Moon Squadron (18 page)

"It was we who had to thank them."

Chapter Thirteen

BALANCE SHEET

That innermost holiest of homes, the Operations Room at Tempsford, was guarded night and
day by hawk-eyed persons who courteously but firmly denied entrance to all other than the screened and rescreened who had vital business within. Covering one wall of this Operations Room was a map of Europe. On it were little coloured clusters of flags. Each single flag represented the successful delivery either by parachute or by landing of agents or supplies. There were hundreds of these flags. They spattered the great North-Western land-mass of Europe. Though they were immobile; they seemed to flutter bravely. They fluttered in Norway, in the Arctic Circle, in Austria and over the indomitable soil of Poland. They congregated in gay and defiant festivals around Paris and Brussels, Oslo and Copenhagen. With impudent arrogance, they even appeared on the map of Hitler's Reich, that Reich that was to last a thousand years - the Reich that was already splitting and crumbling into chaos.

It presented a clear and staggering picture of the geographical scope and extent of the work done by the Special Duty squadrons.

At first glance, figures are sterile and bloodless and, when large enough, they become meaningless to the ordinary human imagination. During its years at Tempsford, 138 Squadron made two thousand five hundred and sixty two sorties. They dropped nearly a thousand agents. Over the dangerous years of clandestine operations, nine out of every ten agents went to Europe by air. Almost everyone of them were carried by the Special Duty Squadrons whose strong wings menaced the invaders from the North Pole to the sunny Adriatic. All this had sprung from the loins of the puny pioneer flight that met, pathetically small and powerfully potent, at North Weald in 1940. Each one of these two and a half thousand sorties should be viewed as an isolated, individual flight, meticulously planned and coolly undertaken in the knowledge that things might go wrong. Sometimes they did, and the Gremlins rubbed their skinny green hands together, chuckling. For example, Squadron Leader Lockhart's aircraft was destroyed after it had been taxied into a ditch, and the pilot was ‘looked after’ by the French. That is the laconic phrase used in the official report. He was looked after, and, in terms of human experience, that means that, at the very least, a dozen persons deliberately staked their lives and the lives of their families to get him home in safety. Lockhart came back via Gibraltar. Less fortunate was Pilot Officer Mott. On a filthy night, his aircraft overshot the improvised landing strip and caught fire. Despite the desperate efforts of the reception committee, he was taken prisoner and had to listen to the gloating, threadbare greeting: "For you, the war is over." Instances of the Gremlins' temporary triumphs are numerous. Flight Lieutenant Budger located his target without much difficulty. He was an old hand and knew the form. There was a strong headwind blowing and he made allowances for it. But he couldn't make allowance for a sudden violent down current and he landed with too much speed. There was only one thing to do, and he did it. He opened up with all he'd got and was miraculously airborne again, crashing through a network of high tension wires on the way up. As if the sound of his engines was not enough to waken the countryside, the high tension wires gave off a display of blue-white flashes that were calculated even to inform the stone deaf as to what was going on. The indefatigable Budger pressed on, completed his circuit and put the aircraft down, bursting the port wheel. It made a noise like the explosion of a hand grenade. All one wanted now was a searchlight! With considerable difficulty (for aircraft tyres are stoutly made to resist such attentions), Budger at last succeeded in puncturing the starboard tyre. No good doing things by halves. The lop-sided aircraft subsided on its two flat tyres. Budger took off, flew to base and landed. "The return flight," he reported, "was without incident."

In November, 1943, Flight-Lieutenant Hooper broke a whole year's run of good luck. This time, it seemed as if he had tempted the Gremlins too far and he was reported missing after a pick-up operation. His aircraft had become bogged on landing and the only thing to do was to destroy it. By the invisible filaments of secret communication, word was received in England that Hooper was safe and in good hands. Who other than Wing-Commander Bob Hodges should go to fetch him? The two men were firm friends and Bob was lucky enough out of all the volunteers to pick the piece of paper marked X out of the hat. He picked up his
friend on the night of 16
th
December in a Hudson, bringing one other passenger home for good measure. This again was the occasion for a notable party.

