by Griff Hosker
Scouse said, “What went wrong?”
Beaumont said, calmly, “Nothing. Watch.”
There was a second, louder explosion and then an almighty crack that we heard almost a thousand yards away. More flames leapt out and more smoke and then I watched in amazement as the side of the mountain slid down. It was as though it was a film and in slow motion and then the fall of the rock wall began to gather pace. More rocks fell and I saw that, while the Schloss, was going to escape, the wall of stones and rocks was racing towards the river and us.
“Shit!”
What saved us was the river. The larger stones fell into the river although some of the smaller ones flew alarmingly close to our heads!
“Hewitt, reload. Well done Beaumont. Have you any explosives left?”
“A bit sir. The next bridge?”
I gestured behind me, “I am guessing they will be on our tails very quickly. There is a bridge at Graswang. If we can blow it they will have to go further downstream and we might just make it.”
It was just two and a half miles to the bridge and as we approached I saw that there were no guards there. I screeched to a halt. “Beaumont, do your stuff, Fletcher, help him. Hewitt, keep the bridge covered.”
As the German truck thundered over with bullet holes in the canvas sides Lieutenant Poulson shouted, “Fisher bought it and Davis has a bullet in the leg.”
“Hewitt, go and see to him.”
I took the binoculars from my Bergen. I could see, in the distance, the dim glow worms of German vehicles as they raced along the road. They were level with the bridge which meant we had about five minutes, no more. “How long, Beaumont?”
“Three or four minutes, sir.”
“White, Foster, get on this machine gun. Emerson, take the lorry down the road. I don’t want any more men’s lives risking.”
Sam and Thomas jumped from the truck and manned the MG 42. They checked that it had a full belt and then peered down the sights. I knew that Beaumont was working as fast as he could but I saw the column of lights as they zoomed down the slippery and slick, ice covered road. It was a race against time.
Beaumont and Fletcher scrambled up. “Time to go sir! A two minute fuse!”
“You two on the lorry.”
“Sir!” The two of them passed me and ran to hurl themselves into the back of the German truck.
“Sam, give them a burst! Frighten them!”
“Sir!”
White fired two measured bursts. He did not have the luxury of tracer but, even so, he hit the leading vehicle. No damage was done but the driver became cautious. I put the Kubelwagen into gear and floored it. I was barely a hundred yards away when the bridge exploded. I saw pieces of wood and stone fly into the air. Some debris passed generously close to us and the wave of concussion hit us. The bridge was not totally destroyed but no vehicle would cross it. They would have to go further upstream. Lieutenant Poulson had now taken the lead. We raced through the village of Graswang. The inhabitants had come from their homes to see what the noise was. We left them unharmed. Just before Ettal we would have to take a left turn and then we would have to negotiate Oberammergau. I did not want to hurt or injure civilians but we had to get through unscathed.
We had barely two miles to cover. The town should have been asleep but the side of a mountain cascading into the river tended to make a noise. People would be up. I trusted Emerson to keep his foot hard down. There were enough men in the truck to lay down a withering fire should they be attacked. I hoped that the people would just spectate and not try to stop us.
The town loomed up ahead. Before the war tourists had flocked here. If the Germans had not built their factory under the mountain then they might have survived the war without incident. Our dash through their town was their war. I saw that they had Volkssturm and they came out to fire at the lorry. “Sam, give them a burst. Try to frighten them!”
“Sir!” He opened fire and his bullets thudded into the ancient building behind which they sheltered. They took cover.
“Keep it up! Foster, take a German grenade and drop it behind us.”
“Sir!”
The grenade would not hurt anyone but shrapnel flying through the air would worry an older soldier. As the MG 42 clicked on empty the grenade went off in the middle of the road. I heard metal smacking into stone walls and they stopped firing. The village was small and we were soon through and into the darkness. Once we had passed the outskirts and reached the Pulvermoos we pulled up next to Lieutenant Poulson.
