Moon Squadron (10 page)

"Over Budapest, we were awakened by the usual firework display; we tried to go to sleep again but were prevented from doing so, this time by the alarm bells and by the chucker-out telling us to get ready for the jump.

"We were near Cracow. Just at that moment, two night fighters got on our tail. After a few twists and turns, the tail gunner spoke to them in his native language. They, however, wanted to have the last word and kept insisting on it with long, luminous streamers of very unfriendly greetings. I sat hunched up and motionless, except for the buffeting and the shaking, part of which originated in myself, trying to become as small a target as possible. They kept after us and were now much nearer, on the side where I was sitting. I don't think I was the only one displeased at their audacity. The tail gunner must have harboured similar sentiments because he let one of them have it, well and truly. A longish burst caught the night fighter in the engine. There was a vivid flash and he disintegrated in the air.

"There was only one fighter on our tail now. The position was less serious and we had our bite of supper in comparative peace. The fighter kept glancing in our direction, with shiny eyes streaking towards us in the darkness, and our tail gunner was kept busy answering him. He never drew very near.

"We were already over the reception station. The aircraft's searchlights lit up the ground underneath and the agreed signal flashed below. Just then, the night-fighter too flashed out four long bursts at us. One of our chaps muttered disgruntledly -'there should be a law against such people.'

F. tried a conciliatory approach. He waved his hand in the nigh
t-fighter's direction and said “Be good. Go away.” Then his mood hardened and he added in Polish, “get the hell out of here.”

"We took our places at the hole. T. and F. were the first pair, E. and I the second and two other chaps made up the third. The first two, in a sudden gush of patriotism, shouted 'Long live Po
land’ as they went. I woke up - I always faint as I fall through the hole - with the same words on my lips…Then I was sprawling on all fours in a cornfield and hearing someone calling the password. “Wojtek, Wojtek, where are you?” I answered and a Home Army soldier emerged, helped me to for the parachute and led me to the local commander.

"There a pleasant surprise awaited us. Two girls, both liaison couriers, were waiting to have a look at
us. They gave us a warm welcome with a great deal of kissing. Later F., fresh from his conquests abroad, was overheard to say that no one, but NO ONE, could beat Polish girls.

“
When they kiss you, you get shivers running down your spine, then up, and then down again . . .”

"But the look-outs had seen a German column leaving the town. And there was still no sign of T., the man who had jumped first. A frantic search was started but no trace of him could be found. Half-an-hour later, he was brought to his companions by a peasant.

“Because I am very light,” he said, “the wind carried me for about three-quarters of a mile. I landed near the village. This good man here saw me landing. He made the sign of the cross and said, "Mister, did you come off that monster which made such a roar up above a little while ago?" “Of course not,” I answered. "Well then, what's that thing you're carrying on your back?" he asked, pointing to the parachute. “I had no idea, Dad.” "Well," he said, "if you have no idea, I'll take you to the staff" -and here I am at the staff.'

That was one man's account. Here is another. Both of them show a burning love for the soil of Poland.

During the first steps on our native soil, we still kept an automatised pattern of behaviour; first, to stand on one's feet and get rid of the cumbersome parachute; then, to feel one's pistols, just in case; finally, to fold and hide the parachute.

"After this, slowly but surely, we were drawn into the life of the country. We breathed our own air. We walked on our own soil. We took in new impressions through all our senses. How poor, h
ow devastated did our country seem, and thereby, how much dearer. We saw our countrymen, shrewd, full of drive and vigour, with acute perceptions, facing daily the last extremes of danger, misery and horror. What courage, energy and stubbornness poured out from this slice of humanity between Germany and Russia.

"We soon lost our foreign outer shell and acquired an essential peace of mind. With it came the deep conviction that we, and not the invaders, were the masters of our land. In the very marrow of our bones, we felt the truth of the inscriptions proclaiming from every wall that 'Poland lives' and 'Poland fights on.'

"We were home."

