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On the night of 21 June 1944 RAF Bomber Command sent 133 Lancasters and 6 Mosquitoes to attack the synthetic oil plant at Wesseling, in Germany. I was the captain of one of the Lancaster crews detailed to take part in the raid. That morning I had been briefed about a new enemy combat tactic, where the German night fighters operated in pairs, one committing the bomber to an evasive move with the other seizing an attacking opportunity when the bomber was at its most vulnerable point, the top or bottom of the corkscrew. Discussing tactics with my crew, I said:

鈥淎pparently they find a victim then one of them will attack from the rear along a standard fighter curve and of course if the bomber doesn't see him or have time to take action he is in trouble.鈥� Both my gunners were lost for words at such a suggestion. 鈥淥n the other hand,鈥� I continued, 'He is picked up and the corkscrew port or starboard is committed - now his number 2 is holding off waiting for a good opportunity to come in, which we will try not to give him by adding a bit of rough flying at the roll-over points. Let's get airborne and try it out.鈥�

This they did during the night flying test. When this was completed the aircraft was parked at dispersal to be fuelled and bombed up, and the crew went to the briefing, where the squadron commander revealed the target for the night.
鈥淚t's the Ruhr tonight chaps,鈥� said the C.O.
鈥淗appy Valley,鈥� whispered my wireless operator. A sardonic nickname given by aircrews to this heavily defended highly industrialised area of Germany.

Following the briefing I gathered my crew and discussed details of the operation. It was their eighteenth trip and despite having such experience behind them I was keen to keep them on their toes.
鈥淭his is our eighteenth trip, it's a time when you think you know it all - get cocky - we don't, from now until the twenty fifth is a danger period remember! To survive we have to work at it - all the time.鈥�

I lifted my Lancaster into the air at 2309 hours that night and gained altitude. On the way to the target I felt concerned that the sky was bright that night and warned my crew: 鈥淧ilot to crew - its like daylight up here - keep a good lookout.鈥� I took my crew and aircraft on and we neared a turning point on the river.

鈥淗ow are we doing Dave?鈥�

鈥淣ext course coming up skipper- it will be 089 degrees compass.鈥�

鈥淥碍鈥�

A minute or so later the intercom sounded.

鈥淭urn onto 089 degrees - now skipper.鈥�

鈥凌颈驳丑迟.鈥�

I set the new course on the electro-magnetic repeater compass and turned to starboard onto the new heading for turning point 'J' which was the last one before the run into the target.

鈥淗ow are we for time?鈥�

鈥淲e are about three minutes ahead of time skipper.鈥�

The significance of the navigator's reply was immediately obvious.

鈥淲e're ahead of the stream and must be a sitting duck for night fighters - sharp look out everybody.鈥�

But where? How did the gunners see anything in these conditions, to the starboard side of the aircraft was a black void - somewhere forward was the target - over to the port side the sky was light, a bright twilight with a background from the aurora-borealis flickering beyond the top end of Norway. Searching was almost impossible when our dark night vision was broken each time we swung our gun turrets. Perhaps the night fighters were having similar problems, even though the bombers would appear to them as silhouettes against a lighted screen.

I kept my Lancaster on course, occasionally calling up and checking on the crew. The next turning point approached.

鈥淭urning point 'J' in one minute skipper, the new course will be 162 degrees,鈥� called the navigator.

鈥淭hanks Nav 162 degrees compass, this is the run-in track to the target chaps, how long is the leg Dave?鈥�

鈥淭wenty minutes Skip.鈥�

I had a mixed feeling of relief and tension, the potentially dangerous leg was nearly over, but the target? What awaited there along the 'happy valley'?

The course change was made and now the black sky was to port and ahead leaving the bright sky astern on the starboard side. As I lined up the needle on the aircraft compass, the clear unhurried voice of the wireless operator broke the silence.

鈥淏andits skipper, one above rear on the port side, and the other one same on the starboard - range about 1,000 yards.鈥�

鈥淩ight - see them rear gunner?鈥�

鈥淣ot yet skipper.鈥�

鈥淢颈诲-耻辫辫别谤?鈥�

鈥淣辞.鈥�

鈥淭he one of the starboard is coming in,鈥� said the wireless operator, reading the range on his Monica screen.

鈥淓ight hundred鈥� seven鈥� six.鈥�

鈥淕ot him skipper, corkscrew starboard,鈥� a pause by the rear gunner.

鈥淕o, go.鈥�

鈥淯p the revs engineer, twenty-seven fifty.鈥�

鈥淎 hundred on Skip,鈥� said 'Wag鈥�.

And the engines鈥� synchronised drone changed to a drumming note of emergency as the practised drill commenced, down and turning, making it difficult for the fighter to turn inside the curve and bring his guns to bear on target.

鈥淗e's broken away, the port one is coming in Skip, seven hundred鈥� six鈥� five,鈥� said the wireless operator, sedulously occupied with his screen, now a key member of the little battle group.

鈥淭rying to catch us at the bottom when we roll鈥�, I thought.

As I turned the aircraft from a starboard downwards curve through to the port upwards curve I pushed the control column forward violently causing the nose of the aircraft to drop momentarily, then up into the lumbering climb to port, thus creating an air turbulence that together with the six .303 Browning guns that were now filling the plane with acrid fumes, would encourage the enemy to keep at safe distance.

