Mission 106 night of 17/18th Oct. 1944
Target: Duisburg, Germany.
A. A. R. prepared and submitted by F. O. Bernard Keen
Apart from Holloway we all considered ourselves no longer rookies, as our American cousins would say. Five missions done, Duisburg the sixth, ahead.
Take-off 22. 00 hours.
Sky clear.
Could see "Thor's Hammer" and "Mischievous Kitten" on the taxi-way ahead. Okay from the tower and we throttled up.
Night was black with stars and moon standing out brilliantly. It was that fact that allowed us to be picked out by the search lights over the target, same as "Thor's Hammer." The shock waves of the exploding shells rocked us but nothing else. We flew on lining up for the drop. A ME109 came at us half heartedly. Made three attempts to hit us and got one; a slight impact to the starboard wing. Our shots went wide. Difficult in the darkness to get good aim.
The "Bombs away!" call came and we rose and started our turn. Bombadier reckoned his cluster was 20% on target judging by the time lapse and the mushroom detonations he observed.
Ray Hope, at the tail, called out he'd seen a bandit coming at us from below. He'd seen it limned against the red glow below. We heard his burst of fire but he didn't follow up with any good news. "He was all over the place," he complained.
Two more times he came at us. The result was that he neither hit us nor we him. We guessed it was the same plane by the manner of the pilot's maneuvering. Ahead we saw a couple of Jerry descending in flames, but not of our making. Guess was "Thor" or "Kitten" had struck.
Out of nowhere he came at us. We only knew about him as tracers went inches away along our starboard side. We watched him bank ahead and make a 12 level approach. Meeting at over 400mph our gunners tried but failed to score on this ME110. His shells nicked our tail.
"He's back here", shouted Ray. "I'll nail him this time," he promised. But his intentions were not fulfilled and instead shells ripped through the compartment and tore up part of Navigator Bernard Keen's oxygen. "I can still get air," he replied to my worried enquiry. "Keep us up with the others. I'll let you know if it gets too bad."
We flew on. Maintained altitude. Base soon showed up in the growing dawn. Landing with no trouble we grinned at each other as we headed for the de-brief and a well earned cuppa char.
Ground Crew Chief later informed me that he couldn't find more that a scratch and our Peckham was 12. Milk Run?