J
jrhume
Guest
Night Bomber
In late 1943 my Dad's unit was quartered in quonset huts, which had been erected along the perimeter of an airfield in England. Sixteen men lived in each hut. Because the Germans were sending over intruders at night to bomb airfields and such, each hut had slit trenches dug a short distance from the entrance doors.
When they first lived in the huts, they were required to dress and assemble outside whenever an air raid alarm sounded. Because of the chilly weather, the men grumbled about that, so the powers-that-be decided it would be okay if just one man went outside to observe during raids. The idea was that he would be able to warn the others in plenty of time if an intruder actually got close to the airfield.
Dad was in charge of his hut, being a staff sergeant at the time. He could have assigned others to get dressed and be the observer, but he was naturally curious about the raids and elected to do it himself.
Well, one night the alarms sounded and he dressed and went outside to watch. On this instance a German bomber was flying towards the airfield at a medium altitude. He figured it was at about 5,000 feet AGL. They couldn't see the plane, but could see the searchlights probing the sky and the anti-aircraft shells exploding in the plane's general vicinity. This activity could be seen from some distance.
As the pilot approached, he would occasionally drop a bomb and they could see the flashes as those exploded on the ground. Each flash was followed by a hollow boom. None of this seemed particularly threatening as the plane was clearly not headed directly for their area.
After dropping several bombs, the plane was bracketed by searchlights. They could see the aircraft well enough to see that it was a twin-engine bomber. At a distance of about a mile from where he was standing, the plane was hit by flak. One engine caught fire and the aircraft began going down. As it did, it made a gentle arc which was obviously going to end up well clear of their quonset area. The pilot may have bailed out. Dad said the situation was very exciting, but didn't appear dangerous.
The burning bomber ended up plowing into a stand of trees about 500 yards from the quonset area. Naturally, this involved a pretty noisy explosion, followed by a thunderous blast as one or more bombs blew up. He said it was impressive, like a gigantic fireworks show.
Of course, the men outside the huts had watched the whole thing and were more entertained than alarmed. No so the men INSIDE the huts! When the plane crashed and the bombs exploded, the hut doors flapped open and men in all stages of undress crowded out and dived into the slit trenches!
Dad and the other observers thought the whole thing was hilarious. The wet, cold occupants of the slit trenches didn't agree, as you might imagine.
***********************
I've collected several stories related to my Dad's time in England and Europe, 1943-45. This is one of them.
He's been on my mind lately because of the 60th anniversary of D-Day. At this time 60 years ago he was at Charmy Down or Storton, waiting to go across the channel. His aircraft maintenance outfit supported the 422nd Nightfighter Squadron (P-61 Black Widows and P-70s - modified A-20s). The maintenance unit crossed the channel on June 28. They began operations in mid-July.
My father is still with us and lives in Montana. He's 83.
In late 1943 my Dad's unit was quartered in quonset huts, which had been erected along the perimeter of an airfield in England. Sixteen men lived in each hut. Because the Germans were sending over intruders at night to bomb airfields and such, each hut had slit trenches dug a short distance from the entrance doors.
When they first lived in the huts, they were required to dress and assemble outside whenever an air raid alarm sounded. Because of the chilly weather, the men grumbled about that, so the powers-that-be decided it would be okay if just one man went outside to observe during raids. The idea was that he would be able to warn the others in plenty of time if an intruder actually got close to the airfield.
Dad was in charge of his hut, being a staff sergeant at the time. He could have assigned others to get dressed and be the observer, but he was naturally curious about the raids and elected to do it himself.
Well, one night the alarms sounded and he dressed and went outside to watch. On this instance a German bomber was flying towards the airfield at a medium altitude. He figured it was at about 5,000 feet AGL. They couldn't see the plane, but could see the searchlights probing the sky and the anti-aircraft shells exploding in the plane's general vicinity. This activity could be seen from some distance.
As the pilot approached, he would occasionally drop a bomb and they could see the flashes as those exploded on the ground. Each flash was followed by a hollow boom. None of this seemed particularly threatening as the plane was clearly not headed directly for their area.
After dropping several bombs, the plane was bracketed by searchlights. They could see the aircraft well enough to see that it was a twin-engine bomber. At a distance of about a mile from where he was standing, the plane was hit by flak. One engine caught fire and the aircraft began going down. As it did, it made a gentle arc which was obviously going to end up well clear of their quonset area. The pilot may have bailed out. Dad said the situation was very exciting, but didn't appear dangerous.
The burning bomber ended up plowing into a stand of trees about 500 yards from the quonset area. Naturally, this involved a pretty noisy explosion, followed by a thunderous blast as one or more bombs blew up. He said it was impressive, like a gigantic fireworks show.
Of course, the men outside the huts had watched the whole thing and were more entertained than alarmed. No so the men INSIDE the huts! When the plane crashed and the bombs exploded, the hut doors flapped open and men in all stages of undress crowded out and dived into the slit trenches!
Dad and the other observers thought the whole thing was hilarious. The wet, cold occupants of the slit trenches didn't agree, as you might imagine.
***********************
I've collected several stories related to my Dad's time in England and Europe, 1943-45. This is one of them.
He's been on my mind lately because of the 60th anniversary of D-Day. At this time 60 years ago he was at Charmy Down or Storton, waiting to go across the channel. His aircraft maintenance outfit supported the 422nd Nightfighter Squadron (P-61 Black Widows and P-70s - modified A-20s). The maintenance unit crossed the channel on June 28. They began operations in mid-July.
My father is still with us and lives in Montana. He's 83.
.
