In their own words...

[McQ59]

Love this read Bobby. Keep'em comin'!

And; Thanx!

[Lost Apiarist]

Great stuff, very interesting. Keep em coming

[scottyvt4]

some epic reading there bobby .............. you're a rascle, i was going to put "the white rose" on lol

[bobbysocks]

heading to the mountains for a couple days to decompress...but found something good for you. you met the russians...well here's from the other side ...the pacific. again not their words but stories about 2 japanese pilots.

Like many other aces, Anabuki Satoru felt attraction for aviation since his early years. So, he entered in the Youth Preparatory Flight Program of the Japanese Army when he was still a teenager, and in 1938, at the age of 17, he passed the test of the Army Aviation School in Tokyo. After some more training, in March 1941 began his first duty tour in Formosa, where he was when the Japanese Navy attacked Pearl Harbour on December 7 1941.

That very day Sgt Anabuki flew combat sorties over the Philippines and met a lone B-17D, but due to he was flying an almost obsolete and very slightly armed Ki-27, he couldn't shot the bomber down, despite he ran out of ammo. But he had his chance on December 22 1941, when during a combat against USAAF Kittyhawks of the 17th Squadron over Lingayen Gulf, he managed to shot one P-40E down. That was the first victory out of 51 he would be credited with along WW2. Still flying the obsolete Ki-27, Anabuki shot down two P-40s on February 9 1942, and few months later his unit was sent home to be re-equipped with the much more powerfull Ki-43 Hayabusa.

His new destination was Mingaladon airbase in Rangoon outskirsts, Burma. Was there where he scored his greatest succeses against the Allied aircraft. On December 24 1942 the Japanese pilots in Mingaladon should scramble fast because the sudden raid of British Hurricanes against the airfield. During the take off, the nearby blast of a bomb caused a malfunction in the landing gear of this Ki-43, and Anabuki was forced to scramble with his landing gear extended. Despite that, Sgt Anabuki could fight, and he did it very well: three Hurricanes fell under the fire of his machineguns, including the one flown by Pilot Officer C. D. Fergusson.

Anabuki's greatest deed happened on October 8 1943, when at 12:10 hs four Hayabusas (one of them flown by Sgt Anabuki) taxied in Mingaladon airstrip to take off and intercepte several B-24s which were raiding against a Japanese convoy in Rangoon harbour. However, a fouled spark plug caused that Anabuki should delay his take off during 5 minutes. When he finally could scramble, was unable to find his three buddies and a second flight of four Ki-43s (which were also tasked to intercepte the bombers) because of the haze. Suddenly, when he got out of the hazy area, saw his target: 11 B-24s together with two escorting P-38s, which apparently did not notice him. Anabuki realized that -due to the hazy weather- none of his comrades had found the enemy and that he was completely alone. But Anabuki also noticed that he was in a perfect attack position against both the enemy fighters and bombers, and the surprise factor was at his side. Being a hunter by nature, Anabuki decided to take that chance despite the odds were against him.

So, Anabuki choose one of the unaware Lightnings, put it in the gunsight of his Ki-43 Hayabusa and badly shot it up (Anabuki saw the incendaries exploding around the P-38's cockpit), breaking his attack and diving only when he almost collide the American plane. As he turned to repeat his attack, saw the P-38 trying a loop while leaving a trail of black smoke. Suddenly the P-38 stalled and went downwards, crashing near Yangon river. Then Anabuki jumped the P-38 leader, but his adversary was an experienced pilot because it immediatelly rolled and steeply dove. Knowing that his Ki-43 Hayabusa was excellent in dogfighting and could out-turn the P-38, but could not compete with the Lightning in dive and climb rates, Anabuki did not even try to follow the American plane, instead he concentrated in the bombers.

Sgt Anabuki closed to 1200 mts to the right of the bombers and 500 meters above them (he was flying at 5500 mts and the Liberators at 5000) and then rolled and dove. Anabuki knew that to shot down one heavily defended and huge four-engine bomber like the B-24 with the relatively weak weaponry of his Ki-43 (12,7 mm machineguns, with no cannons) was a very hard task, but he had the experience and the determination to do so, as himself accounted:

"All I could see was the enemy. I'm diving straight down towards the dark jungle. Life or death didn't matter then. If the gods still need me they wouldn't let me die. I see an image of my mother's face. I think I heard her yelling `Go, Satoru,go!`. I think of what a strong woman my mother is. I think to myself I must be as strong. Distance closes further. 300, 200, I see my bullets get sucked into the gigantic B-24. Getting closer. 150, 100. I start firing my final burst.