Throughout July, the Soviet armies swept westwards. Towards the end of the month, the leading columns halted and stood within a few miles of Warsaw. Information seeping out of the city that the Home Army was preparing for its own liberation excited and challenged the Polish crews who had travelled far from Tempsford. It was known to them that the Germans were making ready to evacuate the city and that the inhabitants were being rounded up for deportation to forced labour camps within the Reich where they would work until they could work no more. Every hour counted as the packed cattle trucks snaked westwards on their
via
dolorosa
towards the abattoirs of the Nazis.

In the sewers and cupboards and holes in the rubble, the hidden citizens of Warsaw waited, fondling their weapons. Rumour was rife-and news, definite news, was whispered of places already liberated. The distant rumble of Russian guns could be heard and it was said that Soviet columns had already crossed the Vistula. This was not yet true but the Red Army, having paused briefly for breath, was on the march again. As the sound of its guns became louder, a new fear came to Warsaw. It was that the Germans had mined the city and were about to blow up every single remaining building to cover their retreat.
It was now or never. Far better to die in the open air than to be crushed and stifled in the earth's bowels. On July 30th, the Home Army began to creep from its secret, underground places. Soviet and German aircraft were fighting to the death over the city as Polish men, women and children made their way to their long decided action stations. During the next day, Russian detachments arrived on the outskirts. They occupied a position on the eastern bank of the Vistula and a few Red tanks even penetrated to the streets on the periphery of the city.

DO BRONI WARSZAWO! To arms-Warsaw!

On August 1st, the Polish Home Army under the command of General Bor Komarowski went in action. Soldiers of the Capital!

Today I have issued the order so long awaited by all of you, the order for an open fight against the German invader. After nearly five years of unceasing underground struggle, today you are taking up arms openly to restore the freedom of our country and to punish the German criminals for the terror and bestialities they have committed within our frontiers.

This was the moment for which Stalin had waited and he took it with diabolical deliberation. On the pretext that the decision to come out of the sewers and fight had been taken without an agreed, concerted plan, he halted the Red Army. Within the city, the insurgents fought with what weapons lay to their hands. They fought with grenades, rifles, shot-guns, bottles of petrol, knives, with their fingernails. Alleged to have been slighted, the Georgian chorus boy stood in the wings tapping pettishly with his cloven hoof, hairy and horrible, plain at last for all to see.

A flood of appeals for air support and for supplies from the air laced the smoke of the city. The Poles begged that the Allies should bomb the suburbs of Warsaw, that Polish Fighter Squadrons should be sent from France, that the Polish Parachute Brigade be dropped into the rubble to come to the aid of their brothers, and that arms and ammunition be sent to them in abundance. Without the co-operation of the Russians, only the last of these piteous requests was in any way feasible. But all Russian help was withheld. The killing of Germans by Poles and of Poles by Germans was greatly to Stalin's taste and should be encouraged. Nor would the Soviet Command allow British or American aircraft loaded with arms for General Bor's forces to use airstrips in Russian-held territory. This cynical and calculated refusal even shocked those feeble-minded persons who, not long ago, had been daubing English walls with their demands for a "SECOND FRONT NOW." Arms and ammunition
could
be dropped, albeit at frightful risk. This was a job for the Special Duty Squadrons, the Moon Squadrons.

The aircraft of Squadron 138, based in far-away Tempsford, were engaged and strained to the utmost in the mighty Operation Overlord. The task was then one for the Polish Flight No. 1586-based on Brindisi. Air-Marshal Sir John Slessor advised the Chiefs of Staff that, in his view, the operation of dropping supplies from a low altitude into the inferno of Warsaw where the
battle with the Germans raged ‘was not a reasonable operation of war’. His opinion was supported by the Chiefs of Staff. But heart overcame head and this strictly military reasoning collapsed before the tragic appeals from doomed Warsaw. On the nights of August 8th and 9th, a trial effort by No. 1586 Polish Flight was sanctioned by Air-Marshal Slessor.

