Torpedo Attack

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  Meanwhile the Superintendent of Police had telephoned to the R.A.F. at Linton-on-Ouse to report that Whitley N 1427 was in a watery grave but that her crew were safe and well and required transport back to base. It was arranged that they should be flown to Linton by the already famous 24 Transport Squadron, stationed at Hendon. 24 Squadron's D.H. 89 arrived late owing to prolonged daylight attacks by the Luftwaffe on Manston. This meant that John Mitchell and his crew would have to spend the night at Hendon. They arrived. The rest of the crew departed to the Sergeants' mess and John rubbed his hands at the thought of dinner and a glass of wine. It had been quite a night and quite a day, one deserving of modest celebration.

  Alas, his frock coat was his undoing. The Station Commander, who held the dizzy rank of Group Captain, frigidly refused to allow John to enter the mess on the grounds that he was 'improperly dressed'. The fact that he had been in the sea a few hours before was of less importance than sartorial correctness. Sadly the navigator of the late N 1427 ate a solitary sandwich in his room and drank a cup of coffee. He felt rather like the isolated bacillus of an infectious disease and only wished he could be with his crew in the welcoming Sergeants' mess.

  Next morning, September 3rd, 1940, all were flown back to Linton for immediate return to operations.

  Four days later, on September 7th, John Mitchell took off with a full load of bombs for Stuttgart. His introduction to 24 Squadron had been most inauspicious. He had no reason to believe that he would ever enter Hendon's formal portals again. He was wrong.

  Flying Officer John Mitchell of 58 Squadron went on bombing Hitler's Reich during the winter nights of 1940 and the spring nights of 1941. On the nth of February of that year, he was awarded the D.F.C. In 1942, he was posted to a specialist navigation course in Canada and promoted to Flight Lieutenant. Subsequently, he joined the staff of the British Air Commission, Washington D.C. for duty with Link Aviation Devices Incorporated of Binghamton, New York. He returned home to keep a most happy and felicitous appointment with Brenda Marjorie Stroud. They were married on the 19th of September, 1942.

  These were the bare bones of the curriculum vita? on which the faceless men worked. The human flesh on the bones was fit and muscular, the eyes were calm and very shrewd, the manner quiet and reserved. The episode of the frock coat and the top hat in Margate argued a sense of humour. In emergency, he was unruffled and there was abundant evidence of personal courage. The final analysis of the faceless men was so satisfactory that Flight Lieutenant John Mitchell was unexpectedly summoned to the Director General of Postings and instructed to report at once to 24 Squadron at Hendon 'for special duty'. The nature of that 'special duty' would be revealed in due course.

  John smiled wryly. On the only previous occasion when he had visited 24 Squadron at Hendon, he had been confined to his room for being improperly dressed. This time, he felt, his reception would be somewhat different.

  He was right.

  The aircraft that stood in the closely guarded hangar at Hendon was of a type which neither John Mitchell nor anybody else in the R.A.F. had ever seen before. Her number was LV 633 and she was one of the prototype Yorks, the third of her kind ever to be built and the first to be delivered to the R.A.F. She had four Rolls-Royce Merlin 20 engines and, like an overdue baby, was hopelessly overweight. This strange aircraft had been flown from Chadderton to Hendon by a most skilful test-pilot of Messrs. A. V. Roe and put down on the very short runway for the completion of her interior furnishings.

  John Mitchell walked slowly round her. She was in bomber camouflage, brown and green with black undersides. The wings, undercarriage and tail-unit were from the Lancaster production line and she had a square, box-like body designed in the first instance, it was said, to carry petrol stacked in jerricans to beleaguered Malta. But that was no longer her purpose.