The enemy's defensive fire is fierce. Their formation is trailing a lot of gun smoke, raining bullets in successive bursts, but I know as long as I'm at this angle, they can't hit me. My target starts smoking from the wing root. Even as I'm firing, the white smoke is getting bigger and bigger. I'm near collision and I break off to the left and to the rear of the enemy, diving vertically. Fifty some enemy machine guns are firing at me, but not a single bullet hit me as I speeded away out of their range. "

When Anabuki prepared himself for a second pass against the badly hit B-24, saw that it slipped at one side, the crew bailed out and the bomber began to spin. So, in few minutes he added one P-38 and one B-24 to his killboard.

But when he was ready to attack the bombers for the second time, suddenly saw tracers passing very close to his port wing. Anabuki sharply broke to starboard, avoiding the burst, but a second one struck his plane, being the Japanese pilot badly wounded in his left hand. Anabuki realised that the P-38 leader which had previously escaped was back, and it was willing to take him out. Despite the intense pain, Anabuki performed a series of the sharp turns, exploiting the superior turn capability of the Ki-43 Hayabusa and forcing the American pilot to gave up. When the P-38 pilot did so, Anabuki rolled his plane and reversed towards the Lightning. At point-blank range (about 30 mts) the Japanese ace fired and black smoke emerged from the P-38, together with oil which splattered over the windshield of the Ki-43 and temporarily blinded Anabuki. When he recover the sight, the P-38 was diving away again, this time definitively.

Despite he was wounded and his plane damaged (Anabuki noticed that at full throttle the engine airlocked), Anabuki made an provisional bandage with his muffler to stop the bleeding of his left hand, and performed his second pass against the B-24s. setting on fire one of them. When Anabuki climbed to began another pass saw that the crew of this Liberators could bail out (actually only 2 crewmembers). Then Anabuki began his third pass:

"At this point, the overwhelming thought in my mind was that today's combat was over. I was about to turn back to base, and threw a final glance at the B-24s, which I presumed were by now too far away to follow. But alas! The bombers had apparently slowed down to cover their damaged comrade during my attack and was still within my attack range!

Looking back, it was a foolish thing to do, but I started to position myself for another attack despite my injury and the plane's damages. The pain and the gas kept me hardly conscious, and my sight had deteriorated badly. My arm was hurting badly as the tightly wound muffler blocked blood circulation. But there was a thought that dominated my fading consciousness; if the enemy is within range, it was a fighter pilot's duty to attack. To do otherwise would disgrace my family blood. My mother's face flashes back. To go into combat now may mean my demise. Mother forgive me! But then I thought I heard her say 'Charge, Satoru, and the way will open.'. I had no regrets. The enemy was there. I will just charge.

I was slowly gaining altitude to attack position for the third time. I was hardly conscious. All I could think about was 'Charge, charge!' Call me a foolish rustic warrior, I couldn't have cared less. I was fighting to keep my consciousness and charging at the enemy at full throttle. The pain of my left hand was getting unbearable. I untied the muffler from my arm. As the blood started flowing, the pain went way, but the hand started bleeding like a dam burst open. "

So, Anabuki choose a third B-24 as his mark, and began his run against it. But as he was attacking it, suddenly ran out of ammo. In a normal situation, he would disengaged and headed home, but Anabuki took a very different decision: he would ramm the bomber:

"If I was my normal self, I would have banked my wings at the enemy and wished them luck and break away, but my mind was just obsessed with getting the enemy. My consciousness was nearly fading from the gasoline and the injury, my hand kept on bleeding, and I was out of ammunition. All these negative factors were piling up on me, but all I had in my mind was the existence of the powerful enemy in front of me. I was completely taken over by one of the fighter pilots' instincts; the fighting spirit.

At that moment I was, by chance, right above the enemy. Although I was out of ammo, reflexes got the better of me and I instinctively put my plane in a dive. However, to start your dive from directly above the enemy means that by the time you are actually shooting, your attack will be at a shallow angle, presenting an ideal target for the enemy's rear gunner. Just as the enemy started firing away, I maneuvered my plane to present the smallest possible target for the enemy, and charged on. Just as I expected, I found myself facing a wall of fire, and my plane shook as their bullets hit her. To makes matters worse, my engine output went down, and my angle was now so shallow that I was in their propeller wake and being thrown around wildly.

I was totally obsessed with getting the enemy. I decided to ram the bomber. 'Take this! Yankee!' I pulled up, but perhaps my action was too acute, and the next moment, my plane careened into the middle of the fuselage of the third plane of the left formation.

Although I had intended to ram her, I instinctively yanked my stick to evade the crash. The next moment a tremendous shock hit me with a thunderous roar and I just sat there dumbfounded watching my propeller eating away at the enemy's starboard rudder at full 1130HP. There was nothing I could do now. It was as if the plane was being controlled by some gigantic force from outside. And all the while, I just sat there with the throttle pinned open.

