I was at 8,000 feet and still climbing in and out of gray soggy rain clouds. Below yawned a dark blue-gray void and somewhere at its bottom the sea. Suddenly an aircraft appeared out of the cloud above, going the other way. A Dornier 17! Through the miracle of radar we had met in a cloud.
I wheeled my Hurricane around, craning my head backward, my eyes riveted on the Dornier. It must not escape. My only hope of not being spotted was to keep directly underneath, stalking and climbing until I could draw level astern and in range. It was my only hope of getting in a decisive burst of fire before being seen.
The going was bad that morning. I felt enormously visible and could only dimly see the Dornier through my rain-washed windscreen. I opened up the hood and slanted my head out into the battering slipstream. It helped a bit. Another hundred yards and I would have to risk a pot shot.
After leaving Arras-St. Leger, Dornier Gustav Marie headed out over the North Sea, toward England. "The nearer we came to the English coast," said Werner Borner, "the lower the clouds. Heavy rain pattered on the cabin windows. There was no 'trade' to be seen." All the same, Werner Borner was keeping a sharp lookout. He had the best view astern, and the lives of his crew depended on him.
Then through a break in the cloud he saw the English coast. "Looks a bit like Schleswig-Holstein," said someone. Another voice on the intercom complained, "What a bind having to fly in weather like this." They were forbidden to bomb the mainland by day. Vaguely they had heard that it was to avoid upsetting the Fuehrer's peace plans. But they flew inland for some "aerial sightseeing."
Over Lowestoft, Gonzow decided to bomb the shipping lying in the horbor. Feldwebel Lohrer opened the bomb doors and down went ten 100-pound bombs. Then Gonzow turned Gustav Marie south for home and the whole crew began singing, "Goodbye Johnny . . ." They were still singing a few minutes later when there came a yell in the intercom of "Achtung, Jaeger!" Werner Borner had seen me.
He grabbed his MG 15 and opened fire. His bright red tracer came darting toward me and I remember thinking, "It's too early to fire." I had to get closer. Then I pressed the tit and things warmed up inside the Dornier. "Pieces of metal and other fragments were flying everywhere," said Werner. One of the ammunition drums was hit and bounced onto Werner's knees. Then Leutnant Bernschein, on the starboard rear gun, was hit in the head and fell onto the floor of the cabin. A second later Feldwebel Lohrer collapsed on top of him, wounded in the head and throat. Blood was everywhere.
Only Werner was left to shoot it out with me. As he reached for a new drum of ammunition there was a violent explosion just above his head, and he saw three fragments whip past pilot Gonzow's head, missing it by a fraction and smashing the windscreen. Unscathed, Gonzow flew on but Werner now felt blood trickling down his cheeks. "I took no notice--things were too hot. With a last effort I shot at the Hurricane, which was so close I could see the pilot. I shall never forget that sight of yellow-orange flashes from its guns crisscrossing with the incendiary and tracer from my own guns--all of it silhouetted against a ghostly-looking bank of dark thunderclouds. Then my gun was knocked out of my hands."
But not before Borner had used it to good effect. I was still firing when suddenly there was a bright orange explosion in the cockpit in front of me. I suppose I must have kept firing a second longer--those last bullets knocked Borner's gun from his hands. When I borke away Borner saw my Hurricane diving down, trailing a plume of black smoke. A moment later Gustav Marie was swallowed up in the clouds.
The cabin of the Dornier was a shambles. "bits and pieces everywhere, blood-covered faces, the smell of cordite, all windoes shot up. There were hits everywhere: in the wings, in the fuselage, and in the engine. But what a surprise: no one was really seriously wounded and our good old Gustav Marie was still flying!"
That was more than could be said for my Hurricane VY-K. The engine was hit. Powerless, I could only glide down through the rain clouds. I called Kiwi One, the ground station: "Wagon leader calling. Am hit and bailing out in the sea. One, two, three, four, five. Take a fix if you can." Then I was clear of cloud and the sea opened up below--twenty miles to England, two hundred to the other side. Not a ship in sight. Peering below, I banked my airplane steeply to left and to right. Then below my right wing a little ship appeared. It looked like a toy, as if someone had put it there at that moment.
--from 'Duel of Eagles' by Peter Townsend
One of the best books I've ever read.
anRky
