AIR RAIDS IN DESERT

Southland Times, Issue 24872, 12 October 1942, Page 2

AIR RAIDS IN DESERT

ATTACKS BY STUKAS (Written for The Southland Times) (By N.E.P.) WESTERN DESERT, August 10. In the desert planes are not easily distinguishable, particularly with the glare of the sand and the sun. It is the same story with every raid. The moment hostile aircraft is recognized tin hats are donned smartly; troops everywhere take cover; anti-aircraft batteries jump into action; tracer shells fly skywards; black and white puffs of smoke litter the sky as the shells explode and the shark-like forms, usually twisting, turning, diving and screaming, can be recognized as Stukas. You wonder what area their target is in, and there is some fascination about watching a stick of bombs come down —particularly when you know they are going to land a mile or two away.' In spite of the ack-ack fire the Stukas continue on; some may dive on their target, but the majority do not, as the ack-ack worries them. Bombs are dropped; the ground seems to tremble, and smoke, dust and sometimes flames are left in their wake. The bombers pass on; on all sides forms emerge from slit trenches; everything is quiet; ackack gunners breathe a sigh of relief, but they have done a good job. Eyes are turned to the area bombed, but when the dust settles the damage is usually\found to be slight, while there may be a few injured. Almost before the bombers are out of sight ambulances are going out to the scene—most of the drivers being Americans who have been attached to us for some months. Everyone proceeds about his work as though nothing had happened —the bombers are forgotten as quickly as they appear. DOG FIGHTS IN AIR It is not always the same story and there is nothing more interesting than to see our fighter patrols break up a party of bombers, as they so often do. The Huns then drop their bombs at random and make off post haste. Dog fights in the air have been every-day occurrences and it is a great thrill to see an enemy plane crash to the ground in flames, as so many have done, but to see one of our own planes come down is rather sickening. Sometimes enemy aircraft are over our areas at night and flares which light up the whole countryside are dropped. It is an eerie business, but with many of our own planes about at night there is plenty of confidence. During the last few weeks we have hardly seen an Italian or German plane of any description—the R.A.F. seems to have wiped them from the skies. While we may have had a few Stuka raids daily for a start, the Huns have had to put up with a great deal more, and judging by the presence of so many of our own aircraft about they are still putting up with them. ( A STRANGE SETTING The only time of the day when it is possible to write is in the cool of the evening just before sunset. With no moon these nights—a fact we have learned to appreciate—darkness sets in very quickly. As I am writing this the sun is setting like a ball of fire. In the same direction are the Huns and Italians. It is an unusual setting. Against the brilliance of the sunset—one of the few redeeming features‘of the Eastnumerous columns of black smoke can be seen. It is certainly in enemy territory and as our artillery is blazing away fiercely it looks as though they have been on their, targets. At this moment Italians and Germans are probably making the most of their slit trenches as I have had to do more than once. Planes are everywhere overhead, but no one is disturbed and our ack-ack has not opened up, so they must be our own. In the distance machine-guns can be heard; tanks of all makes and shapes are running backwards and forwards; the flashes of our artillery can be seen all around us. On a ridge about 300 yards away enemy artillery has opened up. It is an ineffective effort as the majority of the shells sent over so far have been “duds.” COOL NIGHTS In spite of the warm days the nights are decidedly ,cool. We sleep beside and around our vehicles. The sand always provides a comfortable bed. In the morning there is always a heavy film of dew; the. top blanket becomes damp, but it will dry out during the day. When we wake our hair is quite wet with the dew. We are up long before the sun; dawn can be a dangerous hour, but day breaks in the desert as quickly as night falls. In many ways it does not seem like a war. We receive our mail as soon as it arrives in the country; newspapers are brought up each day; four tins of beer per man per week can be bought, and our rations have been exceptionally good. Before we left Matruh a Naafi canteen was thrown open for everyone to help himself. Tinned fruit, sausages, milk and such like were distributed by the case. It certainly helped the ration question in the weeks that were to follow. On the truck on which I travel we have had sausages for breakfast for 29 mornings on end—not a bad record and quite a treat for a desert diet. The question of monotony does not come into this life. Water has been reasonably plentiful, whereas in tire desert it is usually scarce. We are certainly reaping the benefit of short lines of communication! Even leave to Alexandria may be had these days. Life in that city goes on the same as ever. Beaches are crowded; racing and sporting fixtures largely attended—all within earshot of the battle front less than 100 miles away. Artillery fire can be heard in Alexandria, yet people proceed about their ways as though nothing had happened or was likely to. At night it is quite different in the city and wailing air-raid, sirens are almost continuous. (Concluded.)