The next thing I knew, the port wing of the "Kimikaze" hit the enemy's elevator. With a great shock, the enemy's elevator broke upwards, and my plane was thrown around about 45 degrees to the left, bouncing on the stabilizer and crash -landed on the enemy's fuselage.

I would guess that the enemy was surprised, but so was I. In spite of my surprise, my plane proceeded to eat away at the fuselage of the B-24 and stopped at around the US insignia. I think it was just for a moment, but it felt like a long time, sitting on top of the enemy like that. While I was on top of the enemy, they didn't shoot at me. I saw them staring at this rude intruder from their turrets and windows. They were probably not firing because I was too close, but I also had a strange worry in myself. I was seriously worrying about being carried to their base like this!"

Fortunatelly for him, "Kimikaze" slid off bomber's back, and despite initially fell, later it began a controlled glide, and Anabuki was able to restart the engine, crash-landing in a beach shore near Rangoon, where he was rescued and cured, rejoining to active duty only 5 days later.

It was then, when he accounted this combat to the journalist Eiji Suzuki, that he became famous. Anabuki was even officially credited with five kills that day, including the second P-38 (which he considered only damaged). After that, the Japanese High Command grounded him with propaganda purposes and sent it home to train new students at Akeno Fighter School. In late October 1944 he was promoted to Master Sargeant and came back to action over the Philippines when he shot down six F6F Hellcats with his new tool, the Ki-84 Hayate. Anabuki scored the last victory over Japan, it was a B-29. In the 1950s he joined to the Japanese Self-Defense Air Force and became a helicopter pilot.

[bobbysocks]

Saburo Sakai, a fighter pilot serving with the Japanese Naval Aviation Service from 1934 to 1945, was the top scoring ace in the Pacific theater of World War 2, with a final kill tally of 64 Chinese and other Allied aircraft destroyed. His battle mount of choice through most of the Pacific War was the A6M2 "Zero" fighter, arguably the most nimble dogfight machine to see action on either side of the conflict.

This charming little anecdote from Sakai's career came to light in the Japanese press several years ago. I have since tried to relocate some of the articles related to it, but have had no luck. I do, however, remember most of the details, so I will try to relate them here as best as memory serves:

Several years ago, a former Dutch military nurse -- now a retired woman in her 70's -- contacted the Japanese Red Cross (or some similar charitable organization), attempting to locate a Japanese fighter pilot who spared her life somewhere over Java (New Guinea?) one day in 1942. According to her account of the event, she was flying in a Dutch military DC-3 (C-47) air ambulance at low altitude over dense jungle. On board were wounded soldiers and several children who were being evacuated from a combat area. Suddenly, a Japanese "Zero" fighter appeared alongside the plane. The nurse could see the Japanese pilot's facial features clearly. She and some of the children (!) stood by the tiny cabin and cockpit windows of the DC-3 and began frantically trying to wave him off. It is not hard to imagination the panic they must have experienced while pantomiming as if their lives depended on it (and they DID!).

After a few eternal moments of what must have been sheer terror for the desperately pantomiming passengers, the "Zero" gave a quick, acknowledging wing wobble before peeling off and disappearing from sight. The cockpit and cabin of the DC-3 were filled with cheers and sobs of relief.

For fifty-odd years, the Dutch nurse had wanted to meet with the Japanese pilot who spared her life, as well as the lives of the wounded soldiers and children that day. With a stroke of sheer luck, the Japanese Red Cross was able to locate the pilot of the Zero plane, and it was none other than Saburo Sakai, who had been flying a sortie combat air patrol on the day in question. When asked if he remembered the incident, Sakai replied that he did, and that he had thought about downing the plane for a brief moment, as higher command had instructed fighter patrols to down any and all enemy aircraft encountered, armed or not. When he saw the waving hands and horror-stricken faces in the windows of the DC-3, however, he was moved to mercy, thinking that anyone who wanted to live that badly deserved to survive. Apparently, he did not experience similarly tender feelings for many an Allied military aviator who was to stray into his gunsights in the subsequent three years of aerial combat, but on that day over the Javan jungles, he showed mercy. It is an anecdote of a type that is sadly rare in the annals of Japanese WW2 military history, but one that, nonetheless, shows that even the fiercest of warriors can be capable of human compassion.

Soon after the war, appalled not only with the loss of life that his countrymen had suffered, but seeking atonement for the loss of life he had brought about peering through his own gunsights and squeezing a trigger, Sakai became a lay Buddhist acolyte, a devotion which he continues to this day. According to Sakai, he has not killed any creature, "not even a mosquito," since the last time he stepped from the cockpit of his A6M5 "Zero" one hot August day in 1945.