  Within, she was fitted out as a yacht-and that was how her future 'owner' liked to regard her. She was his aerial yacht, ready at all times to sail at a moment's notice through calm or stormy skies. There was a forward cabin, a dining saloon, an 'Owner's' state-room, a galley and a spacious luggage compartment - not to mention three lavatories of the Elsan type, the Owner's being of an intricate, self-circulating hydraulic design which might well have been conjured up by Emett. There was also an electric urn and a water tank and ­ strange piece of equipment-a hay-box, presumably to keep already cooked meals warm. No provision had been made for the cooking of fresh food in flight. The remote reading compass had been installed in the tail of the aircraft - which meant that the Navigator, John Mitchell, would have to pass through the cabins, the galley and the luggage compartment to check it from time to time. LV 633 herself and all those concerned with her were rated as being top security. There was no doubt whatsoever as to the identity of the Owner.

  He was Winston Churchill, Prime Minister of Great Britain and Minister of Defence.

  Hitherto Mr. Churchill's war-time flights had of necessity been made in aircraft which were not wholly suited either to his purpose or to his position. First, in his critical flights to France in 1940, he had used Flamingoes of 24 Squadron. Later a Liberator named 'Commando' had been put at his disposal from R.A.F. Ferry Command at Dorval, Montreal. This was most ably commanded by an American, Captain Van de Kloot with Squadron Leader Charles T. Kimber of the R.A.F. as navigator. In it, the Prime Minister had flown to Moscow, to Casablanca and to Adana. Here a significant mishap had occurred. Taxiing out 'Commando' had slipped off the taxi-way into soft mud and been bogged down. This meant that Mr. Churchill had had to transfer himself, his party and his luggage into another Liberator, the backer-up. Comfort and a place in which to work had been meagre in 'Commando'. In the alternative aircraft they were non-existent.

  Mr. Churchill's next flight had been by British Airways

  Boeing Clipper flying boat from Bermuda to Britain. These aircraft were suitable for trans-oceanic flight but not for Russia or the Middle East. All had gone well. But by now it was felt increasingly strongly and voiced in the whole Cabinet that this great Englishman should have his own aircraft, specially equipped to his own most exacting needs and flown by an all-British crew from the R.A.F. The availability of the York LV 633 in 1943 made this possible. By happy choice, she was named Ascalon.

  The first Captain of Ascalon was the late Wing Commander B. Collins, D.F.C. A brilliant ex-Imperial Airways pilot, 'Dad' Collins had over twelve thousand hours of flying to his credit, bashing through turbulent, tropical skies to Africa and the Far East. He was large of build with a ruddy complexion and a dark piratical moustache. His sight was fantastic and his stamina prodigious. He could be convivial or the reverse ­ but the challenging Irish twinkle was seldom far distant from the pupils of his eyes.

  *****

  'Dad' Collins, as he was affectionately known to the crew by virtue of his age, was a brilliant natural pilot. Brought up in the hard school of the early days of the Empire Air Routes he was a very self-sufficient captain and always conscious of his responsibility for the aircraft and the Prime Minister. He supervised us, his crew, with the minimum of fuss and drove us with a very light rein. He had earned his D.F.C. by flying in ammunition to the besieged Guards fighting desperately near Calais in 1940 in an unarmed 'Ensign' airliner, lately of Imperial Airways.”

  *****

  A pre-war member of the Royal Air Force Reserve, 'Dad' Collins had been drawn into 24 Squadron at the outbreak of hostilities. During the dread summer of 1940, he had flown Winston Churchill to France in D. H. Flamingoes on more than one occasion while the battle had still raged on the ground and the Prime Minister had pleaded with the nerveless French to remember their dignity and their stature and to fight on. Collins was promoted from Fight Commander to be the Squadron's C.O. in 1942 and was the obvious, natural choice for the York.

  His co-pilot from May 1943 until June 1944 when le took over command was Squadron Leader Ernest George 'Bill'

  Fraser, A.F.C. Short and slightly rotund, the jovial Bill had become a first-cl
ass pilot by sheer hard work.

  Married, now, with two children, 'Bill' Fraser had joined the R.A.F. in the thirties as an apprentice and, while serving in the Middle East, had been recommended for a Sergeant Pilot's course at No. 4 F.T.S. Abu Sueir. This in itself was a remarkable achievement. Very few airmen were chosen for this course and those who passed out were even fewer for the training syllabus was long and difficult. 'Bill' achieved the equivalent of an Honours Degree and was posted to No. 70 Middle East Transport Squadron, then equipped with Vickers Victoria Troop Carriers. At the outbreak of war, he was brought home, commissioned and joined No. 24 Squadron. He was a Flight Lieutenant when hand-picked to be the co-pilot o£ Ascalon.

