Posted this on another board, figured it was worth repeating here:
Many of you will have heard of or read Heinz Knoke’s “I Flew for the Fuehrer”. One of the incidents he relates is his victory over a Mosquito on 6 November, 1942. The book was written some years after the war ended, and Knoke was going by memory. Problem with his story is, no Mosquito was lost that day, nor were any even flying in the area. Further problem is, he remembers “his” having been one of two which had been over Berlin that day – that didn’t happen. Mossies made an attempt on Berlin on 19 September ’42, one claiming to have bombed through cloud, then didn’t go back again until the end of January, to disrupt speeches by Goering and Goebbels.
It’s clear Knoke mixes the story of the January raid with his own encounter, as demonstrated by his recollection of a conversation with Goering later on in the book (see below).
So, whatever he attacked on 6 November ’42, it wasn’t a Mosquito. So, what was it then? Turns out a Wellington of the Alouette Squadron was attacked in the same area, at the same time, and in the same circumstances Knoke describes. It was on a raid to Wilhelmshaven, and despite the damage inflicted by the Luftwaffe fighters, escaped, went on to bomb, and returned to its base.
So, in short, Knoke’s “Mosquito” wasn’t a Mosquito, and he didn’t shoot it down.
I’ve attached the Wellington’s combat report and the relevant excerpts from the book, including Knoke’s exchange with Goering – the speech the latter was to deliver, which was disrupted by Mossies on 30 January 1943, was a combination of “Celebrating 10 Years of the NSDAP in Power” and “The Funeral Oration of 6th Army”. Note that UK and German time were identical on this date – Knoke says he spots the “Mosquito” at 13:47, Wellington reports seeing the fighters at 13:50.
Wellington’s Report from AIR 50/298
Book excerpts:
6th November 1942
1200 : from Division Headquarters comes a report of two Mosquitoes approaching. At the same moment there is a ring at my telephone. Lieutenant Kramer, our Fighter Control Officer at Division, calls to ask if I can fly in the bad weather.
I reply in the negative. Cloud ceiling is down to 100 feet, and visibility is impossible. I cannot even see across to the other side of the airfield.
“Sorry Kramer, it cannot be done. Anyway, in this sort of muck the two Tommies will come down on their snouts without our help.”
For several hours it has been raining – a steady, persistent drizzle. The pilots sit around, playing cards or writing letters home, or lie sleeping on camp-cots in the next room.
I plot the progress of the Mosquitoes from the position reports as they come in. They actually fly inland over the heart of the Reich. Inside of an hour they are reported to be over Berlin, and our flak opens up on them. Those lads must have guts all right. Weather like this makes flying anything but a picnic.
The telephone rings again.
“No. 5 Flight; Lieutenant Knoke here.”
The call this time is from Colonel Henschel, commanding fighter defences in the North Sea coastal area.
“How is the weather at your end, Knoke?”
“Just as bad as it can be, sir. I can only see for a few yards.”
“Knoke, you will have to fly, and that is all there is to it. I have just had a telephone call from Reich-Marshal Goering. He is in one of his rages. Why are we not in the air? The weather is too bad for us to fly, yet those confounded Tommies can get over Berlin. Do you imagine I would tell that to the Reich-Marshal? Those Mosquitoes are to be shot down at all costs. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which of your pilots are you going to send?”
“Flight Sergeant Wenneckers and myself, sir.”
“Very well – and the best of luck to you!”
“Thank you, sir.”
Wenneckers and I are the only pilots in the Wing with experience in blind flying. This is not the first time that we have set off together in dirty weather.
Take-off 1330 hours.
I can hardly see anything ahead. This blasted rain! Keeping down low, we hurtle over roof-tops, trees and power lines. Radio reception from the ground is good. Lieutenant Kramer directs me.
The Tommies are heading north-west over the Bremen area. From past experience they may be expected to cross the East Friesian Islands.
I head for the coast. The weather over the sea is not any better.
The most recent report gives the position of the Mosquitoes as map reference sector Bertha-Quelle-eight, on course three-one-five. At any moment now we may sight the bastards, if we keep our eyes peeled. If only it would stop raining! We have to concentrate our attention on not running into some obstruction.
Time: 1347 hours.
I am unable to see anything at all ahead. It is maddening. Base calls: “You should see them now. Try a little to the left.”
I do not answer. For a shadow suddenly looms out of the greyness ahead. It is a Mosquito.
He has spotted me also, and whips around to the left in a vertical bank, almost dipping his wing-tip in the sea. Now he twists round to the right. The he dodges to the left again.
“No, no, my friend, it is not such a simple matter to shake off Knoke. Every time he turns I fire in front of his nose.
We are flying low, very low, heading out over the open sea now. My Tommy leaves a faint trail of smoke. At full throttle he follows a steady course of three-two-zero. He moves at such a blasted high speed. But my good Gustav is just able to maintain the pace. I stay on his tail. Wenneckers gradually falls behind. The terrific speed is too high for his plane.
I want to fire at only the closest possible range, and hence try to close the gap between us. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, I draw nearer to my opponent. I shut the radiator flaps, and the range closes to 150 feet. He is squarely in my sights.
“Fire, Knoke, fire – NOW!”
I press both firing-buttons. The burst catches him in the left engine. The plane is constructed of wood. The wing goes up in flames at once and shears off at the root. A few seconds later on De Havilland Mosquito vanishes into the depths of the North Sea.
That was my third.
Nothing but a sludge of oil is left on the surface. I mop the sweat from my face.
Göring asks about the enemy aircraft I have shot down. He is particularly interested in my first Mosquito last year. He well remembers the occasion. In his opinion, the Mosquito aircraft is nothing but an infernal nuisance and pain in the neck. He reiterates this with emphasis. The two which raided Berlin then caused him particular annoyance because he was starting an important public speech at the time, and had been forced to postpone it for two hours on account of the raid.
