NIGHT RAID

Wairarapa Times-Age, 27 September 1943, Page 7

NIGHT RAID

ATTACK ON SOLOMONS ENEMY OVER GUADALCANAL. INJURIES AMONG NEW ZEALANDERS PRACTICALLY NIL. (Official Correspondent Guadalcanal.) New Zealand airmen on Guadalcanal are, for the most part, now thoroughly used to enemy air raids. Some of the older inhabitants, who have been experiencing raids at the rate of perhaps half a dozen to 10 a month, are so used to the wailing siren that, no matter what hour the attack may occur, they arrive promptly in the shelters, complete with steel helmet and respirator, but with a minimum of fuss and confusion. There is comfort in the healthy roar of the night fighters that take off from nearby fields to intercept the raiders. The slim outline can be easily distinguished as the fighters, go aloft, and every man’s hopes go with them,. for these single-seaters have an enviable number of enemy night-raiders to their credit. . , From somewhere in the night sky, so distant that it is vaguely sensed rather than heard, comes the typical beat of the enemy’s deliberately unsynchronised motors. Searchlights send their fingers groping for the Japanese, and their violet brilliance makes even the moon look pale. The beams sweep to and fro over one particular patch of sky, and then steady, in a pyramid of light, with the raider, like a silver moth, impaled on their tip. Anti-aircraft guns go into action with ian ear-splitting crack. Men duck instinctively as they hear the shells whistling up, and then watch the burst. They cannot help a reluctant admiration of the enemy pilot's impertinence, for often he will fly straight through a barrage. Sometimes the guns turn him back and it becomes a race between the target and the searchlights, as he speeds for safely in the dark. New Zealanders have seen, on several occasions, a raider break through a barrage, and have wondered why the guns have suddenly stopped. They have listened for the whistle of falling bombs, and have heard instead the surging rush of the night-fighter, closing for the kill. The raider shows clearly, firmly held by the searchlights, and a spurt of tracer, bright red against the black sky, tells that the American pilot is within range. Burst after burst is pumped into the raider, and spontaneous yells of delight come from a thousand foxholes as a growing flare tells that another Japanese bomber will not be going home. Not all the raiders are shot down. The New Zealanders have heard the warning swish of bombs, have felt the earth shake, and have seen a great curtain of fire rise from the ground as heavy bombs have struck. They have seen, and heard, dive-bombers. They have seen Zeros, ground strafing, low enough to ruffle the coconut palms with the wind of their passing; but injuries among Dominion personnel have been practically nil.