New Heavens (24 page)

In addition to the food in the mess, we were given Czech ration coupons. Though we did not encounter the shortages endemic in an economy based on central government control, the dissatisfaction of most of the population with the regime after the communist putsch was evident on all sides and was probably the main reason for the warmth we encountered from the Czech people. Mainly because of the language barriers, we had little contact with the Czechs apart from our flying instructors. The chief instructor at
eské Bud
jovice was Captain Bilek, a man of somewhat surly demeanor. The instructors were always correct and businesslike in their attitude to us and would never discuss politics.

We began our training in the German Arado trainer to become familiar with the airfield, followed by a short spell in a two-seater Messerschmitt with Captain Bilek. Having served in the Czech branch of the Royal Air Force in England during World War II, he spoke English fairly well. We avoided straying into Austrian air space as the border was close to the base. That would have been a catastrophe, for the Americans occupying Austria at that time would have learned of our presence and what we were doing in
eské Bud
jovice. In the political climate of the Cold War, it
might well have put an end to the whole Czechoslovakian program.

My first flight in the Czech-built Messerschmitt 109 was not encouraging. It was rightly called the Mule, for taking off and landing in one piece was an achievement. It had an unpleasant built-in swing during these phases, and ten of the twenty-six that were brought to Israel were written off either on landing or takeoff, despite being piloted by experienced World War II fighter pilots. I was among the few who did not damage a Messerschmitt. The reason for the swing was the narrow undercarriage and the heavy torque from the Junkers Jumo engine with its outsized paddle-bladed propeller. The original German-built Messerschmitts handled better with the more-powerful Daimler Benz engine and a normal prop.

The Messerschmitt was a poor substitute for the Spitfire, which some of us knew firsthand, but all knew it was a formidable fighting machine with its two 20mm cannon and two 12.7mm machine guns, and was our first real fighter. The Egyptians were terrified of it, probably attributing our constant victories to the aircraft, whereas, in fact, our success came from our World War II experience.

The absence of any armor protection behind the pilot's seat, common in all fighter planes from the West, created an impression of lack of care for the pilot. The seat was low in a semi-reclining position, and it was alarming when the leading-edge flaps sprung out in steep turns. Another unnerving feature of the Czech fighters was that, although there were two 20mm cannon in the wings, there were two machine guns, which fired through the propeller. In theory,
that was fine, but when the synchronization failed, as happened more than once in the squadron, you shot off your own propeller. Apart from these unpleasant characteristics, the aircraft had a fair performance, and during dogfights with Egyptian Spitfires, we always came out on top. Despite the Mule's problems, I was happy to be facing the enemy at last in a real fighter aircraft.

After the course we flew back to Israel in one of the airlift cargo planes via Ajaccio in Corsica again, with pleasant memories of Czechoslovakia and the warmth of its people's attitude toward us at that critical time when no other country was willing to extend us a hand of friendship. I am not the only one with fond memories of that small, formerly communist country in central Europe. It should be remembered by the Jews of the world that both Russian permission for the Czechs to assist us as well as Russian diplomatic and political support in the United Nations during that period were instrumental in helping Israel to survive.

Before coming to agreement with the Czech government to purchase Messerschmitts, we explored every possibility of acquiring fighter planes that could oppose the Egyptian Air Force. We tried buying fighters from all over the world without success. But when the British forces left Palestine after the end of the Mandate, they left scrap heaps of discarded and damaged aircraft. Some of our technical personnel were familiar with the Spitfire from their RAF service
during World War II. After the fighting began and the first Egyptian Spitfires were shot down, work was begun in earnest on building a Spitfire from scrap. A set of wings and a fuselage belonging to different marks of Spitfire were found. The wings were from a photo-reconnaissance Spit, and the fuselage from a Mark IX. The leading spirits behind the rebuilding of the Spitfire were two ex-RAF mechanics I knew. When the aircraft was finally ready for a test flight, no pilot in 101 Squadron had sufficient confidence in the mechanics who built it to test-fly it. Though I was in headquarters at the time, I jumped at the chance to test-fly our first Spitfire and offered to make the test flight. The pilots of 101 Squadron stood near the runway at Herzlia as I prepared to take off.

I did not mention to anyone that I had never flown a Spitfire IX, having only done a conversion course on Spitfire VBs in 1944 in Egypt. I had not flown a World War II fighter for nearly three years. When I climbed into the cockpit and strapped myself in, I did have twinges of anxiety, but the mechanics had done an outstanding job in rebuilding without manuals or technical literature about Spitfires.