The Red Army still stood aloof. The Polish crews flew to the help of their city with exultation. They took off with the knowledge that their puny help could not affect the battle-so small was its contribution relative to the needs of the insurgents. The Germans had increased flak along the route Nowytarg-Cracow-Nowysacz-Tarnow and even more so over Warsaw itself. Smoke hid the reception points. The aircraft came down to 300 feet above the houses, the absolute minimum height that was sufficient for the container parachutes to open, and yet one that was low enough to secure accuracy of drop without the wind taking effect on the calculation. The targets were very small, mere patches in squares and streets of central Warsaw and in the Old Quarter. And it was from the Old Quarter that the insurgents hoped to paralyse the enemy's communications across the Vistula as all the bridges were within range. These devoted Special Duties Polish crews were the envy of all their compatriots engaged in the invasion of Europe. Such operations were, of course, at the heart of the struggle for them.

One of the sorties from Brindisi is described by Flight Lieutenant R. Chmiel. It was his eighteenth. The aircraft flew above impenetrable mist and had to rely on star "fixes" for navigation. The Carpathians were crossed and, over Poland, one of the six Halifaxes was shot down by a German fighter. They saw it twist and fall in flames. Grimly, they flew on, guided by other flames, by the red glow of Warsaw. The city was smothered in smoke, through which orange tongues of fire pierced. The Poniatowski Bridge was nearly hit as they roared along the Vistula to find the reception point in Krasinski Square. One side of the square was blazing but they flew low enough to drop the containers. After being satisfied that their cargo had been well received the pilot flew even lower, dodging steeples and high buildings, his crew's eyes streaming and almost blinded with smoke. The escape was made through a terrific curtain of flak. When the base at Brindisi was reached, they learned that all five Halifaxes that had made the flight with them had been lost.

That operation was on August 20th. Earlier, between the 12th and 17th, strengthened by two Liberator squadrons diverted from Southern France to support No. 1586 Flight, sorties were made on five successive nights. Out of 93 aircraft despatched, 17 failed to return.

The Polish Flight kept up the operations regardless of military "margins." By September 1st, of the Flight's 49 Halifaxes and Liberators, only 12 were serviceable with 37 under repair. Indeed, a decision had been made on August 17th to suspend operations because of the high rate of loss. The Polish authorities, however, pressed for Polish volunteers from No. 1586 Flight to continue. Four aircraft out of nine were lost on the 26th and the 27th, when a compromise arrangement was made, whereby the operations were to be continued only with the aid of delayed-drop parachutes which enabled the aircraft to release containers above the range of light flak.

Its strength depleted by the over-strain of operations in August, No. 1586 Flight was able to make only 17 sorties for the aid of Warsaw in September. British crews, on the other hand, made 116 sorties to the city. These operations were carried out as a moral obligation, in spite of the military principle that action doomed to failure and entailing disproportionate losses should not be undertaken. British losses in total were greatly in excess of Polish. Forty tons of munitions were dropped. Rather more than half fell into enemy hands. The crews were aware
that only part of their cargo was reaching the insurgents and that knowledge made their heavy casualties very hard to bear.

After a long pause, during which bad weather as well as the long tale of losses, provided reasons for suspending operations from Brindisi to aid the insurgents, a renewed effort was made by the R.A.F. to drop supplies on September 10th.

For six weeks, the agony of Warsaw had been carefully watched by Stalin. Slavonic Caesar, he had turned down his thumbs to all appeals by his allies and by those whose remnants he meant to consume. Now that the carnage was nearly complete, he began leisurely to consider how best to ingratiate himself at the future conference tables of victory. The time had come for a frontal attack by the Red Army, an attack on a city already reduced. On September 12th, Stalin allowed himself to be persuaded. On the 13th, the Soviet Command began to drop supplies and, at last, agreed to co-operate with the Allies. The United States VIIIth Air Force, operating from England, was permitted to use ‘shuttle’ bases in Russia. On September 18th, 107 Flying Fortresses took off and were escorted by fighters as far as the Polish frontier, the limit of their escorts' range. The bombers flew at 12,000 feet and released 1,284 containers over the city. Of these, the insurgents picked up 388. The Flying Fortresses flew on and landed for refuelling at Poltava. Before further operations of this kind, which had taken six days to complete, could be carried out, Warsaw had capitulated.