Mosquito: Menacing the Reich: Combat Action in the Twin-engine Wooden Wonder of World War II (40 page)

Lionel Proulx takes up the story:

After we had discharged the aluminium foil at the prescribed level approaching and over the target area we turned, leaving the bombers behind us. We planned to separate and start for home. There was no need to stay in formation unless German jet fighters were in evidence and with our poor aircraft performance we planned to throttle back. As we were making the turn and still heading north-east, I loosened my seat belt and stood up to see if there were any enemy aircraft in our proximity. I did see three aircraft to our rear, identifying them as Me 109s. I yelled at Pod but he was already aware of their presence. At that moment something, possibly flak, hit the starboard engine. The performance of the starboard engine was of immediate concern, particularly during the left bank. Pod was a powerful figure of a man and he managed to keep the aircraft at a favourable level and complete the turn. I leaned over to help him but at that time we entered the clouds. The decision to divert to Sweden was reviewed by Alvin Podwojski:

The oil temperature gauge on the starboard engine was reflecting the heat; the radiator temperature was high; the oil pressure was down to 15 lb and the port engine started running rough. There was a direct head-wind of 100 mph above 25,000ft over the North Sea. I asked Proulx for the time to England and received the answer of 2 hours and 10 minutes. He estimated it would take 1 hour and 50 minutes to reach friendly lines at low altitude and with two engines. In answer to my further enquiry, Proulx reckoned that, with the wind in our favour, it would take 40 minutes to reach Sweden. He added, “You fly the damn plane. I’ll do the praying.” So saying, he pulled out his rosary beads. The decision was thus left to me. I called McNulty and instructed our flight to proceed without us. We were due west of Flensburg when we turned east toward Sweden. Meanwhile, Proulx sorted his maps and gave me compass directions.

Lionel Proulx recalls:

With the starboard engine smoking and steaming and the oil pressure down to 10lb from the normal 70lb, Pod cut the starboard engine and feathered the propeller. Though the port engine was turning 2,650 rpm, our air speed was only 160 mph. Pod tried to jettison the drop tanks on the wings but only one dropped. The port tank would not jettison. It broke loose later when we were in a banking curve while checking for enemy aircraft. Keeping close watch to the rear, I observed over Svendborg, Denmark, German fighters either pursuing or shadowing us. We were yet a full 30 minutes from Sweden. With our slow descent through broken clouds, the German fighters lost interest. Flying by instruments, we came down out of cloud cover over the Swedish coast at approximately 9,000ft. The Royal Swedish Air Force flying Seversky P-35 fighters immediately intercepted us. Their SAF insignia, three gold crowns on a blue background, was distinct. They escorted us to an airfield outside Malmo called Bulltofta.

As the Mosquito approached the airfield and before the crew had lowered their landing gear the port engine died. With the loss of their air compressor Proulx had to wind down the landing gear manually. It was slow and exhausting work but he prevailed. With the landing gear extended Podwojski made a ‘dead stick’ landing on the south-west runway. Immediately upon touchdown, Swedish fire trucks raced parallel to the runway with their nozzles trained on the Mosquito in case it burst into flames but the aircraft rolled to a stop at the end of the runway after almost three hours in the air. The fire trucks encircled the Mosquito and Swedish Air Force personnel brandishing weapons immediately surrounded the Americans. Podwojski was allowed to inspect the starboard engine and he found what appeared to be flak holes in the bottom of the cowling. Internment in Sweden was not without its compensations but one night a black limousine arrived at the American’s hotel and took them to Bromma Airport where they waited in the darkness for a black B-24 that stopped nearby with engines running. They boarded the bomber and took off on their return flight to England.

Seventy-four Mosquito Red-Tail sorties (named after their red tails, so coloured to distinguish them from enemy aircraft) were flown from bases in East Anglia, each carrying the Command Pilot of 8th Air Force bombing missions. On 4 April 1945 1st Lieutenant Theodore B. Smith, pilot, 653rd Squadron and Colonel Troy W. Crawford, Commanding Officer, 446th Bomb Group, lifted off in a Mosquito on a Red Tail mission. Crawford had been selected to coordinate operations of the front third of the formation of B-24 Liberator bombers of the 2nd Air Division targeted for Parchim Airfield, west of Berlin. Parchim airfield was closed-in and the mission was diverted to Wesendorf airfield. At about 09.30 hours Crawford called the leader of the bomber force by radio to inform him that he was joining the formation. The mission was Smith’s thirteenth mission in a Mosquito. He had completed one tour with a bomber group. His first twelve missions with the 25th Bomb Group were weather missions, however. This was his first Red Tail mission. He had not been briefed on procedure to adapt his routine with either his fighter escort or with bomber formations. The Mosquito must weave to allow escorting P-51s to keep pace. Bomber gunners were instructed to fire on all planes that approached within a specified range. The briefing was the responsibility of the 2nd Bomb Division.