The takeoff was typical of the Spitfire, as I remembered it from my time in Egypt. I was off the ground swiftly, and it was great to fly a Spitfire again. She behaved perfectly and I flew her to Kibbutz Ma'abarot near Natanya. The field was not operational and was unknown even to most of the air force pilots. We had decided to keep secret the existence of an Israeli Spitfire and hid her there among trees. The rousing cheers of the ground staff lining the sides of the runway
when I landed made me feel good, and I was happy to fly the first Spitfire with Israel Air Force markings.

I subsequently heard that there was a state of dejection among the fighter pilots in 101 Squadron for they had seen me take off in the Spit after a short run of barely 300 meters, whereas the Messerschmitts needed most of the 800-meter runway to get airborne.

This lone Spit—number 10 was the number given to it by the Israel Air Force—was to be a secret weapon for a while. It enabled me to carry out photo-reconnaissance missions deep behind the Egyptian lines with confidence, for the enemy did not know our secret and, therefore, were unlikely to attack a lone Spit far behind their lines. It provided a safe camera platform for us for many months.

The first mission for the Spit was escort to a light photo-reconnaissance aircraft. A plan had been hatched at general headquarters to introduce an armored division through the extreme south of the country from the Red Sea. For this purpose, it was essential to photograph the present situation of all the oases in the Arava Valley, which stretched from what is now Eilat up to the Dead Sea. As mentioned earlier I had done the one long flight down as far as the Red Sea some months before, but as matters began to heat up and our procurement possibilities improved, the question of a landing from the extreme south became more feasible. We decided to reconnoiter all the oases in the deep south.

At this time, volunteer aircrews were arriving on every Universal Airlines flight from Johannesburg. One of these was Monty Goldberg, a member of a family with whom I had been friendly since my early youth. He had been an
experienced aerial photographer in the South African Air Force. When I got the order to organize the reconnaissance and photographing of all the oases between Sdom on the Dead Sea and Aqaba on the Red Sea, I chose Monty. The only aircraft suitable for the purpose was the high-wing Fairchild, ideal for photography but a sitting duck for any fighter.

I chose a pilot named Paltiel Makleff to fly Monty down into the Negev desert. As the Fairchild was unarmed and flying into enemy territory, I planned to escort them in the Spitfire. I flew the Spit to the base at Tel Nof to join Monty and Paltiel. Before takeoff, Paltiel complained of a magneto drop in the Fairchild engine. By that time I had had a number of cases of pilots complaining of mag drops before takeoff on a mission, usually by pilots with nerves at breaking point. I replied, “Mag drop or no mag drop, you take off.”

Because of the impossibility of giving close escort with the Spitfire's much higher flying speed, I waited at the beginning of the runway for about twenty minutes after the Fairchild's takeoff, the time I needed to meet it and circle above when it entered enemy territory.

My engine overheated, not an uncommon occurrence in Spitfires in the hot climate of the Middle East, and I was late in departing. By the time I reached our rendevous point, Monty and Paltiel were nowhere to be seen, and I was forced to return to base when my fuel ran low. Eventually, a message arrived reporting they had completed part of their mission, but about sixty kilometers from the base at Tel Nof, they had force-landed in Arab territory with engine trouble and were now prisoners of war.

So the magneto drop was real. Here was another case of my sending a close friend out on a mission from which he did not return. In this case they both survived. I met Monty many years later in Johannesburg, and though I was a little apprehensive, he was overjoyed to see me again and bore no grudge. Monty and Paltiel were fortunate to have survived, for when they landed, it was in territory under the control of Arab irregulars, who took off their shoes and whipped them into a mad run. Fortunately, an Egyptian army officer appeared, took charge, and moved them to a prisoner-of-war camp in Egypt, where they were treated reasonably. They were in the prison camp until the end of the war in early 1949 and then returned to Israel.

In the last days of December 1948, when our Seventh Brigade crossed the Egyptian-Israeli border in the far south on its way to the main Egyptian forward air base at El Arish, they found another Spitfire in one of the revetments at the nearby El Arish satellite airfield. I had bombed the field a few times and noted that there were aircraft in revetments and parked around the field under camouflage netting.

I drove in a jeep to the satellite field, on the way passing near Kurnub, the only location in that very dry part of the world that sported a large and deep pool of water. It is now the site of the town of Dimona. At the satellite field, I was surprised to see what appeared to be eight Spitfires under camouflage netting. With only one exception, however, they were dummies. We had been deceived into bombing the field when it contained mainly dummy aircraft.