Venom Squadron

by Robert Jackson

  The U-2 pilot glanced down to the right, over the edge of the cockpit. Even from a height of ten miles, the progress of the Anglo-French task force was marked by the tiny white streaks that were the wakes of the ships. Ahead of the troopships, freighters, cruisers and destroyers, five aircraft carriers, three British and two French, were already preparing to launch their fighter-bombers against targets in the Canal Zone.

  The situation in the Middle East had been deteriorating steadily since 1948, when the embryo State of Israel had successfully fought off the Arab neighbours, led by Egypt, who were determined to destroy her. The defeat of the numerically-superior Egyptian army at the hands of the Israelis had exposed its inefficiency and the corruption that had been rife among its senior ranks, and had contributed to the abdication in 1952 of King Farouk in favour of his infant son, Ahmed Fuad II. In practice, Egypt had been governed by a military council led by a senior army officer, General Neguib, and in June 1953 this had deposed the young king and declared a republic, with Neguib himself as president. His authority had lasted for less than eighteen months; he in turn had been deposed by the military council in a coup led by a dynamic and nationalistic army officer: Lieutenant-Colonel Gamal Abdel Nasser.

  The U-2 pilot peered ahead through his tinted faceplate, looking beyond Port Said to where the whole of the Canal Zone was visible. He was surprised that there was no smoke from the attacks by the RAF’S night bombers; they must have been concentrating on the airfield runways, their bombs avoiding other installations.

  The pilot could see the Sinai Peninsula ahead and to the left; away to the right, far beyond the Nile, lay the Qattara Depression and the vast expanse of the Libyan Plateau. It was ironic that British troops had fought and died in both areas twice in half a century, in defence of Egyptian territory, first against the Turks and then against the Italians and Germans. The British had even hoped to establish a Middle East defence organization based on Egypt, but these plans had been shattered by the 1952 coup against King Farouk, which was followed by a wave of anti-British rioting and terrorist activity in Cairo. After that, matters had moved swiftly, In 1954 Britain and Egypt had signed a treaty which provided for the evacuation of British forces from the Canal Zone by June 1956, although Britain was to retain the use of the big supply depot at Ismailia so that she could go to the rapid assistance of any of her friends in the Middle East, if need be. The troop withdrawals had begun on schedule, with civilian personnel standing by to man Ismailia once the last soldiers had left.

  Egyptian relations with Britain — and with the United States, whose offer to supply modern arms to Egypt had been rejected by Nasser — had continued to worsen, especially after Turkey, Iraq, Britain, Iran and Pakistan concluded a mutual security and defence treaty in 1955. As Turkey officially recognized the State of Israel, Nasser held the treaty to be an act of treachery against the Arab world. The Egyptian attitude towards Israel had become increasingly militant and border incidents between the two countries had multiplied, particularly in the disputed Gaza Strip area.

  Then, in 1955, the whole situation had taken a new turn that threatened to turn the whole balance of power in the Middle East upside down. In August of that year, the Egyptians made an arms deal with Russia’s satellite, Czechoslovakia. Under its terms, equipment to be supplied included tanks, self-propelled guns, artillery pieces, rocket launchers, Czech-built rifles, mortars, MiG-15 jet fighters and II-28 jet bombers. The threat to Israel was all too apparent, and by October 1955 Nasser had felt strong enough to move a large concentration of troops into the zone in Sinai, demilitarized on the instructions of the United Nations, which separated Egyptian and Israeli territory. The small United Nations police force there had been powerless to intervene.

  The U-2 pilot knew that the Egyptians now had several squadrons of MiG-15 jet fighters on the Canal Zone airfields, but they presented no threat to him; he was cruising far above their operational ceiling. No fighter in the world could touch the U-2 — not even the Hawker Hunter jets deployed to Cyprus by the RAF. The British had not been officially informed about the U-2 flights over Egypt, but they were aware that something was going on. As he passed over Cyprus on his way south to the Canal Zone, the American had seen two contrails, presumably belonging to Hunters, climbing hard out of the dawn shadows to intercept him, but they had turned away long short of his altitude.

