Ginger Lacey: Fighter Pilot

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  When the course ended on 6th November, Lacey flew to Imphal for an interview with Air Vice Marshal F. J. Vincent, ‘a wonderful A.O.C.’, who regretted that he had no permanent squadron command to give him; but sent him to take over No. 155 Squadron while its Commanding Officer was on leave.

  Travelling to join the squadron, at the end of the Imphal Valley, by jeep, Lacey was surprised when an almost naked, ferocious-looking Naga stepped from the jungle edge into the dust road and thumbed a lift. The Nagas are notorious head-hunters, whose savage custom continues even to this day; Lacey was not pleased at the prospect of the fellow’s company, and almost ordered him out of the vehicle when he caught wind of the appalling stench that clung about him. However, the passenger gave him a gap-toothed grin of appreciation which, even in a head-hunter, did not lack a modicum of charm, and reflecting that the journey would only last an hour, Lacey let him stay. But the odour grew more sickening with every mile.

  Lacey attempted a conversation and found that the Naga had a few words of English.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To Regiment.’

  ‘What regiment?’

  The Naga identified it.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Give very nice blanket … red blanket …’

  ‘I know—hospital blankets …’

  ‘Yes, sahib. Regiment give very nice blanket.’

  ‘Why? What for?’

  ‘Naga man bring one Japanese man’s head—get one blanket …’

  The smell … realization came … ‘And you’ve got …?’

  ‘I get two blanket, sahib—look …’

  He raised a corner of the tattered old blanket he was carrying. Lacey glanced, then looked away quickly. The two Japanese heads must have been taken days before. In the heat they had not kept well.

  No. 155 Squadron, which had Spitfire 8s, was then stationed at Palel. On the day that its temporary C.O. arrived, the airfield was attacked by Japanese ‘Oscar’ fighters—Nakajima Ki. 43—and Lacey’s log-book has the characteristic entry ‘How the hell did the Japs know I was posted here!’

  His introduction to his new command was not without a certain dramatic impact and is still well remembered by those who were present.

  In the middle of a sweat-sodden morning of blazing heat, when those pilots who were not flying were sprawled around in rickety old chairs in their basha hut crew room, a short, slim, fair-skinned man wearing a bush hat which almost obscured him from view, sauntered diffidently in. He was wearing a khaki shirt, on which the R.A.F. does not sport flying badges or medal ribbons; and as his stores-issue airman’s-style shirt had no epaulettes, he was not bothering to display any rank braid.

  One or two people looked up hopefully, thinking that his arrival may herald some interesting announcement or at least a pot of tea. The stranger went to the table which stood at one side of the room and began leafing through the magazines and official publications which were strewn on it. Nobody said anything.

  The rustle of paper continued. At last, unbearably irritated by prickly heat, boredom and the impertinent intrusion of a presumptuous airman, a burly Canadian flying officer asked: ‘Who the hell are you and what d’you want?’

  The slight figure at the table half-turned. ‘My name’s Lacey. I’ve just come to take over the squadron.’

  There was a violent scrabbling of feet and pushed-back chairs as the pilots jumped up respectfully; the word ‘sir’ echoed about the basha walls.

  Some tribute from a group of men so notoriously disrespectful as the veteran pilots on the Burma front. Lacey’s reputation had preceded him.

  He came to join the battle on this front at a time when air supremacy had already been wrested from the Japanese and the main task of fighter squadrons was to give close support to the advance of the ground troops.

  The siege of Imphal had been raised some six months previously and the enemy had been driven from the strategically important ridge on which stands the small town of Kohima. The Japanese Fifteenth Army was retreating. Operations had been delayed by the Monsoon, during which 500 inches of rain fell in Assam and 175 inches in Burma. Now, in November, action was again in full spate.

  Hurricane fighter-bombers of No. 221 Group had won a fine reputation in the battles, destroying bridges across every watercourse and abyss and harrying the enemy. They played another important role: spraying D.D.T. to kill the mosquitoes and keep Malaria down.

  The British Fourteenth Army pushed heavily on the Japanese. On the 19th October, Tiddim had fallen; on the 2nd November, Vital Corner; Fort White on the 9th November and Kalemyo on the 14th November. The road to Mandalay and Rangoon lay invitingly ahead.

