Aircrew: The Story of the Men Who Flew the Bombers Read Free

forced on Bomber Command. It was vital to conserve the small number of bombers and the limited supply of crews then on squadron strength. It was difficult to gauge when the full Nazi onslaught in the West would begin, or exactly what form it would take.
    If the Wehrmacht marched against France, every bomber the RAF possessed would be needed to harry the enemy’s lines of communication. Or, should the Luftwaffe engage in an all-out bombing offensive against Britain, then plans were ready to strike at German airfields and supply depots. Schemes to destroy industrial centres, oil refineries and storage facilities had also been worked out in detail.
    Meanwhile, by the turn of the year Hampdens and Wellingtons were joining the night-flying Whitleys on ‘Bumphleteering’ raids, as the crews called them. At least the airmen were gaining experience in flying over enemy territory in the dark. Navigation was based on ‘dead reckoning’, radio ‘fixes’ when not too far from base, and, on moonlit nights, observation of ground features such as lakes, rivers and coastal landmarks. In addition it was sometimes possible to take ‘star shots’ with the sextant, a time-honoured aid to navigation at sea, but only of limited value in the air because of problems caused by the speed and motion of the aircraft.
    On pitch black nights, in freezing temperatures, it was a case of ‘dead reckoning’, working out
in theory
just where you were by making use of forecast winds, and
nothing
else. As likely as not, even the radio would be out of action, its aerial a useless icicle. Yet even these crude facilities were usually sufficient to get a crew somewhere over Germany and back again to England on a ‘bumph chucking’ trip. Exactly where the leaflets fell was not critical. Later, when specific targets for bombing raids had to be located, it was another matter. Then, and only after a long period of self-delusion by Bomber Command, did the gross inaccuracies of nighttime navigation across Europe become shatteringly obvious.
    It was no fault of the men who flew those early missions that aircraft so often failed to reach their targets. With the lack of direction-finding aids it was rather like, as one navigator put it, ‘sitting in a freezing cold stair cupboard with the door shut andthe Hoover running and trying to do calculus.’ Never in the history of war was a man called upon to carry out such complicated calculations in the midst of battle.
    When I flew in bombers as a wireless operator I was able to observe at close quarters the unimaginable stress under which a navigator worked for long periods of time. He had to maintain an almost superhuman detachment, even when the enemy was doing his best to destroy the aircraft in which he was working, and when his pilot was twisting and turning and diving and climbing in a corkscrewing effort to escape that destruction.
    In those earlier days of war, before the Germans had honed their night defence system into the deadly weapon that it later became, the most terrifying enemy the bomber crews had to face was appalling weather. 1940/41 produced the worst winter in living memory. The men flying the Wellingtons, Whitleys and Hampdens had to struggle through endless blankets of fog and fight fierce head-winds that reduced the forward speed of the already slow aircraft to almost nothing.
    Ice was the worst menace. It formed in thick layers on the wings. It turned hydraulic systems to jelly; gun turrets, bomb doors, undercarriages all stopped working. It formed an opaque sheen over Perspex windows, making it impossible to see out. Ice played havoc with instruments and the radio.
    Frostbite was not uncommon among those who flew in these pioneer bombers. Hands were encased first of all in a silk glove, over this a woollen glove, and finally a thick leather gauntlet. In order to carry out some essential duties, plotting a course on a chart for instance, writing up a signals log, or accurately tapping out a