  The U-2 passed over Port Fuad. Ten miles below, the black slash that was the Suez Canal crawled by, the whole of its ninety-mile length easily within the pilot’s field of view. He tripped a series of switches, setting the U-2’s powerful high-resolution cameras in motion and activating the recorders that would monitor any jargon on the Egyptian Air Force’s radio frequencies, knowing that the CIA experts who analysed the tapes would be looking for Russian voices, rather than Egyptian.

  It was just over three months since Nasser had lit the fuse that threatened to blow the Middle East apart. Desperate for funds to finance his prestige project, a great new dam at Aswan on the Upper Nile, he had suddenly seized on Egypt’s biggest potential source of revenue. He had nationalized the Anglo-French Suez Canal Company, taking control of all the company’s Egyptian offices and declaring martial law in the Canal Zone.

  Almost immediately, Britain and France had begun to lay plans for a military operation against Egypt with the objective of re-taking key points on the Canal. Slowly, for much political wrangling had been involved, an invasion force had begun to take shape at Malta during the weeks that followed. Units of the French fleet had assembled at Toulon, and the British had sent four aircraft carriers to the Mediterranean. In Cyprus, British and French airborne forces were standing by, their ranks swelled by a steady influx of reservists. By this time, the operation had been given a code-name: Musketeer.

  The build-up had continued during October, with all units earmarked for the operation undergoing intensive training. By the third week of the month, in readiness for the air attacks that were planned to precede the air and seaborne assaults, there were seventeen RAF bomber squadrons — equipped with either Valiants or Canberras — based on Malta and Cyprus, together with several squadrons of Venom FB4 fighter-bombers, a squadron of Meteor NF13 night fighters, and two squadrons of Hunter Mk5 interceptors. Also based on Cyprus, for the time being, were two squadrons of French Air Force F-84F Thunderstreak jets.

  The assembly of the forces scheduled to take part in Musketeer, and their training, was now virtually complete; all that was lacking now was the order for the assault to begin, and as the days went by, with no such order forthcoming, disillusionment and frustration began to set in, especially among the reservists, who were anxious to return to their families and jobs.

  Then, in the late afternoon of 29 October 1956, Israeli forces struck hard and fast at the Egyptians in the Sinai Peninsula, the main thrust spearheaded by paratroops who captured the strategic Mitla Pass. On that same day, the troops standing ready in Malta were ordered to embark on the waiting ships.

  Forty-eight hours later, the Egyptian forces in Sinai were in full retreat, streaming back towards the Suez Canal, harassed all the way by the Israeli Air Force. The British and French had issued a joint ultimatum to both Israelis and Egyptians, stating that Anglo-French forces would occupy key points on the Suez Canal unless both sides ceased hostilities and withdrew ten miles either side of the waterway. The ultimatum was accepted by the Israelis, who were still a long way from the Canal, but rejected outright by the Egyptians. There could be no turning back now, no point in attempting further negotiation. Britain and France were committed to military action.

  The U-2 passed over Ismailia and the Great Bitter Lake towards Suez, its cameras recording in precise detail what was happening on the Egyptian airfields of Deversoir, Kabrit and Shallufa. Kabrit was of special interest to the CIA, for it was here that the Egyptians kept their biggest concentration of MiGs.

  This sector of his flight completed, the U-2 pilot swung north-east towards Mitla and El Arish, in Sinai. The visib
ility was perfect, apart from some patches of early morning fog in the immediate area of the Mitla Pass, and the American could clearly see clouds of dust and smoke boiling up, probably from some tank battle. He flew over the area then continued on to El Arish, photographing the airstrip there before heading out over the Mediterranean on his homeward flight. His remoteness from the earth had made it hard to believe that a full-scale war was going on down there. It would show up in all its detail on the U-2’s reels of film, but he would never see the result. How the CIA would use and interpret the material he had gathered was none of his business.

