Writing Family History Week 3

Walking in their shoes - Downward Spiral

Fred Ross and I were excited to be flying our second op. with Bomber Command Pathfinder Force. It was now the evening of 19 August 1943. The following wave of lumbering Lancaster bombers depended on our light weight Mosquito to drop target indicator flares over German industrial areas.

Our first op. two nights before had been, as Fred said in his letter home “a short flight to Berlin, take in the sights and home in bed by midnight.” We were cockily confident again tonight.

Suddenly, without warning, a heavy ack-ack shell hit and the tail of the Mosquito disappeared; I was thrown to the floor. Momentarily deafened by the terrific explosion, I called forward to Fred, “we’re hit”, but no response came.

I looked back to see the gun turret blown out by a burst of tracer from above; I had been seated there moments before. The noise was deafening as flak burst all around us, shrapnel drummed on the wings and searchlights followed our every move.

The plane was out of control, racing dizzyingly downwards as 
I forced my way through the gun turret debris. I fought forward against the pull of gravity knowing I had to get to the controls.

My worst fears were realized when I saw Fred slumped over the column.

The incessant racket continued as I tried desperately to move my friend aside.

“Damn, I'm only 21! …will I make it home to Faye? …what about Mum and Dad?”

The sickening race to the ground continued…