COMBAT AND COMPETITION.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

COMBAT AND COMPETITION
for manoeuvring, was still there. Almost as important, something
which I had not recognised previously, the need to adjust to its greater
inherent stability. Given time to know it better - nothing would have
been more satisfying than a chance to fly a Mustang IV on one of its
deep penetration missions.
By the time the weather improved our troops were across the Rhine
in force and moving fast. One thrust had swung southwards to cut off
the Ruhr and another was driving towards the north German plain,
threatening to trap the enemy forces in Holland.
Time to find out what the Huns were up to. Perhaps we might even
catch them on the roads again. 'B' Flight went first. Jimmy Simpson
and I, each with a number two, followed soon afterwards.
Near Hengelo, accompanied by Bob Waldron, I caught a long
convoy struggling eastward and we started several fires amongst the
trucks. Back at base, comparing notes with Jimmy, whilst our aircraft
were being rearmed and refuelled, it seemed a good idea to have
another go at them before dark. Ideally we would have carried
phosphorous incendiaries on all four aircraft, but there was no time
for that, and only Waldron's was bombed up.
Airborne again I found myself prey to conflicting emotions.
Satisfaction at catching the enemy out in the open again. Concern in
the knowledge that we had never before cut it so fine in terms of
daylight. And an uneasy feeling that I had encouraged Jimmy, one of
the few among us who was married, to fly an extra sortie at the very
end of his tour.
The light was going fast when we got to the scene and the convoy,
marked here and there by fires still burning from the previous attack,
was nearly invisible. Our cannon shells sparkled brilliantly in the
gloom, and Bob Waldron's incendiaries spread themselves across the
road in a scintillating carpet, but it was too dark to see anything else.
On the way home we headed into the setting sun. Down below the
land had become indistinct. Not a light to be seen. Farms and villages
lost in the purple darkness. But we flew on in sunshine, aircraft
burnished with light, each propeller a disc of shimmering gold. Up
here was warmth and life. We could go on forever. A few spans away
the rugged shape of Jimmy's Typhoon hung motionless in the sky, his
head hunched forward in familiar silhouette, and I experienced a sharp
sense of loss. For this would be our last op together.
The demand for forward obliques came thick and fast. Catching up
on some of the recent Wing shows was high priority. On one, which
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