COMBAT AND COMPETITION.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

COMBAT AND COMPETITION
from the shadows far below. A picturesque almost alpine scene -
wooded heights, tortuous winding roads and a deep gorge - bathed in
brilliant sunshine. And there the similarity ended. Where the village
had once been was just a vague cruciform shape, its outline merging
into a sea of rubble. A charnel house of pulverised limestone and
flickering fires where a Panzer unit had dug in its tanks and guns.
An umbrella of white shell bursts formed over the ruins, a lethal,
seemingly impenetrable, screen. Then the diving aircraft were through
and still unscathed - cannon smoke trailing down the sky - each pilot
conscious of the tracer rising lazily upwards and accelerating violently
towards him, willing himself to press home his attack.
Bombs gone. Moments later they erupted across the target area.
There was an angry red explosion - and a new and violent fire began
to rage amongst the wreckage. The enemy gunners redoubled their
efforts and the air was torn by a maelstrom of flak. The dark cloud
base, low above our heads, tilted crazily as we weaved and jinked in
the gloom trying to evade the glowing, deadly, firefly streams. And
time stood still.
Then, suddenly, it was all over and we were back in sunlight,
climbing hard, moving into battle formation and setting course for
home.
The I.O. 2 was waiting, pacing up and down, as the aircraft taxied
in. A typical academic, with steel rimmed spectacles and a map tightly
rolled under his arm, he must have found our light hearted banter
difficult to accept. Yet he listened patiently enough and quietly
inserted his questions.
"So it had been ABTA 3 ? - and with what results.....?
"What else had we seen.....? and the flak.....?"
That was our cue - and we responded as always with a touch of the
Noel Coward's - brave and ever so slightly effeminate:
"The flak Gwyn! My dear the flak!..... and the noise!..... and the
people!....."
And somehow honour was satisfied, even if we said it too often in
those far off days, for only those who had been there knew what it
was really like.
Time to spare a thought for the Canadians working their way up
the escarpment against those dug in tanks, and the superb panzerfaust
and infantry firepower of the German Army. Would that we had hit
the defenders really hard. As for us, driving back to our tents in the
orchard, less than a mile from the sea, there was a passing moment of