  By this time, the enemy had only some 125 aeroplanes in Burma, of which half were fighters. They gave little opposition to the British and American squadrons of bombers, transport and fighter aircraft which flew unremittingly over Burma and even as far as Bangkok and Malaya.

  In the three weeks he spent with 155 Squadron, Lacey flew several fighter patrols and escorted many formations of supply-dropping Dakotas. He felt that he was really back in the war again, but it seemed a tame affair after France, the Battle of Britain and the Blitz.

  With so few enemy aircraft to be seen by day, the chances of combat in the air were disappointingly remote. Lacey had old fashioned ideas about the fighter pilot’s job, despite his experience of developing and instructing in ground attack. He wanted to see some Zeros and Oscars and try conclusions with them; but this was a different sort of war.

  He was to find that it was no less exciting and dangerous.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - Commanding No. 17 Squadron

  On 23rd November 1944 Squadron Leader Lacey was given command of No. 17 Squadron.

  He had fought beside them in France and knew that they had already completed a tour of operations in Burma. They had just returned to the front after a long rest in Ceylon.

  The squadron officer and airman pilot strength was as follows:

  ‘A’ Flight. Flight Lieutenant D. C. Hindley. Flying Officers H. S. C. Dow (R.C.A.F.), C. F. Gerwing (R.C.A.F.), D. O. Rathwell (R.C.A.F.), R. W. Thompson (R.C.A.F.), M. R. Walton (R.C.A.F.) and G. A. Pierce. Warrant Officers E. R. Houghton (R.N.Z.A.F.) and J. A. Sharkey (R.A.A.F.). Flight Sergeants M. De Silva and J. D. Tollworthy and Sergeant M. Gibson.

  ‘B’ Flight. Flying Officers W. J. Detlor (R.C.A.F.), W. H. Fell (R.C.A.F.) and K. A. Rutherford (R.N.Z.A.F.), Pilot Officers F. D. Irvine and R. B. Connell, Warrant Officers J. Cotterill and A. N. Clark (R.A.A.F.), Flight Sergeants A. J. Clarke and N. Ryves, Sergeants F. Holland, D. A. Walde and G. I. Williams.

  Flight Lieutenant Cresswell was Adjutant, Flight Lieutenant F. S. Jackson the Medical Officer, Flying Officer R. H. G. Britton the Intelligence Officer and Flying Officer E. R. Hanslip the Engineering Officer.

  There was another, very important member of the squadron whom Squadron Leader Lacey now met for the first time. He blinked his eyes disbelievingly and did a ‘double-take’ as he saw a diminutive figure in khaki shirt and shorts and a bush hat that almost concealed his entire torso, strut past in the company of a group of airmen.

  ‘Who’s that?’ He pointed.

  ‘That’s Chico, sir.’

  ‘And who may Chico be?’

  ‘He’s on the strength, sir. Squadron protégé, sort of. We found him in Calcutta a couple of years ago, starving and sick: Warrant Officer Williams got him into a military hospital and since then the squadron have looked after him.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, the officers all subscribe a small sum every month and he draws it on pay parades along with the rest of the troops. He’s been everywhere with us.’

  ‘I see. He doesn’t look exactly like an Indian. What is he?’

  ‘He’s a Gurkha, sir. That’s really why we picked him out in the first place, I suppose. There were a lot of starving kids in Calcutta, but Chico was the furthest from home; and, as I say, he was ill.’

  ‘Good show. Go and fe
tch him, will you? I’d like to meet the youngest member of my squadron.’

  And so the new C.O., like everyone else, quickly became accustomed to seeing the cheerful little figure of the eight-year-old Gurkha boy wherever he went: always smiling, always eager to help and as proud of his adopters as though he were himself flying one of their fighters.

  Lacey had gone to France with 501 when the greatest bitterness of the campaign there was about to come. He had fought hard against long odds and known that he was part of a defeated force. Now he had come to fight in a theatre where Allied victory seemed imminent and the worst days of the campaign were already behind; but only just.