Crawford was impressed with the formation flown by his pilots. At 10.30 hours he instructed Smith to fly around to the left of the formation to a position where he could get some good photographs. It was at this time that an Fw 190 and between eight and fifteen Me 262s attacked the formation. Smith drew too close to the bomber formation. Gunners in the lead squadron, seeing an aircraft resembling the attacking Me 262s, opened fire. The right engine of the Mosquito was hit in its cooler and died. It was followed in moments by the left engine. There was no fire and the aircraft peeled off under control. Crawford was not familiar with the escape mechanism on Mosquitoes. Smith explained how to work the lock on the escape hatch and the colonel jumped. He was followed shortly by Smith. Both landed safely and Smith and Crawford were captured but some Germans who, realising that Germany had lost the war, later freed Crawford. He returned to the USA.

John W. ‘Jack’ Green, a pilot in the 653rd Squadron recalls:

My navigator Johnny Mink and I were diverted on one occasion to Exeter in the south-western region of England. Two other weather mission aircraft were also diverted there. The three weather missions in one night had to be staggered to obtain insight into the movement of foul weather in the area. Our descent began at approximately 20,000ft into the cloud layer that covered all England. Our vectors or headings for us to fly were established by three receiving stations and were set to circle us down and into the somewhat narrow valley in which the airfield was located. To circle us down required a triangulation plotting from the three, registering our direction from each. Directional lines of the three must cross to determine our point of location. The ceiling was at 500ft, well below the level of the tops of the mountains surrounding. As the descent progressed the radius of the circle we were in became shorter and shorter. Finally vectors were coming one after another. We received them all and then acknowledged as we circled all the way from 20,000ft to 500ft, the ceiling level. Then came touchdown. After we parked, a staff car drove us to the front of operations command and there we were greeted by a Wing Commander with, “Wot? A Yank flying a Mosquito?” After pleasantries and curiosities were satisfied and after being introduced to his staff we were escorted to the main vector unit where we could meet the officer in charge, the one who had made the quick triangulations. With a degree of pride, I believe, and interest in us, he explained how all had been done on the board in front of him. It was quite remarkable that he could receive directional lines from two other stations register his own and plot our next bearing so rapidly. He had been very busy!

In January 1945 flying with Lieutenant Ralph E. Fisher, I returned from a mission with one engine out, dead tired, at four in the morning. There was no airfield open in all of the UK, a not uncommon occurrence for the 653rd. We were directed to head for Manston on the south-east tip of England on the surmise that the weather there might break and open for us. As we approached the coast the ceiling lifted to 200ft with visibility a quarter of a mile. But then, as we descended, we were informed that Manston had closed-in again. It was suggested that we fly west on the chance that there would be an opening  somewhere. We were 200ft off the deck of the sea, south of the cliffs of Dover, in black conditions, nothing visible and still on one engine. Imagine again relying in the dark, on altimeter settings at 200ft, hoping that you are indeed, clearing the deck. And the coastline and cliffs of Dover off the starboard wing! And, what about the feelings of my navigator? This was Fisher’s first flight with me. We flew for about 15 minutes when ‘Blue Frock’, the code name for Manston, called us back. They reported visibility had improved to a quarter of a mile again so back we went. My approach was ‘hot’. I planned it that way. With only one engine it would be necessary for Lieutenant Fisher to hand pump the landing gear down and commit to some flaps for the round-out before arriving at approach speed. It worked. After all that and being dead tired, we learned that there was a small US contingent stationed at Manston to handle those Yanks landing in emergencies.

We were directed to a Nissen hut where a USAAF supply sergeant furnished OD [Olive Drab] blankets. And then told us to find a cot somewhere? The treatment received from the USAAF supply sergeant and his telling us to look for a cot somewhere, after his supplying us with the thinnest of OD blankets, could only be something of a shock to us. We had not been treated so before. But we ate the standard scrambled eggs that were furnished before turning in. We had been spoiled by the far different treatment we had always received when diverted. Usually, and hopefully, it was always an English airfield, where the Mossie could be handled and serviced by those familiar with it. Perhaps our reception at English aerodromes would be considered unusual by our standards. This was wartime. But that in itself underscores how considerate and hospitable the English everywhere were and especially when encountering the Yank flier. Even civilians in the countryside extended themselves within the limits of their capabilities, one might think. Frequently, the extension seemed to go way beyond that.