  *

  At 0410 hours, as the U-2 was starting its photographic run over the Canal Zone, twenty-four aircraft were heading southwards over the sea midway between Cyprus and the Nile Delta. They were de Havilland Venom FB4 fighter-bombers, twin-tailed jets developed from the earlier Vampire, and on their wings and fuselages, superimposed on the grey-green camouflage, they carried hastily-painted yellow-and-black invasion stripes as an aid to recognition, in case trigger-happy friendly forces mistook them for enemies and fired on them.

  In the cockpit of the leading Venom all was silent, except for the whisper of the airflow, the crackle of static in the pilot’s headphones and the sound of his own breathing. The steady flow of oxygen was pleasantly cool on his face behind the sweaty constriction of its mask.

  He glanced around at the other Venoms, grouped in battle formation, and smiled in contentment, with no thought of the danger that might lie ahead. For the first time in five years, Wing Commander George Yeoman was leading jets into action.

  The last time had been in Korea, in 1951, when as an RAF officer attached to an Australian squadron he had flown twin-engined Meteor jet fighters in combat against Russia’s latest MiG-15s. It had been a far from pleasant experience, for the Meteor had been outclassed by the MiG on almost every count, and only the skill of the Australian pilots had saved them from suffering terrible losses.

  Now the MiGs were the enemy yet again. Yeoman knew that Russian and Czech pilots were attached to the Egyptian Air Force, and he wondered if they would fly the MiGs in combat against the Anglo-French strike force. Once again, the Allied pilots would be at a disadvantage; the Venom was a good 100 mph slower than the MiG, although Yeoman was certain that it could out-turn the Russian fighter.

  The thing was to knock out the MiGs on the ground, quickly, before they could cause trouble. He hoped that the Valiant and Canberra bombers had been on target a little while earlier; it would take the Egyptians hours to fill in bomb craters in the runways of the target airfields, giving the fighter-bombers ample time to finish the job. Already, the Sea Hawks, Sea Venoms and Wyverns of the Fleet Air Arm, together with the piston-engined Corsairs of the French Navy, would be taking off from their carriers and heading in across the Egyptian coast.

  The naval strike aircraft were to hit the airfields of Gamil, Abu Sueir, Deversoir and Fayid; the target for Yeoman’s two Venom squadrons was Cairo West, where the Egyptian Air Force’s Russian-built Ilyushin-28 jet bombers were known to be based. These aircraft represented the biggest threat of all to the success of Operation Musketeer, as they alone were capable of striking at the RAF airfields on Cyprus. To deal with them, the Venoms — in addition to their fixed armament of four 20-mm cannon — each carried eight two-inch rocket projectiles under their wings.

  The big problem, Yeoman thought as the Venoms swept on towards the coast, was that the Egyptians knew they were coming. They had been warned repeatedly by Cyprus Radio and the BBC that their airfields would be attacked if they did not agree to the Anglo-French ultimatum. It was a necessary measure, designed to reduce Egyptian casualties, but it meant that they would now be fully on the alert. It remained to be seen how good the Egyptian air defences were.

  Since the opposition was already warned, there was little point in maintaining radio silence, as long as no one gave away the actual target. Yeoman pressed the button on his control column to transmit to the other aircraft.

  ‘Enemy coast ahead. Target in fifteen minutes. Descent to angels ten, flights astern.’

  The Venoms lost altitude steadily, taking up the formation Yeoman had ordered. They were flying in the classic ‘finger four’ formation, resembling the outstretched fingers of a right hand, the fingertips being the aircraft themselves. The three flights that comprised 359 Squadron were leading, with the twelve Venoms of 641 Squadron bringing up the rear.

  Only a fortnight earlier, both squadrons had been carrying out their normal role as part of the RAF’S Second Tactical Air Force, based at Rheinbrücken in northern Germany. The order to move to Cyprus had come literally at a moment’s notice, attended by a flurry of hurried packing and farewells, for most of the married aircrew had their wives and families in quarters at Rheinbrücken. No one had any idea how long they might be away.

  Yeoman’s own wife, Julia, was in Germany, together with their two children, six-year-old June and Paul, who had just seen his second birthday. So was the family cat, Hermann, now a venerable eleven years old but showing no sign at all of slowing down his hectic lifestyle; Hermann was more or less back on his home ground, for Yeoman had first picked him up, a starving kitten, on a German airfield in 1945.