  In order to understand the mood of the men he commanded, the aims of the force of which his squadron formed a part, and his own attitude, it is necessary to know more of the background to future events than has yet been given.

  In the early months of the year the Japanese had made a fierce advance, bent on forcing their way across the Burmese frontier into India. Their plan was to drive through the centre of the British front, severing it into western and eastern halves and cutting all lines of communication: and then to annihilate each half, thus freeing the roads to India through Dimapur and Chittagong. In the first phase of this operation Chittagong, an important port in the Arakan, was to be taken; in the second phase the Allied bases of Dimapur and Imphal would fall, and all communications through Assam be cut. Subhas Chandra Bose, the Indian collaborator with the Japanese, was to be established as the leader of a puppet Government as soon as Japanese troops were across the Indian border.

  In order to carry out this plan the enemy High Command expected to use tactics which had hitherto proved successful: outflanking the Allied forces so that they must fall back along their lines of supply and communication.

  But they had failed to take into account that the Allies now had a very strong air force in South East Asia which would deliver supplies enabling the ground troops to hold their positions and fight back. It was this ability to supply by air that ultimately gave the Allies victory; and every British and American aircraft and flying man and every man on the ground, directly contributed to the one essential weapon and the one means of beating the Japanese in those high, jungle-clad, cloud-wrapped hills and those tortuous, deadly chasms. In country like this the Japanese could live and move as confidently as snakes; the turbulence of cumulonimbus clouds over the hilltops made flying difficult and dangerous. But as long as the ground troops had the courage and tenacity to hold their positions, the air forces managed to supply them; shewing a comparable bravery and endurance themselves.

  In the roasting, humid climate, British and Commonwealth forces battled in the worst conditions to which they could have been subjected. More exhausting than the fierce heat of the desert, because it combined heavy humidity with high temperatures; more deadening than the bitter cold of the Italian winter; further removed than the European Theatre from centres of rest, comfort and contact with normal life: the Far Eastern campaign gave men no respite, few small comforts and, they felt, inadequate recognition at home.

  One who never complained about the climate, however, was Chico. To him it was bliss to be taken care of, well fed and housed. The memories of his earlier, bitter years had not been wholly erased and he could still scarcely believe his good luck at the kindness, indeed the spoiling that was lavished on him. It did them all good to see his cheerful, darting little figure full of energy and high spirits when they themselves were worn down by the rigours of the climate.

  The Japanese assault started perilously for the Allies. On 6th February, General F. Messervy, who commanded the 7th Indian Division, was in a hand-to-hand fight nine miles behind our own lines in the Arakan. Fighting his way out, he established his headquarters at a small place named Sinzweya. This became known as the ‘Admin. Box’.

  The resistance of the Admin. Box was the first delay the Japanese met in carrying out their ambitious design.

  For weeks before the attack, pilots of patrolling British fighters had reported seeing the lights of our motor transport and the bivouac fires of our troops by night; but had seen no enemy movement. The Japanese had slipped through the jungle and delivered a surprise assault. The support given by their air force amounted to sweeps by 160 aircraft in two days.

  In the air supply of the Admin. Box, 2,000 tons of stores were dropped in four weeks. The main ammunition dump was blown up thrice by enemy shells and each time replenished by air. An air strip 200 yards long was cut so that Austers could land to fly out the wounded. Spitfires shot down sixty enemy aircraft. In short, a tremendous all-round flying effort was being made.

  On 8th March, the Japanese made two thrusts at Imphal. The importance of this small town lay in the fact that it stood guardian to the main communication route between Burma and India and was our advanced base for the central front. With this place in their possession the enemy would have been able to attack our airfields and supply bases in the Surma valley and break our line of contact with Assam. A huge air lift to Imphal was organized and carried out speedily: in 228 sorties, 3,056 officers and men were brought in, with 50 motor cycles, 40 jeeps, 31 trailers, 8 howitzers, 16 field guns and 100,000 lb of stores.

  On 4th April the Japanese attacked Kohima, whose defence saw some of the fiercest fighting in the war. For several days and nights the enemy held one side of a tennis court while the defenders held the other: close quarters indeed. Supplies were dropped daily by Dakotas. In two weeks, four Hurricane squadrons flew, 2,200 sorties over the area. Vultee Vengeance dive bombers continually attacked Japanese ammunition and supply dumps.