I pointed to the airfield. “Freddie, ram the gate and we will follow. Lieutenant Poulson take the personnel there prisoner and secure them. I will go directly to the Junkers.”
“Sir!”
We followed them and Emerson did exactly as ordered. He ploughed through the gate. I heard a couple of shots and, as we passed through, I saw the two dead guards. As the lorry headed to the huts by the windsock I raced towards the Junkers. I had devised this plan back at our own airfield. At first it had been a contingency plan. I had seen the airfield and the Ju 52 but I had had no idea if it was airworthy. As soon as we had seen it flying we knew we had a chance. I pulled up by the tail.
“Get the gear out of the Kubelwagen and into the cabin.”
“Sir!”
I opened the door and clambered up. I made my way to the cockpit. Opening it I saw that I recognised the dials and controls. While I waited for my men I familiarised myself with them. It was as I was going through them that I realised fuel was low.
I went back into the cabin. “White go and find Emerson. Tell him to fetch the petrol bowser. We have to fill it up.”
“Sir.”
I pointed to a side panel and unclipped it, “Foster put the MG 42 here. We may be attacked on the way back.”
“Sir.”
Satisfied with what I had found I went outside and examined the exterior of the German transport. They had tethered her. That was not a surprise. It would be windy up here. I went around and untied them. By the time I had finished Emerson and White had returned with the petrol bowser. “Get her filled up Freddie.”
“Right sir.”
“How did it go inside?”
“We got them all but they managed to get a message off. Bill Hay caught enough of the transmission to know that they were in touch with Munich.”
“That means they will send aeroplanes after us. As soon as the Lieutenant is here we will take off.”
“They are just tying the ground crew and pilots up. There are only twelve men there. They gave us no bother.”
“When you have filled it up shift the bowser and booby trap it. Then get aboard and let me know. Sam, when Fletcher arrives, tell him I need him in the cockpit.”
“Sir.”
I went back to the pilot’s seat. Foster had fixed the machine gun to the mountings. Although intended for an MG 15, the fittings for the MG 42 were the same. I looked down the cabin. It was intended for eighteen men. It would be a tight squeeze. We would be taking our dead back with us. The fuel gauge was reassuringly full. I took the flying helmet and head set which were hanging behind the seat. I put on the helmet and hung the headset around my neck. Once we were in the air that would be the only way I could talk.
Emerson appeared in the doorway, “All done sir.”
“Then let’s see if they start.” With typical German efficiency the three engines were all logically labelled. I began with the port. It started and then the centre engine. That too started. The starboard turned over but would not fire. I tried again. It failed. I was not sure if it would take off fully laden with two engines.
Emerson said, “I’ll go and have a shufti.”
Our mechanical expert might be our only chance to get off the ground. The lorry arrived and disgorged the men. I saw from the side window that they brought the two dead Commandos aboard first. Fletcher made his way up to me. I pointed to the headset. He nodded and put it on. I donned my own. I made sure we were both plugged in and then said, �
�There is a radio. I want you to man it when we are in the air. Listen for German traffic.”
“Sir.”
“But when we take off you will be in the co-pilot’s seat.” I pointed to three levers. “When I push these you need to help me and when we start to rise I want you on the second joystick.”
“Me sir?”
“You can do it.” I gestured outside, “That is if Freddie can get the engine going.”
Lieutenant Poulson put his head in the door, “All aboard apart from Emerson. There are lights approaching from the south sir.”
“Get the men to be ready to fire from the windows. Foster has the MG set up. We will not give up without a fight.”
Lieutenant Poulson grinned, “Of course not sir.”
I saw Freddie appear in my eyeline. He put two thumbs up. I tried the starboard motor and the engine fired. Turning, I shouted, “Let me know when Freddie is aboard. Fletcher, buckle up. You are going to get a flying lesson.” The Junkers had a fixed undercarriage and we would not need to retract it but it was slower than any German we might meet in the air. I checked the wind direction and moved the throttle so that we moved. The Germans had, obligingly kept the runway clear of snow.
As I lined us up for take-off Lieutenant Poulson shouted, “Sir, Jerry!”