[bobbysocks]

Sergeant Kristian Fredrik Schye

At dawn on 9 April 1940, the Norwegian Jagevingen at Fornebu, Oslo, had seven of the ten available Gladiators serviceable, while the unit had ten officers and sergeants available to fly them, three of them under training. The serviceable Gladiators were 413, 419, 421, 425, 427, 429 and 433.

In the morning of 9 April 1940 Sergeant Kristian Fredrik Schye (Gladiator 427) attacked what he took to be a bomber, but was unable to continue due to ice forming on the windscreen of his Gladiator. He then saw what he identified as a Dornier Do17 – almost certain Unteroffizier Helmut Mütschele’s (with gunner Gefreiter Karl Lorey) Bf110 – 1000 feet below him over Kolsås, and gave chase. The aircraft crash-landed at Vøyen with both engines dead after he had attacked. The German aviators became POW’s. He was then attacked by three aircraft which he identified as He111s, but which were undoubtedly Bf110s; he avoided two but the third got onto his tail and he was hit in the left upper arm by two shells. Unable to move the throttle he tried to crash-land his damaged fighter on Lake Dælivannet, east of Kolsås, but could not get his flaps down and overshot, hitting a high-voltage cable; this broke, but he crashed at Braatenjordet near Valler station. Schye got out of his aircraft and was taken to Bærum hospital. It is likely that he fell victim to Leutnant Helmut Lent of 1./ZG 76, who was certainly credited with this victory as his fifth of the war. Schye later reported:

“It was starting to get more and more of German aircraft. There were plenty of targets, but at the same time I was forced to manoeuvre to not get an enemy behind me. During the dogfight I came closer and closer to Fornebu…
Suddenly I saw a German on contra-course 4-500 meters below me. I cut back the throttle, made a half-roll and dived straight down on him. I opened fire at a good shooting distance and kept him in my aim until only 50 meters separated us. Then he rolled over and disappeared downwards in a spin – later it was showed that he made a force-landing at Wöyenfjordene at Kolsås with both engines out of order.
When I took up my machine from the dive, three German aircraft attacked me. I managed to shake off two of them, but the third closed in very close from behind. My left lower wing was hit, the wing was perforated and the fabric on the left side of the cockpit was shot trough by splinters. One of these hit me in my left upper arm and paralysed it. This meant that I couldn’t operate the throttle.
Because of the damage, both on me and my aircraft, I didn’t see any other way out than to trying to make an emergency landing after a couple of minutes. I was continuously attacked by German aircraft and in an attempt to get away from them, I span down and made a forced landing in a clearing with small woods, after tearing down a high-voltage cable.”
Schye was taken to the Bærum hospital were he stayed for a couple of days before being released.
He was never captured by the Germans and continued with his medical studies but was later forced to escape abroad.

Schye ended the war with one biplane victory, this one being claimed while flying Gloster Gladiator.

After the war he finished his medical studies and worked as head physician at Drammen hospital. He was still alive in the beginning of the 1980’s

[bobbysocks]

THE STORY OF SQUADRON LEADER HICKEY

To my mind, no-one could fail to be thrilled by the heroism shown by an Australian pilot, Squadron Leader William Joseph Hickey, who was killed in action on the day following an outstanding act of bravery.

During December, when the fighting on the northern front was particularly fierce, Squadron Leader Hickey was leading a detachment of aircraft on patrol, when they came across a formation of some ten Italian fighters and bombers. During the air battle that followed one member of the squadron - "Sammy" Cooper, had to bale out after being severely wounded. On his way down, this officer was being machine gunned by Italian aircraft and Squadron Leader Hickey, seeing what was taking place, immediately began to circle round and round in the vicinity of his colleague, in order to attract the attention of Greek troops on the ground. At the same time he was able to keep at bay the Italian aircraft which were making repeated and determined attacks on the helpless man descending by parachute.

When Cooper had landed near a Greek advanced post, which was itself under heavy shell fire, Squadron Leader Hickey made off to find assistance. He made a successful landing in a field near Argyrocastron, which was then only a short distance behind the front line, and immediately organised a relief party. Having secured an ambulance, he drove back towards the mountain post near to which Cooper had come down. Stopped eventually by an impassable river, Squadron Leader Hickey secured the loan of a horse, forded the stream and rode up to the Greek advanced post. Greek soldiers constructed a wooden stretcher and , under the supervision of the squadron leader, the badly wounded pilot was carried for miles, over difficult mountainous country and frequently under fire from the Italians, back to the ambulance.

The ordeal was not, however, over. The squadron leader drove Cooper back to Argyrocastron but there, unfortunately, the Greeks had little medical equipment, no drugs and no anesthetics. Undeterred by this unexpected set-back, the squadron leader had Cooper put back into the ambulance and began the drive to Yannina, where he knew that better facilities would be available.

