COMBAT AND COMPETITION.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

CHAPTER FIVE WINTER IN FLANDERS
out against a covering of white. The landscape looked flatter, more
vulnerable than ever to the whims of its conquerors who might
inundate it again at any time. Snow storms stalked the leaden skies
creating worlds of dazzling blindness.
This seasonal weather brought with it other, more significant,
changes. The Luftwaffe began to appear again in increasing numbers.
And suddenly, incredibly, the Hun was on the offensive, pushing
forward with armour through the Eifel and into the Ardennes. On
Tommy's map in Ops the enemy spearheads, and the bulge in the bomb
line towards the Meuse, began to look distinctly ominous and there was
even talk of a breakthrough from Liege towards Antwerp.
For the present General Winter seemed firmly on von Rundstedt's
side, and the Allied Air Forces were grounded for days on end,
allowing the German columns to move forward unimpeded. Our new
Wing Leader, encouraged by the way in which the weather often
seemed to improve after dark, began to consider night intrusion. When
a Ju 88 over Deurne illuminated an American convoy, and shot it up,
his enthusiasm knew no bounds.
The idea was hardly new, but the thought of ranging around those
dreaded polders, in the darkness and the dead of winter, did not
appeal. It became even less attractive when I found myself on the
Wingco's short list. Then came the German paratroop rumour and
night intrusion seemed like the lesser of two evils!
It started with a 266 show against Deelen airfield to the north of
Arnhem. The place was said to be full of troop transports preparing
for an airdrop on Deurne. Strategically, as part of a concerted plan to
link up with the armoured drive westwards from Liege, and assuming
that the Germans still had the resources, it made good sense.
266 returned from Deelen empty handed. But the rumours
intensified. The Ju52s were definitely there, too well camouflaged to
be seen, and the woods around were swarming with troops. These
veterans of Emaal Eben, and Crete, fanatical battle hardened troops
who had fought in the snows of Russia and hung on for months in the
ruins of Monte Cassino, would be dropping in to beat up the pilots
tonight - and if not tonight, maybe tomorrow night, or the night after.
We set up every conceivable kind of booby trap and retired to bed,
fully dressed, pistols at the ready. Visions of coal scuttle helmeted
giants, armed to the teeth with machine pistols and potato masher
grenades, disturbed our sleep. Came the dawn, and Goss the batman
trying to revive us with his mugs of hot sweet tea, but we were flaked
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