“Right Fletcher, it is now or never. Hands with mine.” We pushed the throttle and the three BMW engines began to power us across the grass. I heard the MG 42 begin to fire and then the Bren gun. I felt something hit the fuselage. The huge mountain ahead of us seemed even bigger as the nose slowly came up. We would have to bank to port as soon as I had gained enough altitude. “Hands on the stick, Fletcher. We turn to port, now!” We were still climbing but the mountain looked to be dragging us like a magnet. I had committed us. The guns had stopped firing. The enemy was no longer the Germans, it was the land itself. The three engines were powerful and inch by inch we climbed. As the rocky peak slid beneath my starboard wing I began to straighten her out. “Thanks Fletcher, have a go at the radio now.”
“Sir. I thought we were a goner then sir! That mountain was bloody close!”
“I know. The German pilots must have a technique of avoiding it. I am a little rusty. Sorry.”
“Hey sir I think it is great that you can fly! This is easier than heading south through the mountains!”
He turned on the radio. I could hear the static in my ears. He began to turn the dial. I heard German. I held my hand up and he left it there while I listened. They mentioned us. Night fighters were being scrambled. Munich was less than sixty miles away. I checked my heading. We were flying north west on a course of 265. I had estimated it would take us an hour to reach the Rhine. German night fighters would be all over us before then. We had passed the mountain but I still climbed. I knew that if the Germans came after us I could gain a few more knots by diving. I also saw that up above us was thick cloud. We would be flying blind but that might hide us from Jerry. It took us seventeen minutes to gain 10000 feet.
As we climbed I shouted into the cabin, “Everyone all right?”
Lieutenant Poulson shouted back, “We have a few more ventilation holes but other than that we are tickety boo sir!”
I heard Gordy shout, “And it could do with being a bit smoother sir!”
They were fine. “Anything Scouse?”
“When I was in Strasbourg I only tried the frequency for London. There won’t be anybody there, sir. It is the middle of the night. Even the WAAF has to get some sleep!”
“Keep turning the dial until you hear English or French. We need to warn them that we are coming in. They use these as bombers. The French are likely to fire first and ask questions later.”
“Right sir.”
“You lads in the back keep your eyes peeled for fighters.”
“All we can see, sir, is cloud.”
“I know, we are hiding, but I will be coming out in about ten minutes to begin our descent to the Rhine. As soon as you see them call out and then fire everything you can at them.”
I trusted the instruments and compass. That was all a pilot could do when flying in cloud. I knew that Dad would have flown this bus better than I was doing but I was doing the best that I could.
We had been flying for thirty five minutes. I estimated that we were about eighty miles from the Rhine. As we descended our speed would increase slightly. The maximum speed of the Ju 52 was 165 miles per hour but that was at sea level. I did not want to risk missing our air field. Flying around allied air space would be as dangerous as flying over German. We needed to be on the ground.
I pushed the stick forward. We began to descend. I did not make it a steep dive. I watched the altimeter to make sure that it was a gradually descent. Suddenly the cloud cover was gone. Ahead I could see nothing. Then, in my headphones I heard French being spoken, “Fletcher, stay on that frequency. Transmit and just say Mayday, British Commandos in a Ju 52 coming into land. Keep repeating it.”
“Sir! Mayday, British Commandos in a Ju 52 coming into land. Mayday, British Commandos in a Ju 52 coming into land.” It sounded like some sort of mantra. It was not the regulation radio procedure but as Scouse’s French was not up to muster it would have to do.
“Sir, a fighter on the starboard beam. It looks like a Me 110. It is diving.”
The twin engined fighter had four machine guns and would make mincemeat of us! I pushed the stick forward and began to steepen my dive. I heard Lieutenant Poulson shout, “Wait for my command!”
I shouted, “I am going to climb to meet him. It might put him off! Fletcher!”
“Sir!” He grabbed the second stick and I nodded.
I began to pull back, “Keep it steady. I don’t want to stall!”