Early next morning, still on the way to hospital, Cooper died and Squadron Leader Hickey, in spite of many hours of continued activity, returned to his squadron. A few hours later he was again in action with the enemy and, in the course of this combat he himself had to bale out.

By a tragic repetition of events the Squadron Leader came under fire from an Italian aircraft as he floated slowly down to the ground. On landing he was found to be dead.

I need hardly tell you that the other members of the squadron saw to it that the Italian pilot who had gunned the defenceless Squadron Leader was himself shot down in flames.

Hickey was a great type of Australian. Seconded from the Royal Australian Air Force on a five year's attachment , under the pre-war scheme for the interchange of pilots, he had proved an outstanding success when given command of a squadron in the Middle East. His concern for his pilots, which found so magnificent a climax in the heroic deed of which I've just told you will long be remembered as one of the most gallant episodes of the war in Greece.

He had already been recommended for the Distinguished Flying Cross and it was subsequently awarded to him but he did not live to learn of this honour.

NEVER A BRAVER MORE UNSELFISH MAN DIED IN GREECE.

THIS EXTRACT FROM 3 SQUADRON'S ACE BOBBY GIBBES'S BOOK (Pages 95 to 9 DESCRIBES TYPICAL EVERY-DAY FEARS AND THOUGHTS THAT HE, LIKE MOST 3 SQUADRON PILOTS, EXPERIENCED DURING ACTION AGAINST A FIERCE ENEMY

On Saturday, the 13th of December 1941, we spent most of the morning on standby without being given a job but during the afternoon we carried out a patrol in the Martuba area, led by Ed Jackson.

We approached over Derna from the sea, below a layer of cloud at about 5,000 feet heading south. As we crossed the coast we saw six 110s escorted by 109s, and we gave chase. The enemy pilots saw us before we could close, and the 109s turned around to attack. Due to the low cloud base, they were not able to make use of the superior performance of their aircraft and could not employ their pick and zoom tactics. However, the cloud made it easier for them to take evasive action, and every aircraft which I attacked was able to pull up into the cloud. We also were not loath to make use of the cloud ourselves, and whenever I was in any danger, I would climb up into it for shelter.

The squadron soon became split up and I found myself stooging around in company with a single Tomahawk and two 109s. One of these109s was at this point, engaged in attacking the Tomahawk, and as it took evasive action and the attacking 109 dived past and continued down, some couple of thousand feet or more below its level, I saw my chance and dived onto the second 109, carrying out a deflection shot at it from the port side, and following it around until my attack was from line astern. The 109 flicked and spun, with a whisp of smoke trailing in its wake. The Tomahawk was now on fire and going down, and its attacker started to climb up after me. If I had tried to turn into its attack, I might not have been able to get around in time, and this would leave my body exposed to its fire. If I did manage to turn in time, another head on attack would result. (These head on attacks always frightened hell out of me as I could never be sure of the enemy's method of passing. It was strange that I never was hit in these attacks, as both aircraft presented non deflection targets to each other. When crouching low in the cockpit, watching the black smoke from the attacking aircraft guns spewing lead, and almost mesmerised by the ugly air intake of the 109 protruding from the port side of its sleek nose, I would feel the size of a house while waiting until the last second, before pushing the stick violently forward, bunting beneath it, and would breathe again, when the enemy passed close above.)

I decided that I could climb up into the cloud before it could get into range, and I pulled up steeply at high boost. The cloud did not seem to be getting any closer; the climbing 109 was rapidly growing larger, but at last I made it just as the German pilot started to shoot. I disappeared into its friendly concealing grayness with a shower of tracer going past me and I turned hard to port in case I was still being shot at.

I then settled onto instruments and circled within the cloud for a short period before poking my nose out below to survey the scene, fully expecting to see the fire of a burning 109 below, as the aircraft which I had attacked, was still spinning when last seen, but I could only see one fire some distance away which must have been Tommy Trimble's aircraft. The second 109 had disappeared. I have since learnt that it was flown by Marseille*, who had added Tommy's aircraft to his tally that day.

Being now alone, I decided to make inland, hoping to find some other targets and having the cloud cover just above my level, my morale was high. I saw twelve Stukas, flying line abreast, coming towards me with their legs hanging down like eagles' reaching for their prey. These were just made for me, and I sped towards them feeling jubilant, anticipating a number of easy victories, when I suddenly saw nine 109s stalling along in line abreast at the base of the clouds, behind and above the Stukas. My plan was instantly abandoned, and I nosed up into the cloud, thinking that I hadn't been seen. I did a slow one hundred and eighty degree turn and when I calculated that the enemy aircraft would have passed below me, I dived down hoping that I would now be just behind them, and with luck, would be able to bag a 109 or two before retreating back into the cloud. I emerged amidst a milling mass of twisting and turning fighter aircraft looking for me. My guess had been wrong and I had been seen, and now, thoroughly frightened, I rapidly pulled back into the shelter of the cloud having decided to leave this little bunch well alone.