  The supply of Kohima and Imphal and many other places in the densely forested hills went on at high pressure for four months: an average of 275 tons a day was dropped and in June the figure rose to 400 tons. More than 30,000 non-combatant troops, as well as two fully staffed field hospitals, were flown out of Imphal in the month of May.

  And over 6,000 airmen were besieged, too. No. 221 Group, at Imphal, formed itself into self-supporting boxes with orders to fight until over-run; there was to be no surrender. Every man carried a weapon and pilots and ground crews slept in fox holes near the aircraft. On top of the vile monsoon weather there were the irritants of dysentery, red ants that bit painfully, black spiders which brought up a burning rash on the skin, and cobras which were ever-present and on which one might tread at any moment in the dark.

  Long-range Lightning and Mustang fighters of the U.S. Army Air Corps kept up attacks on forward enemy airfields, while General ‘Vinegar Joe’ Stilwell’s American-Chinese army advanced along the Hukawng valley. A huge air transport mission was completed in early March when, in six days, 9,052 officers and men, 509,082 lb of stores, 1,183 mules and 175 ponies were landed by aircraft and glider 150 miles behind the Japanese lines in north-east Burma: these belonged to Wingate’s ‘Chindit’ Long Range Penetration Group.

  By the time the end of 1944 was in sight not only were the Japanese on the retreat, but air offensives had so restricted enemy movement that he scarcely dared stir by day and the daily tonnage carried by rail had been reduced from 750 to 150. Bridges were knocked down and kept broken; roads and jungle clearings were seldom free from observation; everywhere the fighters, bombers and transports were busy.

  With so much hardship behind and so much recent success to fortify them, No. 17 Squadron had returned, with a new C.O., to play its part in concluding the Far Eastern campaign.

  The Squadron was based first at Sapam, in Assam, an airfield near Imphal which had successfully resisted the enemy although the Japanese had occupied the surrounding hills during the siege. They lived in tents and used a runway that had been made by rolling several paddy fields and was several inches deep in dust. Their Spitfire 8s had to take off four at a time, because they whipped up such a dust cloud behind them. They began work at once with defensive patrols and escorting Dakotas on supply drops; but there was morning mist which kept them on the ground until late every day and they wer
e soon ordered to move to Palel.

  From Palel, still in Assam, they gave close support to the Fourteenth Army in its advance on Kalewa, which was taken on the 3rd December. Flying low over the valleys and the jungle-matted flanks of the hills, they encountered flak but no enemy aircraft. It was not a very stimulating type of mission; there was little to see and some enemy anti-aircraft fire was actually welcome: it gave them something to shoot back at.

  Lacey quickly established himself as an unconventional character.

  His Intelligence Officer recalls accompanying him on a jeep drive to Group H.Q., which provided him with ‘some of the most rapid motoring I have ever experienced. He drove the jeep rather, I imagine, as he flew his Spitfire.’ At every roughly repaired bridge, Lacey, Jeep and F/O Britton became separately airborne and somehow met again on the far side. The call on Group was followed by supper at the Manipur Club and an even faster drive, by moonlight, back to the airfield.

  On 14th December, 17 Squadron left Palel for Taukkyan, in Burma, a strip which the Japs had carved out of the jungle, lying in a lovely setting of hills to the north and west with a wide plain to the south. A little stream ran close to their tents and provided a welcome bathing place.

  From here they flew defensive patrols over the bridgehead across the Chindwin, and over the Bridge over the Kalewa river, which was the longest Bailey bridge in existence.

  Lacey’s arrival on the Burma front began a feud with an officer senior to himself for whom he had a deep dislike; and to whom he habitually referred as ‘That b…. athlete’. These two had different attitudes to Service life: the one was unconventional and rebellious, the other orthodox and inflexible; frequent clashes would have been inevitable in any walk of life or circumstances.

  It was convenient that the dislike was mutual, for The Athlete took care to ensure that as great a distance as possible was maintained between 17 Squadron and his own unit.