  Still at ten thousand feet, the Venoms swept over the green, fertile crescent of the Nile Delta. Some flak came up at them as they passed El Kubra, but it was wildly inaccurate and they ignored it. The three principal arms of the Nile shimmered golden in the rising sun, the towns and villages that nestled between them showing up in shades that varied between white and rose pink.

  The twenty-four jets headed steadily inland, their pilots scanning the sky constantly for signs of enemy aircraft; they saw none. Yeoman’s concern was that some of the naval strike pilots might mistake the twin-tailed Venoms for Vampires, of which the Egyptian Air Force had a number, and attack them, but the only sign of the intense naval air activity that was going on was in the columns of smoke that rose away to the left, where attacks had just taken place on the airfields of Bilbeis and Inchass.

  The rivers that formed the Nile Delta were converging now as they approached their confluence to the north of Cairo. It was as though the Venoms were flying down a geographical funnel, its mouth pointing straight at their target.

  Yeoman led the aircraft to the east of Cairo, curving in towards the target as the city crept by off their starboard wing-tips, its minarets hazy in the smoke of early-morning fires. He continued the gentle turn until the rising sun was behind them, levelling out as Cairo West’s runways came into view. There had been no navigational problems on this trip; Yeoman had served in the Middle East for a time during the war, and had been back several times since, so he knew the Cairo area intimately, and a number of his pilots had also done tours in the Canal Zone.

  As the Venoms approached Cairo West in a gentle dive, it quickly became apparent that the airfield had changed out of all recognition. The Egyptians, with aid from the Soviet Bloc, had done a great deal of work on it in the past months; there were new hangars, a modern control tower, and blast-proof aircraft shelters dotted around the perimeter.

  Yeoman glanced quickly around, making sure that the other aircraft were still with him in their attack formation, and made a last scan of the sky for signs of opposition. Satisfied that all was well, he thumbed a switch on the starboard side of the cockpit, arming his rockets. There was no need for unnecessary radio instructions; his pilots all knew what they had to do, and he had left it to the individual section leaders to pick their own targets.

  He looked ahead, searching in vain for the Ilyushin bombers which earlier reconnaissance photographs had shown parked in neat rows on the tarmac near the control tower. The Ilyushins had gone. Apart from a few trucks, and what looked like a twin-engined transport aircraft parked in one corner, Cairo West was deserted.

  Yeoman’s leading section of Venoms was down to less than a thousand feet now, hurtling towards the airfield perimeter at 500 mph, with not a worthwhile target in s
ight. The other sections were strung out behind, half a mile between each one. With an intense feeling of frustration, he pressed the R/T button, ordering them to break off the attack and re-form at five thousand feet to the south of the airfield. The other sections curved quickly away, circling the field as they made for the rendezvous point; Yeoman’s four Venoms, committed to their attack run, sped low straight across the airfield, down the line of the main runway. Some tracer lanced at them from a gun emplacement near the control tower, and for a split second Yeoman had a wild urge to send his full salvo of eight rockets into the building. But the tower swept past and its occupants, if there were any, remained unaware that they had narrowly escaped being blown into oblivion.

  The airfield behind him, Yeoman led his section in a broad circle over open country to the south, a few miles from the pyramids. As soon as the other Venoms had joined up, he turned on to a heading that would take them to the secondary target, the airfield at Abu Sueir, which lay fifty miles away between Cairo and the Canal Zone. He did not entertain much hope of finding a concentration of Egyptian aircraft there, either, but he had no wish to return to Cyprus with his rockets and cannon unfired.

  As he had mentally predicted, Abu Sueir was far from being the target of a lifetime. Nevertheless, there were a few aircraft on the field, mainly transport types. Yeoman and his pilots ignored these for the time being, concentrating on the fuel and ammunition dumps adjacent to the airfield itself; these were Egyptian Army installations, designed — according to intelligence reports — to serve the needs of an armoured brigade whose headquarters were close at hand.