Having regained my composure, I again dived just below the cloud and with a wild weave, made sure that I was not in a position of any danger. Directly in front of me, heading east, were three 109s, flying away with their tails towards me. This time, I was sure that I could not have been seen and climbing back into the cloud, I pursued them at full power. When I judged that I must be in range, I eased out of cloud and had another look. I was right behind them, but they were still out of range. I re-entered the cloud and repeated the performance. After three false attempts, and being very careful not to emerge ahead of them, I finally emerged and was in close range, but I suddenly saw that there were now only two aircraft. In a panic, I turned violently to port and was only just in time. The third aircraft was coming up at me from below and I scuttled back into cloud, almost blacking out under the high "G" force, just as he was about in range to start shooting. With my heart beating overtime, I decided that I had had enough, and would return home. Remaining in the cloud layer, I turned onto a westerly heading. After a couple of confused minutes trying to orientate myself, I calmed down sufficiently to realize my mistake and turned back, flying east.

The cloud started to break up a little and I suddenly emerged from cloud, into a large bubble of clear air, surrounded by cloud above, below and all around, and flying sedately in this strange world, just ahead of me, was a lovely little 109. The pilot unfortunately saw me, and started climbing in a bid to escape as I closed on him and started firing, with about a forty five degree deflection, following around into a close line astern, giving him quite a hammering as he made the cloud above, and disappeared from view. I continued to spray the cloud area where he had disappeared, then I circled below waiting for him to come spinning down, but to no avail. I was sure that he must have been destroyed, so I dived below the cloud looking for his funeral pyre of black smoke, but there was no smoke. Terribly disappointed, I again turned for home remaining in cloud.

Suddenly, I remembered the twelve Stukas, and wondered where they had been bound. It had to be near Gazala, as that was the area of our front line. I knew that I could not return home knowing about this attack, so I made towards the area. The cloud was thinning and breaking up as I approached, and on arrival, I was flying under a clear sky.

Four Stukas were circling above the Indian troops, and about 3000 feet above were three 109s circling. I weighed up my chances of not being seen by the three fighters, and when the Stukas started into their dive, surrounded by a dense array of black puffs from exploding shells from the Bofor guns, I dived down to attack, looking up to make sure that I had not been seen by their escort. When I started to close on the Stukas, the Indians must have preferred my aircraft as their target and it seemed that every gun focussed their fire on me. Perhaps this put me off as my first attack was too steep and my speed too high for accurate shooting, and my attack was abortive. I turned away, and as the three top cover aircraft were not taking any notice, I carried out a further attack on two Stukas, which had by now formed up after dropping their bombs, and I attempted to take them from abeam. As I drew into range, both aircraft turned away and their rear gunners started shooting.

I carried out two or three attacks, but on each occasion the pilots turned their tails to me and I knew that I wouldn't be able to get the pilots who were well protected by heavy armour plate behind their seats. I saw the rear gun of one aircraft, suddenly swing up during an attack and I knew that I must have wounded or killed the gunner, but when I attacked again, the gunner in the other Stuka managed to hit my armour plate glass. There suddenly appeared a vicious looking little inner circle with spider web cracks radiating out from it, and small particles of glass came into the cockpit half blinding me. I pulled away shaking, and relieved that the glass had stopped the bullet which had been coming straight for my face. If it had been two inches to the left, there was no protective glass, and it would have been curtains for me.

After I calmed down a little, I dived down again in search of my Stukas, but they had disappeared. I looked above and saw that the three 109s were now only little dots, heading west, out towards the Martuba aerodromes. I dived low across the front lines of our troops knowing that they must have appreciated my intervention, and I then returned to El Aden with my petrol tanks nearly empty and my ammunition almost expended. I hadn't achieved much, and all I could claim were three aircraft damaged. Others in the squadron, without having spent the hectic period that I had, had achieved better results. Tiny Cameron got one 109F confirmed and shared a second with Tommy Briggs and Nicky Barr got two, a 109 and a JU88.

Tommy Trimble arrived back a couple of days later, badly burnt about the face and hands. He had been shot down in flames and had crash-landed near Martuba. Luckily, he was able to get away from his aircraft without being captured and eventually given help by a Bedouin who fed him and tended his burns with native herbs. At night, he slept in the chief's tent, and much to Tommy's amusement, he would be put over on one side of the tent, and the arab's wife would be installed on the other side. The old chieftain would lie down in the middle of the tent with a rifle. Tommy said that he was not tempted to seduce the wife who was not very attractive and whose lack of hygiene acted as a deterrent to a 20 year old, badly burned, young man. He was in quite a mess, and was packed off to hospital with a posting back to Australia as soon as he was fit to travel. As one of the original pilots, he had more than earned his release from the war, even if it was to be for a short break only.