But it was nearly morning and a moment of glory came at 8 o’clock. Not being able to sleep, I needed my diversion kit, which had been left in the aircraft. I went off to ops for help. Where had we parked the Mosquito? The duty officer, a WAAF, asked for the number of our aircraft, then left the room. She came back shortly with wide, wide eyes. “You’re a ‘Paint Jar!’ ” “Yes-?” I replied. “I’ve always wanted to meet a ‘Paint Jar’”. On a number of occasions ‘Blue Frock’ people had been startled late at night or in early morning when, with no radio activity, weather being so bad that no one was flying, yet a ‘Paint Jar’ would be heard calling for a vector. ‘Paint Jar’ was a mystery. Just who were they, those ‘Paint Jars’, the only ones aloft in such miserable weather? And on their secret missions? ‘Paint Jar’ was the call sign of the 653rd Squadron. My call sign was ‘Paint Jar 57’. And of course my chest puffed up a bit! But I was too tired to follow up.
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By early 1945 several anti-Nazi agents were ready to be parachuted into Germany from American aircraft, but there were problems. In France agents had successfully used the long-established, but weighty, S-Phone device; but making air-to-ground contact with the agents once they had landed in Germany was more difficult. A large and heavy suitcase was highly suspicious and safe houses were few and far between. And anyway, the S-Phone had an effective range only up to 10,000ft, well within reach of the German flak batteries. Stephen H. Simpson, a Texan scientist with the honorary rank of Lieutenant Commander and Dewitt R. Goddard came up with a transmitter-receiver system so small that the agent in the field could easily carry it. Yet it could transmit a radio beam so narrow that it was practically immune to detection by the German ‘Gonio’ (Radio-goniometry) vans. The new system was named Joan-Eleanor, after Major Joan Marshall, a WAC and Goddard’s wife. Goddard and Simpson’s invention was modified and installed in a Mosquito after all unnecessary equipment was removed. An oxygen system was installed in the bomb bay and adapted to accommodate the Joan-Eleanor device and an operative. Eventually, five Mosquitoes were made available for Joan-Eleanor and agent-dropping missions, the latter being known as Redstockings in the hope that the German Abwehr would think they were connected with Bluestocking weather missions. Lieutenant Marvin R. Edwards, a navigator who served on B-24 and Mosquito flights, recounts:

The Joan-Eleanor radio equipment was battery operated. The transmission and receiving package carried in the Mosquito weighed about 40lb. It could pick up a voice on the ground in the 60-mile radius of the cone at 40,000ft. Beyond that, the Joan-Eleanor radio transmission and receiver equipment would not work. The transmitter and receiver were called Eleanor. The OSS agent on the ground carried the Joan section, which beamed UHF transmissions. It only weighed about two pounds and it measured only 6.5 inches x 2.25 inches x 1.5 inches. While the transmitter used by the agent on the ground spread to about a 60-mile circle at 40,000ft. The cone narrowed to just a couple of feet at ground level. Therefore the chance of the conversation being picked up by German direction finders was almost nil. The special operator in the Mosquito recorded the conversation that took place on a wire spool, which was rushed to OSS HQ for analysis. It was then immediately given to the Allied High Command, who used the information in planning future operations and strategy against Germany.

On 22 October the first test flight was made with Steve Simpson and his equipment in the rear fuselage. On 10 November 1944 the first agent, code-named Bobbie was dropped during the night at Ulrum on the German border with Holland. Bobbie was Anton Schrader, a 27-year-old Dutch engineer and the son of a Netherlands governor-general in the Dutch East Indies. An agent was given a line of 100-150 miles, anywhere along which he could use his radio. He was never to use it in the same place twice. He should broadcast from a 50-yards clearing in a forest because trees and shrubbery would quickly absorb the spreading frequency waves. The BBC would broadcast an innocuous sentence: ‘Mary needs to talk to you Thursday the 10th,’ at a pre-arranged time. This meant a mission would fly the line on that date after midnight and call continuously. When the agent responded he was acknowledged and the aircraft continued for 20 miles. The point was then orbited at a radius of 20 miles as the Mosquito flew in a 40mile circle above 30,000ft. By using direction finders in the Mosquito, the contact man located the point from which the agent was transmitting. By using synchronized instruments the contact man in the plane could direct the pilot.