BEAUFIGHTER "WRATH"

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 05, Issue 68, 22 June 1942, Page 6

BEAUFIGHTER "WRATH"

DESERT SWOOP AT 15 FEET Cordon Gaskill gives a vivid description of his experiences in a Beaufightcr during a raid over Libya like "a low-flying ghost skimming the desert sands" at 15 feet, its 10 guns blasting the enemy. The Italians call the Beaufightcr the "Wrath of Cod,'" and the Italians should know. I' think it is the most beautiful but one of the most murderous planes that ever flew the heavens. It's an all-metal monoplane with twin 1500 h.p. engines. It's one of the fastest in the Mideast —well over 300 miles an hour. Heavy armour plating turns the machine gun bullets. Above all the guns arc unbelievably powerful. There's a small button on the wheel, just under the pilot's thumb. When you touch it six machine guns and four cannons spit out a solid sheet of death—irresistible as lightning. A dense tangle of barbed wire separates Egypt from Libya. Oncc across it our Beaufightcrs went into their unique and terrible battle positions. Bertie( our young Commander) looked back at the other three planes wagged his Avings, and edged the stick forward. The plane darted toward the earth. I could distinguish every pebble when wc finally levelled off not more than 15 feet above the ground. We flew at that height, and often lower. the entire time we were in enemy territory. Hypnotic When flying so low we were aL most invisible. An enemy plane above us probably would never see us. Our camouflage melted perfectly into the <10801-1. Wc hugged the ground so closely that the rolling hills hid us from ground observers. Flying so- low no enemy fighters could get beneath us, and tliev were afraid to give at us for fear of hitting the ground. We flew at enormous speed and still the throttles were not wide open. It Avas breath-taking and fantistically dangerous. To a pilot flying so fast and so low the desert has a hypnotic effect that numbs his judgment. It is easy to drop loAver and loAver by inches, then by feet, until you fly into the ground. SeA-eral pilots haA T e done that. Others haA'e torn ofT their AA'ing tips on telephone poles. The merest wrong touch means instant death. Now I understand Avhat the other pilots meant when they told me: "Punch Bertie in the ribs every once in a Avhilc to Avake him up." We dipped doAvn into each valley and lifted just in time to clear the next ridge and dip again. Always 15 feet -up. Once avc shot over a herd of camels grazing in the desert brush. They didn't even look up as avc approached, because, by some devilish miracle of engineering, you can't hear a Bcaufighter coming towards yoil. All the noise goes out the rear, and you don't hear a sound until it is dirccth' on top of you. Then it's too late. Camels fled in terror only when Ave nearly sheared them. The Blockhouse We came, at last, to an arm of the sea. Our target Avas only ten minutes away. In the alleyway behind me the sergeant had been fitting drums of shells into our cannons. He closed bulletproof steel doors at my back. Bertie turned the firing knob on the Avheel so that it now read 'Fire ' instead of 'Safe.' He Avas just in time. Suddenly, on the left, Ave saw an Italian blockhouse, a sort of tiny fort. We had nc\*er meant to approach it, but it Avas too late now to hide. We couldn't risk ha\'ing a Avarning H-',I . The Beans Ave re Avheel ing sharply towards the blockhouse. Bertie's blue eyes, Avhich a few months ago. were scanning columns of figures, were iioav pressed to sights. His hands were ready at the firing button . Puffs of smoke broke out from the blockhouse. They'd seen us. but Ave never saw their shells. All 1113- instincts cried out foe greater speed, but Bertie didn't touch the throttle. If Ave fIeAV too fast our fire would be too Avidely spaced on the ground. It wouldn't do enough damage. Bertie eased the stick back and we shot lip to 200 feet. Then he put the nose doAvn gently and Ave came diA'ing in at the blockhouse. He touched the firing button. Be-

clearing his. throat. A solid sheet of death spat from our four cannons and six guns. Our 1 fire ploughed up the earth. A cloud of choking powder smoke swept through the plane. The royal flag of Italy was flying serenely from a staff. On the ground a man was running for safety to the blockhouse. He never got there. Discarded Doll I saw his white face turned up, and I could imagine how terror bubbled up within him as he saw for the last time in his life the "Wrath of God" upon him, swift and inexorable as doom. I saw our bullets march towards and over him, and I saw liim lying motionless on the ground like a discarded doll as we roared over him. Our shells marched up to the blockhouse, where they were still firing at us. Sixteen cannon and 24 machine guns of the four Beaus tore at the white walls. The firing ceased. Bertie gunned the engine. The plane leaped forward as Ave fled away. Barely in time, lie jerked back the stick to clear the hill beyond the blockhouse. We were sure no one now would give the alarm. We sped on. We crossed two more ridges, and there, dead ahead, was the aerodrome, with tents shining white in the sunlight. We banked sharply and stole awajr to the east, following a concealing valley up to the very edge of the drome. Once again we darted up to 200 feet. Once again Ave nosed doAvn. Once again Bertie touched the firing button - The Germans and Italians on the ground never heard us coming. They never had a chance. I saw about eight of them lounging about the tent, and aa t c left them still lounging—in death. Our shots fell just to the right of a large truckful of men. They began running, but the Beaufighters on our left cut them down. The truck burst into flames and overturned . We Averc nearly past the drome noAA". We saw on the ground the bones of planes already destroyed, for Beaufighters had been here before . In Flame Away from the drome the four of us banked and again sharply and beautifully to the left, like lazy birds, and headed back again. This time they Avere better pre-pared-for us. I saAv a gunner on the side of a plateau Avith a machine gun, and his tracer bullets spat up at us. A bullet smashed against the wind shield, 18 inches from my face. Thank God, it Avas bullet-proof. The pilot tapped the button lightly and the man Avith the machine gun fell doAvn. I do not think he saAv our Avings or heard our thunder as Ave flashed o\-er him. Noav avc Avere oA r er the aerodrome again, and again our guns belched out death irresistible. Bullets and incendiary shells, explosive and solid. Three grounded planes—tAvo German and one Italian —were destroyed . The tents Avere cut to ribbons. A gasoline truck vanished, in a spurt of flame. A column of black smoke spread and began rising. We fled for home then, our throttles avklc open, darting back into the valley for safctj r . They followed us Avith guns, and we saw tracers smoking OA r er and under us. Some hit us, avc found; I later, but did no damage. A Beau-] fighter can take it. j I looked out and back to see how] the flight had fared. The other three were there, safe and beautiful, one on the right, two on the left. We skipped oA'er rude Italian fortifications built into dill's and wadis. all apparently untenanted. In all the GOO miles of Libya, except for the blockhouse and airdrome, Ave neA'er saw a soul. Only the desert —barren, cold and lifeless, like the face of the moon. We were in high spirits. The Beau on our left pulled up even and the pilot Avaved the thumbs-up .sign. We waved back the same.