I had hoped that he would have been able to confirm my 109 for me, but he had not even been aware that I had gone down to help him. The only other item in my diary was to record the arrival of Dixie Chapman who was to take over command of the squadron from Al Rawlinson.

REPORT by KEN McRAE on the recovery of his Bf 109G

During the successful advance of 1942 in the Western Desert, the Wing was returning to Gambut Satellite where we had operated from prior to the retreat. My co-driver and myself were ahead of the convoy and when we had arrived at our Satellite, the only aircraft there was a 3 Sqn. Kittyhawk on jacks. It had been under repair when we retreated and our orders were not to destroy aircraft that couldn’t be flown out as we'd probably be returning within a few days. The aircraft appeared to be OK and it was obvious no enemy had operated from the airfield.

Our main object was to find an enemy aircraft that could be flown by our C.O. Bobby Gibbes - so we went to see if there were abandoned aircraft at Gambut Main, several miles away.

There were lots of damaged aircraft and we were delighted to find an almost new silver-grey 109. On examination the damage was slight - mainly no canopy - which must have been jettisoned in flight for the tail plane was damaged where hit by the canopy.

I wrote CV on the fuselage and then realised if we left it unguarded someone else would grab it. I sent Rex back to the Squadron to notify Bobby what had happened and we would return the following morning. A team of airmen and a truck was organised to come to Gambut Main early next morning.

In the meantime three army officers appeared and wanted to know what I was doing with the 109. I told them that I was taking it back to the squadron for the C.O. to fly and evaluate its capabilities. They informed me that they were Intelligence and I couldn’t take it - they wanted to evaluate it. I told them ‘no way’. I had the aircraft and was going to keep it. Outranked (I was an F/O) and outnumbered, I did well to convince them the prize was going to 3 Sqn.

We finally compromised … they'd take the name plates from various places on the aircraft - which would allow them to find out where the bits and pieces had been manufactured. On departing their final remark was "We’ll get it anyway". "Maybe" I said "but not before we’ve flown it."

When Sergeant Palmer returned we parked the vehicle against the fuselage and that night slept under the mainplane. No one was going to get the 109 which we now knew to be a 109G.

The ground staff arrived early the next morning and the aircraft was towed back to the Sqn. I imagined the look in the eyes of the C.O.. to see such a prize and in such good condition.

Three or four days later the aircraft was repaired and the C.O. test flew it and later made more flights.

Eventually the Intelligence people did get the aircraft and Bobby Gibbes flew it back to the Delta area. Much later we heard that they had pranged it.

[bobbysocks]

Philip Wright in Mission 59 1/2.

March 10, '45 was my sixtieth mission. From now on I'd be eligible for rotation home. It was a happy prospect. What wasn't was a 2,000' ceiling and 5,000' thick cloud cover by no means great weather to be flying combat in.

Since I'd joined the 36th Fighter Group on August 1, 1944, a lot of good friends in the Group hadn't made it as far as I had. They'd either been killed or were missing in action. Among them were pals I'd had gone to flying school with: Jack Wyand, Harry Vibert, and Joe Schultis. Others I recall missing from the pilot's roster of the 23 Fighter Squadron were Don Smollen (K.I.A.), Pit Cole (K.I.A.), Jack Teagarden (K.I.A.), and Don Dreifke (M.I.A.).

But the biggest loss for all of us was Major Albert E. "Easy" Miles, our squadron commander. His chute caught on the tail of his plane when he had to bail out. He went in with his plane. "Easy" Miles was one of the bravest men I have ever known.

The mission today is an armed reconnaissance in an area north of Frankfurt, Germany. My friend and roommate, "Maggie" Magnuson, will lead the squadron of two flights of four P-47 Thunderbolts. I'm to lead the second flight of four.

"Stay the hell away from the Remagen Bridge!" the briefing officer had told us.

The capture of the Remagan Bridge three days earlier had been unbelievably good fortune, and 1st Army was doing everything possible to protect this first bridgehead over the Rhine.

"There is a 15 mile no-fly zone around the bridge and any plane, and I mean any plane-Allied or German, that comes into this zone, is going to be shot down. So stay the hell out of there," he had repeated.

We took off from our Belgian base, and flew east-south-east over cloud cover. Not until we were well into Germany could we see ground through occasional holes in the overcast. In one of these, Maggie spotted a marshaling yard. He radioed the rest of us that he and his wingman were going down and take a look. The two planes of his second element tacked on to the four in my flight. We circled overhead at 10,000 feet and watched Maggie and his wingman dive down and disappear through the hole. Shortly, Maggie radioed up that he'd spotted some locomotives and that the rest of us should come on down.

