HEAVY BOMBING OF TOBRUK

Southland Times, Issue 24871, 10 October 1942, Page 5

HEAVY BOMBING OF TOBRUK

New Zealand Airmen Take Part (Official War Correspondent) DESERT AERODROME, October 8. When almost every night Royal Air Force bombers raid Tobruk there are many New Zealanders in the planes’ crews. They fly giant four-engined Halifaxes and the ever-faithful Wellingtons, carrying great bomb loads to disrupt the working of one of the enemy’s most useful supply harbours— Tobruk, next to Malta, is the most heavily bombed harbour in this part of the world. . On Monday night they participated as pilots, navigator or wireless operators in what was described in Cairo yesterday as an “attack on Tobruk in force.” To them it was just another trip on the “milk-run,” but it meant many weary hours in the air, with the constant menace of night-fighter attack and several minutes in the fiercest concentration of ack-ack fire amid the gleam of many searchlights. At a heavy bomber station calm, alert-looking men assembled for briefing a couple of hours before the takeoff, seating themselves on empty tailfin containers. They were told the targets—jetties and stores at Tobruk. I was taken to be fitted with a Mae West and parachute harness. The New Zealand pilot with whom I was making the trip was Flying Officer W. R. Kofoed, of Outram, Otago. Before the war he farmed on his own account, with never a thought of flying a plane. We had a meal and clambered into a truck with the rest of the .crew, two Scotsmen, two Englishmen and a Newfoundlander, and were driven to the machine. The pilots standing down wished us good luck. BREMEN RAID RECALLED The plane was a Halifax which Flying Officer Kofoed had flown in a 1000-bomber raid over Bremen and later to the Middle East. It was caught over Bremen in heavy flak, but made its home aerodrome with much, of its tail blown away. Many times since it has been over Tobruk. It was hot in the Mae West outfit and harness as we waited our turn for the take-off in the semi-darkness. The green light flashed in our direction and we were off. The roar of the engines penetrated the earphones, but conversation was easy. I moved clumsily to the co-pilot’s seat and watched the few twinkling lights on the ground. The navigator, working at a table below us, gave us our course and the pilot adjusted the compass and settled back in his seat. The great exhaust shone full of red-showering sparks as the hours passed. A few lights still showed on the ground. Many miles ahead lightning flashed vividly across the sky, sometimes forking in brilliant darts to the sea. We drank tea from a thermos flask and munched biscuits. The lightning and cloud came closer, but no one seemed worried. Soon we were in it. All the tremendous weight of the plane and bombs was like a feather to the elements. We were whisked up by a draught at the rate of 2000 feet a minute, to descend a few seconds later just as fast; The lightning showed in dulled flashes through the. enshrouding clouds and specks of rain pattered through joints in the cowling. TOBRUK’S DEFENCES

It’s the first time I have struck this out here,” said the pilot. We emerged to a starlit sky. Below us occasional flashes,of artillery fire marked the battlefront. It was colder and we used oxygen. The Tobruk ack-ack was firing when we were 30 to 40 miles away and searchlights pierced the sky, sometimes all converging above the centre of the harbour. It was not long before Tobruk showed as clear as in day-time under the light of dozens of flares as we circled round the fringe of ack-ack fire and probing searchlights. The jetties showed plainly against the dark sea. We sped on to drop our bombs. The searchlight beams picked out our wings, but did not follow us.. There was flak above, below, in front, at the sides and behind, but nothing could be heard above the roar of the engines. Our bombs were released—thousands of pounds of deadly steel. There were no bursts to be seen, but dust and smoke rose round the jetties. The rear-gunner reported on the flak. “They’re firing at us now, I think,” he said. “All right,” replied the pilot and swung the machine away to starboard. HEAVY BATTERY OPENS FIRE ' Below us a Wellington dashed on to bomb. It seemed perilously close to the many coloured light ack-ack. which patterned the lower levels. Around the outskirts of this amazing scene we flew until the last flare had died away. One by one the searchlights blinked out, but it was not alb over. Bright flashes from the ground were followed by bursts of flak around us. “Halloa, Eric is at us,” remarked the pilot in a matter-of-fact voice. “Eric” is the airmen’s name for a heavy battery near the harbour entrance. The battery was one of the first installed by the enemy and has been a consistent performer. We dived sharply, leaving the flak far above and behind. Monotonously the engines droned towards home. We drank tea, but only the pilot, navigator and engineer conversed. Great spurts of flame shot from the exhausts as the petrol tanks were switched over. There was no lightning this time—only stars and below a few stray lights. We landed gently, aided by a powerful light along the runway. We climbed out, tired,--but pleased. Then came an interrogation on the nights’ work, breakfast of bacon and eggs and to bed.