Sixty
three operations were attempted in 1944, fifty of them being successfully completed. It has become a commonplace for locomotives to snatch mail-bags off a gibbet while travelling at anything up to ninety miles an hour. 138 Squadron decided that what the land-locked engine could do, the aircraft could do. "
Anything
you
can
do
,
I
can
do
too
;
I
can
do
everything
better
than
you
..."

The first mail pick-up was attempted in February and was, surprisingly, a
succѐs
fou
. The aircraft flew in low over the target area. This was no routine job with the object to be snatched hanging ready for the taking over fixed and immutable metals. Here the mail-bag dangled on stretched wires hung between two poles, held waveringly aloft in the darkness by the muscular arms of the Maquis. He felt rather like the cowboy hero on a broncho galloping in to grab the Sheriff's curly-headed daughter and swing her on to a Mexican saddle. The pilot then side-slipped his aircraft in, whipped the precious mail-bag off the wires and scudded for home. The bag was wound aboard by a small winch and greeted with almost the same enthusiasm that would have been given to the Sheriff's daughter. Yet another technique had been established. Came the dawn…

There are incidents in plenty. On
3
rd
March of that year, Flying Officer Bell crossed the French Coast near Liseaux on his way out to a rendezvous in central France. At this point, his engine began to splutter and cough and, in anger and disappointment, he turned reluctantly back towards England. He knew the work, the planning and the danger that had gone into the making of this operation and he was loath to let down his French comrades. The chances of his making the target area were nil; those of his reaching England slender. Six miles over the sea, he realised that there would be no bacon and eggs for him on this trip and, losing height, he turned round and re-crossed the French coast. He crash-landed near Pluetot and climbed out. The aircraft was a write-off and he set fire to what was left of its mangled skeleton. Then he began walking. His face was badly scratched as was his leg. It may have been a policeman whom he met, or a farmer or a priest or a travelling salesman or a civil servant or a poet or a publican. It doesn't matter. Whoever it was had his spiritual home in Samaria for he took him in and washed him and gave him something to eat and to drink. Wounds bound, he was sent on his way rejoicing. A new rendezvous was made, one between Flying Officer Bell and a friend of his from the station, Flying Officer Anderson. It is reported, oddly enough, that Bell put on weight during his ten days in Occupied France.

A double operation was planned for
7
th
July. One aircraft was to be followed by another, both on the same landing ground. Lieutenant Hysing-Dahl was the second to take off. Arriving at the prearranged meeting place, he stooged around for a little while without seeing his companion-in-crime. He then headed for the target but in the thick weather missed the pin-point. He flew to the coast and set course for Trionville. The Gremlins, having already had a foretaste of the triumph to come, nudged each other and winked. With spectral fingers, they tilted his compass and he flew over the hidden beach head. This was the signal for the German Ack-Ack gunners to open up and streams of flak hosed into the sky. The engine of the aircraft was hit and one of the occupants’ hands was wounded. Lieutenant Hysing-Dahl beat it out to sea but twenty miles off the French coast knew that his aircraft had been mortally stricken. As many a man had had to do before him, he decided to ditch. The surface of the sea was reasonably flat and, as his engine had ceased to function, he glided down at a speed of about seventy miles an hour, skimmed the waves and alighted. The aircraft stayed afloat long enough for Lieutenant Hysing-Dahl to free himself of his harness, inflate the dinghy and help his three passengers aboard. For four interminable hours, the dinghy drifted on the pulse of the tide and hope of rescue faded. Just when it seemed that all was lost, all four were picked up by an American M.T.B. Lieutenant Hysing-Dahl had already been reported missing and it was not until a long time later that he was known to be alive. One of his passengers failed to survive the ordeal.