I saw the twin engined fighter. They had been used briefly in 1940 when the Luftwaffe tried to bomb the north east of England. The Hurricanes shot them down too easily and now they were relegated to night fighter duties. My manoeuvre took him by surprise. He fired a hopeful burst at where we had been before he turned into me. We were on a collision course.
Lieutenant Poulson’s command to fire coincided with the Messerschmitt’s volley. Nine automatic weapons all fired on a cone have a devastating effect. Even as the German’s shells took out the starboard engine I saw the pilot’s head almost explode as some of my men’s bullets struck the cockpit.
“Keep climbing! He is coming straight at us.” We were struggling as the starboard engine was dying. As soon as the Me 110 slipped beneath us and began its death spiral I said, “Level out.” With the two of us working together we gradually settled. “Thanks.”
We were labouring now. I knew that the Ju 52 could fly on two engines but I had never done so. It felt awkward and ungainly when, earlier, it had been a dream. I turned back to my heading and began my descent. Strasbourg was a big target. It was the only town of any size on the west bank of the Rhine. The field was to the north east of it. I watched the altimeter spin down and prayed that there were no more fighters nearby.
Fletcher shouted, “There sir! I can see the Rhine!”
I saw that we were too far south. The shadowy buildings of Strasbourg lay to the north of us. I began to come around and gradually throttled back. I had no idea what the stall speed would be. The landing would, in all likelihood, be hard.
“Brace yourselves and get your feet off the floor. We are coming in hard. Link arms and put your head between your legs!”
I heard someone say, “And kiss your arse goodbye!”
Gordy shouted, “Emerson!”
“Sorry Sarn’t Major!”
Guns were firing at us. They were allied guns. I could do nothing about that. I had to hope that they would miss us. There would be no lights on the runway and I could not see the windsock! Other than that, everything was fine! I kept descending over the town and then I spied the airfield. The squadron leader had kept the runways clear and for that I was grateful. There were, however, a line of Dakotas to the left of the runway. If I crashed into th
em that would be a disaster. I throttled back some more and the two engines began to hunt. I gave them a little more power and used the flaps to slow us down.
“Fletcher, keep your eye out of the window and tell me when I am about to land.”
“Yes sir. You are doing great sir!”
I nodded and concentrated on keeping us straight with the aeroplane trying to pull us to port.
“Getting lower sir, almost there, nearly there!” I lifted the nose ever so slightly and Fletcher, shouted, “Down sir!”
We bumped. Dad would have shaken his head as we rose a couple of feet in the air. I throttled back some more and said, “When I tell you push down on the brake!”
“Right sir. Which one is that?”
“Look at the one under my left foot and your pedal is the same one.” As we bumped down I shouted, “Now!” We both pushed down. The runway had been cleared but it was still slick and we started to slide. We were in danger of hitting a Dakota and I use the rudder to swing us away from danger. We pirouetted alarmingly but slowly stopped. From behind me I heard a cheer.
Private Betts shouted, “Just like the waltzers at Blackpool sir! Can we have another go?”
I switched off the engine and realised that I was sweating. Fletcher said, “Sir, on behalf of the lads, thanks! I know they call you lucky sir but you have some skills and that is no error.”
As we opened the door we were greeted by Lee Enfields and Ercs in tin helmets. Warrant Officer Peters grinned when he saw me, “We had a message that some Commandos had captured a Jerry transport and were heading here. As soon as they said it was a Liverpool accent I knew who it was.” He shook his head, “Squadron Leader Andrews didn’t believe me. That is why we are tooled up sir. Welcome home.”
“I am assuming you lads can park it!”
“Leave it with us sir! I’ll get some tea and sarnies sent over. You look like you deserve them.” As the men began to disembark he saw the bodies and he stood to attention, “Ten shun!” All of his men presented arms as the dead Commandos were carried to the hangar. “Sorry about your lads, sir.”
“I hope, Warrant Officer, that after this war people don’t forget what lads like Bond, Fisher and Pickles did for their country. I know I never shall!”