鈥淧ort bandit broken away Skipper鈥�, came the voice of the wireless operator.

鈥淭hey're both FW 190s,鈥� broke in the Scottish brogue of the mid upper, as I hauled the heavy machine back onto course.

鈥淭hey are still there - one port and one starboard - high and rear about 1,000 yards.鈥� Despite the violent flying the wireless operator was keeping a good watch of his screen.

鈥淧ort one coming in 500 yards.鈥�

鈥淕ot it,鈥� picked up the rear gunner.

鈥淐orkscrew port - Go! Go!鈥�

And so the evasive action went through its paces, every change in flying attitude intoned by myself to keep the crew informed that everything was under control. The same pattern as before, with the Lancaster's Brownings hammering away. Only part of the corkscrew pattern was flown, as before, when the Yorkshire voice of the wireless operator came over the intercom.

鈥淭hey have broken off.鈥� Then: 鈥淪itting on our rear port and starboard - high-range 1,000 yards.鈥�

Then the third attack, this time from starboard again; it appeared that they were taking turns in committing the bomber whilst the other waited to come in for the kill. The 'kill' was once more elusive and the game returned to the starting pattern. As the fourth attack commenced, now tired and fed up with the whole business, I said:
鈥淧ilot to rear gunner, let this one come in a bit nearer and shoot the damn thing down.鈥�
鈥淣o Skip no!" said a horrified gunner.

鈥淲hy not Gillie?鈥�

鈥淟ook out and back to port.鈥�

I dipped the port wing and took a quick look to the rear through the side perspex blister.

鈥淪ee what you mean - OK let鈥檚 go鈥� and the evasion commenced. The quick look had shown a sky that was seemingly full of bullet and cannon tracers curling inwards to the bomber as the FW190 closed in its attack, a sight that the gunners had witnessed on the occasion of each attack.

Back again on course: 鈥淲here are they now?鈥� I asked.

"They're - er - one to port and the other is - yes got him - both there again Skipper.鈥�

鈥淭hanks Doug. On your toes gunners they must be getting low in ammo now.鈥�

鈥淪kipper?鈥� A new voice came through the intercom, that of the bomb aimer, who together with the navigator and flight engineer had played no part in the past 10-12 minutes drama.

鈥淒o you think we should drop cookee?鈥� (a 4000lb bomb)

鈥淣o certainly not! We haven't been hit; we'll drop it where it鈥檚 supposed to go - on target.鈥�

My reply was brusque, edged by the tension of fifteen minutes of action. I had total trust in my plane and crew and there had been no time to dwell on the consequences of getting hit by enemy shells. Was it a lack of imagination, or the youthful certainty that it will not happen to us? Those that were not actively engaged in the battle could understandably be apprehensive - wondering whether the next attack would strike home and blow the plane apart. The fifth attack developed, ran the course and died away. By this time after fifteen minutes of violent exercise, heaving at the controls of the heavy bomber, flying on instruments, I was getting angry and hot, my 'lucky' unlined pigskin gloves - strictly non service pattern - a present from an old aunt, were wet with perspiration. The thought 'they will be difficult to put on the next time I fly', flitted across my mind as the wireless operator called.

鈥淧ort bandit Skipper.鈥�

The rear gunner picked up the drill, 鈥淕ot him Skipper- stand-bye - corkscrew port Go! Go!鈥�

From the wireless operator: 鈥淪tarboard one closing Skipper鈥� and almost immediately:
鈥淏oth breaking away downwards - they're out of range - had enough I suppose.鈥�

鈥淭hanks Doug! Well done everybody,鈥� I acknowledged as I bought the plane onto course and edged it up to 20,500 feet ready for the run into the target.

鈥淭wenty-six fifty revs engineer, everything OK Wag?鈥�

The engineer who had stood by me during the engagement, except on a few occasions when he had floated off his feet in a negative 'gee' created by a violent down thrust of the aircraft, reached down and adjusted the propeller controls down a hundred revs on each of the four engines.

鈥淭wenty-six fifty Skipper and all OK.鈥�

鈥淭arget in four and a half minutes,鈥� from the navigator.

鈥淥K Dave - how are we for time now?鈥�

鈥淎bout right now, but don't lose time like that ever again will you!鈥�

A Canadian, just out of college his plaintive plea was semi-serious as he suffered with air sickness that afflicted him on nearly every trip. We braced ourselves for the run up to and through the target, where careful straight and level flying was required and a period when the aircraft was most vulnerable to enemy action.

鈥淩ear gunner OK?鈥�

鈥淥K Skip - but out of ammo.鈥�

鈥淣ay worry鈥� growled the mid upper. 鈥淚've got twenty rounds left.鈥�

鈥淜eep an extra sharp look out everyone,鈥� I said.

The bomb run and flight home proved uneventful for us but for many their engagements with the enemy proved fatal. From the force of 133 Lancasters, 37 were lost, a staggering 28%!

By Pilot Officer Don Street, DFC also available in Steve Darlow鈥檚 book D-Day Bombers: The Veteran鈥檚 Story.

See also more of Don's stories:

• The Searchlight
• The Kill
• 'Y' for Yoke
• The Escape
• The wedding

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Becky Barugh of the 大象传媒 Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Don Street and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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