COMBAT AND COMPETITION.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

COMBAT AND COMPETITION
a country lane frantically seeking cover. Caught by a burst of cannon
fire it stopped abruptly in the entrance to a large field. I looked back
and there tucked in around the perimeter were the wagon lines of an
enemy transport unit:
"More targets under the trees Bassett Leader! and Jimmy Simpson,
encouraging: "Roger Dave, lead us in."
Cannon shells scythed amongst them and there were rearing horses,
falling horses, dying and panic stricken horses, absolute chaos. The
field was in the bottom of an awkward hollow and I hung on too long
with my second burst and almost mushed in. Pulling up rather shaken
as Felix Cryderman came through on the radio - loud and very upset:
"You bastards can do what you like - I'm not attacking no more
horses today - or any other f****ing day!"
And Jimmy, calm and understanding:
"OK Black Three - stand off and watch our backs."
Moments later we had reduced another enemy unit to absolute
ruin. But who could take pride in such a massacre of defenceless
animals. For Felix, the Canadian lumberjack, who had lived and
worked with horses all his life, it must have been hell. Yet the German
Army depended on them and it was our job to destroy their transport.
Jimmy's voice again - flat and deliberately unemotional:
"That's enough chaps. Time to go home. Bassett Leader setting
course."
All was peaceful as we passed low over the chalk cliffs, keeping
well clear of Boulogne, before climbing out over the sea. The late
afternoon sun gleamed on our canopies and reflected across the water.
Dungeness looked as if you could reach out and touch it.
There was only one salvo, but it was enough. The familiar oily
bursts blossomed right across the formation. Several aircraft were
damaged and Jimmy s Typhoon began to stream glycol. The heavy
batteries at Boulogne must have been tracking us from the moment we
settled into the climb and had fired with great accuracy. Jimmy
sweated it out, as his coolant slowly drained, and we tucked in beside
him, hardly daring to breathe. But his engine kept going and he made
it back to Mansion and a normal landing.
We were inside the nearest local within minutes of opening time.
The beer tasted splendid. Just what was needed to wash away the dust
and stink of Normandy and drown the images of those dead and dying
horses. It was a long and boozy session.
Shortly afterwards long range tanks, and round trips via Mansion,
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