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scheduled for takeoff at 8:00 p.m., following P/O Steele and W/O Clay. Following us would be W/O Phelan and F/Sgt. Baldwin, and W/O Hammond and F/Sgt. Harrison would man the last plane. A small tent had been taken over by the I.O. and we went in to get briefed about the night's operation. Our route would be almost due north from Gambut. After flying across the Mediterranean we were to enter the Aegean Sea through the Straits of Kythera at the western end of Crete. This route avoided flying over Crete and if we kept our height to a minimum, we might be able to slip under enemy radar and arrive undetected to the target area. We were given the “colours of the day”, so in the event a ship of the Royal Navy challenged us, we could identify ourselves by firing the correct Verey cartridge. We were always meticulously aware of the colours of the day, but through experience we never felt comfortable in approaching a naval vessel even after showing the colours. The Royal Navy was notorious for firing first and asking questions later… we always approached with extreme caution after allowing them to have a good look at us as the Beau looked very much liked the German Junkers 88. We were given the call sign of the Ulster Queen, which was Trademark, and as usual were reminded to destroy our radar equipment if we had to abandon our aircraft and to keep strict radio silence once we were airborne so as not to advertise our mission to the enemy. We would be flying aircraft number #ND 243, the same one we had flown from Idku. Our parachutes and helmets were still inside and we went to the plane making sure everything was in place for our take-off a few hours later. Flt./Lt. Irwin was at the dispersal area making sure that preparations for the coming night were proceeding smoothly and he recommended that we go to our tent and try and get some rest before dinner. I did not envy the “A” Flight Commander. He would not be flying tonight in order to make sure everything was organized throughout the next twelve hours. He would see us off and would wait at the dispersal area until the last plane returned. We were all quite young and he was not much older, yet it was comforting to know he would be there. We went back to our tent, but it was impossible to rest. As soon as we knew dinner was being served we went to the Mess tent to eat. It was the usual RAF Middle East fare, the main ingredients being canned Spam and hard tack biscuits… the appeal being very much dependent on the imagination of the cook. After our meal we went back to our tent to get dressed ready for night flying. It got dark quickly in the desert, so we lit a hurricane lamp hanging from the tent pole. We put on khaki slacks underneath a cotton flying-suit, which we tucked into calf length, suede desert boots, commonly known as brothel creepers. I had a small knife scabbard in my right boot. This wasn’t for anything more lethal than to stab and deflate my Mae West if it inadvertently inflated on takeoff. Most of us followed this precaution after hearing a horror story (never confirmed) about some poor soul having his Mae West inflate on take-off and crushing his chest under the safety straps! I also wore a silk scarf and put a pair of lightweight leather gloves in my pocket. There was a standing order to wear gloves while flying for protection against fire. Also, in case of fire, we had aviators goggles attached to our helmets in order to protect our eyes. I carried a tube of Gentian Violet in the pocket of my flying suit to use as first aid against burns. (I believe I read later that the worst thing to do with a burn was to put this greasy stuff on!) About 6:15 p.m. we made our way to the dispersal area. When we arrived, Steele and Clay were walking out to their aircraft and we wished them luck and jokingly asked them to save some for us. Sonny Steele and I had been friends for a long time. We had been together at Initial Flying Training School Canada and 54 O.T.U. in Scotland. His usual navigator had been posted home just before we left for Gambut and this was his first time being crewed with W/O Clay. Now that it was dark, the dispersal area took on a different appearance. The moon was starting to rise and our all-black aircraft looked very menacing in the dim light. Shadowy figures were gathered around Steele's plane getting ready to strap him and his navigator in and start the engines. A truck was running across the airfield placing and lighting flares ready for takeoff. The flares were made from used gasoline cans that had been cut in half and filled with sand. Gasoline was poured on the sand and ignited. About a half a dozen were used for the take-off run and their main purpose was to give the pilot a straight line to follow. At best, it was a very crude type of flarepath, but it was sufficient and typical of desert practice. By now there was a few crews gathered at the dispersal area and we watched Steele taxi to the end of the flarepath, turn into the wind and begin his takeoff run. We were all silently praying that Steele and Clay would return unharmed and at the same time wishing that we were the ones taking off. Waiting was the worst part of an operation and it was at a time like this |
