COMBAT AND COMPETITION.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

CHAPTER SIX DYING REICH
and the Wing was on its way, squadron by squadron, back to the world
of close support and the start line of the first spring offensive.
The day was unseasonably mild with difficult flying weather. On
the first op our target was obscured by cloud. As the Squadron orbited
I spotted two Spitfire XIVs beating up an adjacent enemy position and
Toddy chose to attack it instead. The result was impressive and quite
unexpected. A massive explosion surrounded by ever expanding
concussion rings as the pressure waves tore at the moist air.
Approaching Mill and a layer of stratus was already spreading
rapidly across the unfamiliar airfield. The circuit was full of aircraft,
trying to get down as fast as possible, and the last few unfortunates
were reduced to groping around at less than three hundred feet before
it clamped completely.
By midday conditions had improved sufficiently for an attempt at
blind bombing, creeping up through a gap in the overcast and setting
course to the north east. In tight formation - sections in finger four -
dangerously silhouetted against the cloud below as we responded to the
controller's instructions:
"This is Cosycot, steer zero six zero..... port five degrees.....
steady..... thirty seconds to go..... twenty seconds..... ten seconds.....
five..... four..... three..... two..... one..... zero!"
Bombs gone, and nothing to see. No cannon fire, no flak, no
explosions down below. Just a solid layer of cloud. To a man we
disliked it intensely and doubted its value. But Group and the Army
seemed happy enough. Who, we wondered, was kidding who?
Late on the same afternoon the sky cleared completely and we were
briefed for a Wing show against the northern hinge of the enemy line.
Overlooking two great rivers, with the Reichswald forest screening its
southern flank, the Matterborn feature looked almost impregnable. A
fortress guarding the heart of Germany.
Now, it was under siege. The red roofed hamlets and dark patches
of woodland, were being subjected to a massive artillery
bombardment. Fire and flame wreathed the landscape. The smoke of
battle rose high in the air and the approach roads were crowded with
advancing Allied columns as we had not seen them since the heady
days of Falaise. As we dived on the camouflaged positions, and the
defences responded with a violent barrage of light flak, it was evident
that the winter stalemate on the northern sector was over at last.
That night, long after we turned in, I caught the pulse jet
resonance of an approaching VI and wakened to utter silence. A
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