  A meticulous planner, he brought his mathematical genius, his ever present slide rule and his immense powers of concentration to bear on the problems of aircraft performance. With his subordinates, he was firm and clear, seeming to radiate his own quiet confidence. He was to become a close friend of John Mitchell's, both in the air and on the ground.

  Jack Payne was the Flight Engineer.

  Sidney Sylvester Payne - the nickname 'Jack' came naturally-had joined the R.A.F. as an Apprentice in the twenties, left to enter the motor industry and rejoined. He had wide knowledge and flair and knew every nut and bolt in Ascalon's engines and airframe.

  *****

  "Jack's engineering capability was the mainstay of the operating side. He was unique, for at that time he was the only flight engineer who was also a fully qualified maintenance engineer; coming to the crew direct from flight testing the York and the new four-engined bombers at Boscombe Down, he was invaluable... Brimming with confidence and knowledge, he always made up his mind on the hard facts as he found them, gave clear and unequivocal advice to the Captain and never shirked responsibility. Because he was essentially a practical man working in a medium with which he was deeply familiar, his judgement was invariably right. A good deal older than the rest of us in years, his energy and enthusiasm made us regard him as our contemporary."

  *****

  Rolls-Royce were acutely conscious of the future commercial importance of the York as the first transport aircraft to be built and fitted with their engines during the war. They wanted to know everything about its performance - and particularly how their engines would behave in the tropics. They had an eye to the present - the safety of the Prime Minister of paramount importance-and to the future when it was hoped that Yorks would pioneer the embryonic routes of peacetime B.O.A.C. Jack Payne worked in the closest harmony with Rolls-Royce and came to be the vital link between manufacturer and user.

  Jack Payne kept Ascalon as well as her Skymaster successor in first class flying trim in all weathers and in all climates. No problem of maintenance was beyond his skill, no repair beyond his ingenuity. At one time, because of his unorthodoxy in handling the technical bureaucrats, a suggestion was made in high places that Jack Payne should be moved from the Prime Minister's aircraft. A low, menacing growl came from Number Ten-and the suggestion was dropped like a red-hot coal.

  There was Ascalon and there were the main members of her crew. Her Owner was in Washington conferring with the President of the United States. He required his aerial yacht in Gibraltar on May the 27th, 1943. Much remained to be done before that date.

  Chapter Two

  THE galley in Ascalon-whimsically situated under the main petrol tank - was primitive to a degree and seemed to promise little more than Brown Windsor soup and warmed up Spam or snoek. Obviously war-time austerity had blunted imagination for surely the Prime Minister was known to have a robust appetite and a thirst that was unlikely to be assuaged by a permanent diet of soup. The first requirement was to provide at least elementary arrangements to cook fresh food. Out went the hay-box-and in came a modest wine cellar. A chance meeting with Frank E. Buckell, Aviation Manager of The General Electric Company, proved to be, in fact, heaven­ sent. He took the civilised view that 'any bloody fool can succeed in being uncomfortable' and set to work with a will to mitigate the austerity meted out to the Prime Minister by the Ministry of Aircraft Production.

  Looking at his shoes and then at the sky, Buckell asked mildly if the crew of the V.I.P. flight could possibly lay their hands on a sheet of unofficial stainless steel. If so-and nobody appreciated the value of licences and .priorities more than he did - Mr. Churchill's aircraft could have a cooker within a space of a few hours. It seemed, he said, a pity that the Prime Minister and his staff should have to ruin their digestions and risk the possibility of poisoning by Axis-inspired cooks many thousands of miles away from home-all for the want of a sheet of steel. In the grand balance of the war, it seemed disproportionate. And to apply (in triplicate) for this simple essential would take many weeks. The V.I.P. flight went into unofficial action and hot freshly cooked meals for Mr. Churchill were assured before nightfall.

