe very badly indeed. It's a long shot — But my money is on the second '88, being the same one as the first, and the pilot strikin it lucky as we made our return? Either way, our luck was now fast running out. In the ensuing running battle, our tailplane got shot up, our tailwheel got shot away — F/Sgt White hearing it thump hard against his turret seat, before catching a faint glimpse of it vanishing into the night. The portwing aileron was then badly shot up, and it was around this point that I received a light wound to my shoulder — and bloody sore it was too.
Next, my landing gear's braking system got shot up, with further hits being felt in the starboard wing root, starboard tail and the port-inner engine — the latter of which then siezed up and died, just as we passed over Coincy. As if all of this wasn't bad enough, the bloody '88 was by then still with us, and still shooting away like we were the prize target of a visiting fair. Once more, my kite's starboard wing got hit; this time with damage sustained to the starboard wing — which was completely shot away!
By now we were over the Foret de Retz. F/Sgt White, then reported that he was lightly wounded — a few rounds had shot up his perspex, leaving him with a nicked forearm and a glancing blow to his temple — and as a result, was feeling very light-headed. An oxygen fire then erupted in the mid-section, and though this was duly put out, I decided that enough was enough. It was now only a matter of time before the '88 took us out from the sky, and without any defensive armament we were utterly at his mercy … So it was then I gave the order to bail-out.
From what I recall, the crew then left Lady-X in the prescribed order, with F/Sgt White my rear-gunner, going first, followed very closely by the F/Sgt Short, and then my Wireless Operator W/O Templar … After that it became touch muddled, as I was by then desperately trying to get the autopilot to function, which it eventually did, thus enabling me to evacuate my station, clip on my chute and making a hasty exit for the Bomb-Aimer's exit hatch.
The Station Commander nodded — "And thereafter," he asked, "What happened?"
I landed in the open, but close to a copse of woods. I buried my 'chute, then made a point of heading east, as fast as I dared, though addmitedly not an easy thing to do in the dark.
"Did you see any of the others who bailed out?" asked the Station Commander, "And why east?"
No, I'm sorry to say that I've seen no other crew member since bailing out of X. As for east, it's the last direction jerry would expect any airman to head. I opted to try and make for Switzerland, though thought it best to do as such utilizing woodland on the way as best I could. I spent the next three days covering ground on foot from dusk until dawn, and sought to shelter by day. I was lucky. I never encountered the enemy on foot, but did see them moving in vehicles from time to time, whilst sheltering close to roadsides. My efforts paid off on the fourth morning of my time spent evading jerry, when I came across a farmhand tending some crops. The farmhand; a young girl, who understandably dubious as to my credentials, but a reassurring smile told me that I was the in good hands, and by nighfall she had passed me onto anther fellow, who then got me safely into the hands of the local underground.
The M.I.9. Officer nodded.
"Yes. It was they who then contacted us," he remarked.
"We had a Lysander dropping an agent into the area in which F/O Green ended up, and the decision was made to have it touch down to ferry F/O Green secretly back." The Station Commander, nodded.
"Well Green, It's jolly good to have you back," remarked the Station Commander, approvingly.
"I'm afraid we have no further news on van der Boom or White, and you know about the others," added the Squadron Commander, cautiously, "However, we'll get you sorted out with a new kite, a.s.a.p, and have you back on op's in no time."
"On the point of the other two; F/O van der Boom and F/Sgt White, I've just had word that both made it to Switzerland, so they'll be ferried back as soon as possible, probably via mosquito — within a week or so. We have ways and means, as they say," he nodded, with a hint of a smile, "Ways and means …" ended, the M.I.9 Officer.
"Excellent news … That is, excellent news. Well now Green, as we're at it, be sure to have your batwoman sew on an extra hoop to either lapel," smiled the Station Commander, "After this sortie, I think it's the least you deserve, don't you, F/Lt Green."
Signed, F/Lt Green
Resuming post as Captain of Lancaster Berkshire Treat, as of
00:01hrs, 12th September, 1944.