MIDNIGHT RUSH

Hauraki Plains Gazette, Volume 52, Issue 3281, 28 June 1943, Page 3

MIDNIGHT RUSH

AIR RAID WARNING FIGHTER PILOTS’ HOUR SWIFT ACTION IN TROPICS Midnight silence in the lighterpilots' crew-room is broken by the imperious summons of a telephone. The duty timekeeper, dozing on his cot beside the telephone, pushes a sleepy hand through his mosquito netting, and carries the receiver to his ear. A moment later he is out. into his hoots, and calling "Condition red" in a voice loud enough to wake any sleeper. He runs for the alarm horn. A couple of vigorous twirls of the handle send waves of sound echoing through 'the trees, and indignant bats, clustering in the palms, take off on silent, wings and circle, black against the moon. In the ground crews' readiness tent there is sudden bustle. Non-commis-sioned officers and men pile out of bed. pull on boots, and run through the vague paths that, lead to the revetments Each man has his job to do. The aircraft had their routine inspections only a few hours before, and as each team reaches its particular machine the familiar whine of inertia starters comes distinctly back to *h<> crew-room. One by one the big motor.: starts cough the night air from their lungs, and settle down to a rieady roar. Half-dressed airmen swarm over them for a last-minute cheek, and the man in charge of each aircraft looks back up the path for his particular pilot, ready to help him clip on parachute harness and to boost him from the coral on which the machine stands, on to the wing and into his seat. “Scramble Two Sections” Another phone call comes to the crew-room. It is the aircraft controller this time, and his words are crisp and precise. “Scramble two sections.” The timekeeper loses not a moment in repeating the message, and the first four pilots, in full war kit, take a final pull at their ciraget.tes and dive for the door. There are no lights. Inside the crew-room it. is pitch black and outside the light of the tropical moon conies fitfully through a break in the clouds. Lumbering along under the weight of Mae West life jackets, holsterbelt, revolver, waterbottle, knife and a dozen other small items of essential equipment, the pilots pull on helmets and ear phones and clip about their necks their throat microphones.

The pilot’s left hand reaches for the throttle, the big engine speaks up louder and louder, and the Kittyhawk comes out of her revetment and down the line to the end of the runway. Somebody among the ground staff tries to yell “Good luck,” and for his trouble gets a mouthful of coral dust. Over the radio comes permission to take off. The section leader talks briefly to his No. 2 man, the two Kittys head down the runway and the throttles are opened together. Streaks of flaming red particles of carbon follow the aircraft for the first few yards. The Kittyhawks are airborne in seconds, under-carriages fold, and the pilots go for height. From now on they are in the hands of the controllers, who direct their every move by radio telephony. Beyond Earshot Going aways for height, the pilots have flown their aircraft meyond earshot now. Waiting pilots walk to their machines, climb in, get out again and kick the coral with their flying boots. They are anxious to be off. Somebody starts his motor, runs her up, and the pilots start to run. “Condition green,” 'the timekeeper cheerfully reports, disappearing behind his net again. Somebody swears in the darkness. “What a war! Why can’t these Japs, come over and fight?” Then he wonders if he has “shot a line,” and is suddenly silent. With a whistling rush the first of the Kittyhawks comes into the circuit, navigation lights blink on, and the aircraft comes in to land. One after another they come down, taxi back into the revetments, and are covered by waiting crews. Pilots under their load of gear shuffle back to the crewroom. Somebody turns on the radio, and from an Australian station comes a throaty voice crooning about “Love under tropic stars.” From the nearest bed comes a snort of derision and a boot, expertly aimed, silences the singer. Outside, the moon peeps through again, and the bats, tired of their silent circling, cluster again in the palm trees.

Petrol Coupons Instructions have been issued to Transport Department inspectors not to press their demands on motorists for explanations as to where they have obtained petrol coupons. This was announced by the president. Mr A. Grayson. at a meeting of the North Island .Motor Union in Wellington. Resentment has been expressed by motorists at the nature of such inquiries in the past and conflicting legal dpinions have been given concerning the rights of inspectors to demand this information.