  The next crew member to join Ascalon was Flight Lieutenant William 'Jock' Gallacher, a quick, needle-sharp and loyal Roman Catholic from Glasgow. He came as an expert wireless operator from Coastal Command.

  *****

  'Jock was then a bachelor gay. He came to us from Coastal Command with wide experience of long range operations. Perhaps a little apart from us Southerners at first, he was rapidly assimilated, or were we? He was a volatile character, quick to anger, but equally quick to great friendship. He was absolutely competent at his job and tireless in his efforts to carry out his duties to the hilt. The radio equipment on Ascalon was strictly basic and our top secret messages were all too frequently submerged by more strident transmissions. But Jock had an unassailable glint in his eye and the sight of him hunched over his wireless set was reassuring in itself. Later, when we were to enjoy the comparative sophistication of the Skymaster, his wise planning advice over the Radio equipment and his extensive knowledge of air operating procedures made our penetration of the Russian air space very much easier."

  *****

  Though the whole crew were on the posted strength of 24 Squadron at Hendon, Ascalon was operated from Northolt where the runway was 1,800 yards long with clear approaches at either end. Also Northolt lay conveniently on the route between Number 10 Downing Street and Chequers, which meant that the Prime Minister could drop in unheralded and pat his aircraft's nose. This he did on more than one occasion - much to the embarrassment and fascination of Jack Payne when he realised that there was a secondary purpose in these visits, the promotion of the Owner's personal comfort. It is certain that the movements of both aircraft and crew were watched night and day by this country's secret enemies. There was always the risk of loose talk and gossip in bars. The advent of this curious bird of flight did not go unseen by prying eyes and one could never forget the sinister presence of H.E. the German Ambassador in Dublin. Because of this, a cover plan was always devised to explain the absence of Ascalon from Northolt. Before flight, the preparation of the aircraft involved fuelling on a much larger scale than the requirements of the Polish Spitfires that were its stable companions. Extra petrol bowsers carrying 2,800 gallons were driven over from R.A.F. Hendon under cover of darkness and returned empty before daylight. On the domestic side, linen and knives and forks had to be discreetly loaded at the latest convenient hour. The air­ craft had to be victualed and it was no easy task, with strict war time rationing, unobtrusively to bring food and drink for departure in the middle of the night.

  The fact that Ascalon was completely unarmed and was incapable of hitting back made security arrangements the more vital. At no time did they fail.

  Between May 3rd and May 2oth, 1943, Ascalon underwent handling, radio and consumption trials at Boscombe Down. In all, the crew had her in the air for some twenty-four hours. They based their performance calculations on the only figures then available-those which related to her cousin, the Lancaster bomber.

  *****

  "We soon found out that Ascalon preferred to fly at about 10,000 feet and at a speed of 200 m.p.h. As we used up our fuel, we could maintain this speed with progressively l
ess engine power. Ten hours in the air gave us a comfortable range of 2,000 statute miles which is the distance between Northolt and Algiers. From these purely basic handling trials, we were faced with an inaugural flight to a fixed, rigid programme. It was, to say the least of it, daunting. It was Mr. Churchill's intention to tour the battlefields of North Africa in Ascalon, an operationally untried aircraft. We prayed that nothing would go wrong. Compared with modern lets, we should have had an angel with a red flag fluttering in front of us …"

  *****

  "All aviation proceeds in a series of jerks" - and the inaugural flight of Ascalon conformed to this rule.

  After a three day hold-up at Northolt due to bad weather forecasted en route, the skies cleared at midday on May 25th and Ascalon took off jubilantly on the first stage of her first all-important flight. The passengers were three, two senior R.A.F. officers and a civilian, one of the Prime Minister's secretaries. The intention was to land and refuel swiftly at Portreath in preparation for a night crossing of the Bay of Biscay. To cross the Bay in daylight without adequate cloud cover was considered dangerous in the extreme. The U-boat wolf packs operating out of Brest, Saint Nazaire and Lorient, were protected by J.U. 88's and Focke-Wulf Kondors who would be only too happy to shoot down a British aircraft, armed or not.