The number of times when things went wrong was infinitesimal. In any case the game was very much worth the candle
, for the pilots knew that every person, man or woman who was dropped, organised and was brought into groups - which turned into battalions - which turned into armies of partisans. As the Carter Paterson service of the initiating force, it is impossible to accurately estimate or even to guess at the contribution made by the Moon Squadrons towards the final victory. Unlike other squadrons in Bomber Command, their ultimate destructive value could not be assessed in terms of bomb-loads. The effect of their missions was as incalculable as were the light-hearted code names given operations: Operation ‘Chicken Pox’; ‘measles’; ‘rheumatics’; ‘housemaid's knee’; ‘influenza’. There was, of course, an operation ‘hangover’. These code names varied from time to time for reasons of security, but they normally referred to the latitude and longitude of a pin-point. Without the Moon Squadrons, there would undoubtedly have been a Resistance, for the concept of freedom burned brightly in the hearts of the oppressed and enslaved. But it would have been a pick-and-shovel Resistance and the end could only have been a ghastly replica of the shambles of Warsaw.

Covetous eyes were continuously glancing towards Tempsford. In 1943, the first of the Moon Squadrons was compelled reluctantly to detach eight Halifaxes to the Middle East for the transport of stores for the Libyan campaign. Four of these aircraft were lost. Soon after this it was ordered that four more aircraft be set aside for a special
operation to Soviet Russia. At this, the Chief of Special Operations Executive took his courage and his pen in his hand. He wrote to Air Chief Marshal Sir Charles Portal pleading that, as 138 Squadron had been trained to a hair for his somewhat curious activities, they should be reserved for S.O.E. duties only. He added that the Squadron had carried out its duties superbly and that he protested against the four aircraft being sent on this mission to the U.S.S.R. The difficulties of replacing specially trained crews and modified aircraft would be enormous. His appeal, alas, was rejected. Air Chief Marshal Portal replied with crushing logic. No. 138 Squadron was on Special Duties. This flight to the U.S.S.R. was a Special Duty. The use of the Squadron had been decided by the Air Staff and that decision was final.

The month of August, 1943, was one of the best in No. 138 Squadron's history. During the month's moon period, they dropped 66 agents, 194 packages, 1,452 containers and completed 184 operations. This all-out effort was a 100 per cen
t increase over the previous month and was recognised as such by Air Chief Marshal Portal. In a letter to Air Chief Marshal Harris, he wrote: "The results achieved, surpassing all previous records, reveal that No. 138 squadron and No. 161 Squadron (both stationed at Tempsford) have reached a high standard of efficiency. There is no doubt that these two Squadrons have developed a highly effective technique for the Air Phase of these Special Duties."

On the 9th May, 1944,
Wing-Commander Burnett D.F.C. assumed command of the Squadron, and on August 28th, I944, the Squadron was re-equipped with modified long-range Stirlings. In December, 1944, Wing-Commander Murray assumed command of the Squadron.

One of the outstanding d
ropping operations performed by the Squadron was carried out by Squadron-Leader Watson on the 29
th
and 30th November, 1944, when he dropped six containers in the Narvik area. Taking off from Kinloss, he crossed the Norwegian coast at Flekkefjord which was not seen. Dense cloud covered the entire 100 miles of route and only two tiny pin-points were obtained to the dropping area. Fortunately it was clear at the target and a successful drop was made. It was necessary to return by a sea route as dawn was breaking. It had been a long and arduous flight.

There was no longer any doubt whatsoever as to the magnitude of the victory that was soon to be wo
n. The only question was when.

January, 1945, was a bad month
, and adverse weather conditions kept the aircraft on the ground and the crews impatient and fretting. Only eight operations could be carried out during the month. February was better; eighty-three operations were successfully carried out, entailing nearly seven hundred hours of hazardous flying. Packages of all sorts streamed from the sky. It fell to Wing-Commander Murray to captain the last aircraft of 138 Squadron to carry agents. He took off on 3
rd
February with his laughing, living cargo.