I radioed my strung-out bunch to follow me and dove down through the hole and pulled out at 1,500' heading north. I saw the marshaling yard and lined up on it, made my bomb run, and released my two 500 pounders, then broke away in a steep 90° left-hand climbing turn. I looked back to see the havoc I'd wrought.

Terrible! My bombs had landed in some peasant's field and blasted a nice big hole in it.

In order that I wouldn't get run into by the planes following me, I climbed back up into the clouds again, made a 180° turn, and came back down out of the clouds and tried to find the locomotives.

I was flying was a brand spanking new P-47D30RA - my plane had been grounded for maintenance. A new plane has the smell of a new car, and I babied this cream-puff along like an old man out for a Sunday drive while I looked for the locomotives. At the same time I was thinking about the marvelous rest leave I'd just returned from in Cannes on the Riviera.

"Ker-thunk." The plane was hit! I didn't even know I was being fired at. No flak, no tracers, no indication of any enemy fire at all.

Aluminum skin over the wheel well on left wing was buckled up. Inside was a raging fire. Every pilot's reaction to such an emergency is to check his controls, and I kicked the rudder pedals. WOW-the fire just spread the length of the wing.

What to do? I could fire-wall the throttle and try to go back on the deck and pray the fire wouldn't get so bad I'd have to bail out. If it did, there wouldn't be time to gain enough altitude to jump. Another problem was, I couldn't remember if there was a bulkhead between the wing root and gas tank under the seat. If I guessed wrong-Blooey!

Then there was the Ramagen Bridge. I guessed it was about 70 miles due west of my position, and if I made, it I'd be shot down by our own people.

My next option was to go up through the 5,000' of cloud cover on instruments, then head for the lines. At least I'd be able to jump, if the plane didn't blow up first. But I was a lousy instrument pilot, and with the plane on fire, I would be watching the fire and not my instruments. No way.

The next choice-jump! The decisions took less than 10 seconds before I started my bailout procedure. I ripped off my oxygen mask, ejected the canopy, and rolled the plane upside down, ready to drop out, exactly as the book said.

Problems: First, I hadn't rolled the trim tabs forward to keep the nose up, when the plane was upside down, and it kept diving towards the ground. Second, you just doesn't "drop" out of a plane going 150 miles an hour. That's no gentle zephyr, and it keeps you jammed in the cockpit. Third, upside down, I was kicking at the stick to keep the nose up, while struggling to get out against slipstream, and I saw I was still hooked to the radio umbilical.

Then pow! Out I went, like a cork from a champagne bottle. I had wriggled out just far enough for the slipstream to grab me instead of holding me in. It was the fastest I've ever gone anywhere, anytime - the radio umbilical didn't slow me down one whit. Forever etched in my memory is the image of the vertical stabilizer going right between my legs. The thought still makes me cringe.

Flight school didn't include practice jumps; from now on it would be on-the-job-training. At best, I was at 1200' and didn't dare observe the nicety of counting to ten before pulling the rip cord. I yanked it. The chute serpentined out and opened with a lovely "WHOOMPH." and had he been there I would have kissed Sergeant McElroy, our parachute rigger.

As the plane flew away-engine roaring-I suddenly felt like two people. One, a stranger, parachuting into Nazi Germany. The other, who was going to get back into plane and fly back safely to the base. This horror just couldn't be happening to me! When the plane crashed into the ground in a huge explosion, I knew I wasn't going back to the base-and I became one person.

Suddenly, everything became quiet-even serene. The first sounds to filter into my consciousness were of the birds singing beneath me. It was eerily disorienting, but beautiful. As I drifted down, Hollywood images of Germans machine-gunning defenseless Allied pilots in parachutes flashed into my mind- I waited?

I pulled on the parachute shroud lines, to control my descent, but I feared if I pulled too hard I'd dump the air from the chute and crash to the ground so I gave it up.

The ground was coming up faster, and I saw a barbed wire fence I might straddle. Then the ground blurred, and I was on it in a heap. I looked around to see that I was in the back yard of a large house on top of a knoll. The six foot hurricane fence that surrounded the property was ample proof that the best way into this place was through the top. Down the knoll I saw a small town.

We had been told in Escape & Evasion lectures that the first thing to do is to hide your parachute. If the Germans found it, they would have a place to start tracking you from. Okay, I gathered up the chute, took it into a shed near the back of the house, and crammed it down behind a woodpile. Outside again, I went around to the east side of the house and looked for a gate-no gate. I hurried back around the house to the west side to see if there was a gate there and came face to face with, what else, eight or ten German civilians on the opposite side of the fence.

Their leader was a wild-eyed string bean of a guy that had a Luger pointed straight at me. My arms shot up in surrender. We stared at each other, wondering who was going to do what next. They seemed as surprised as I was and nearly as scared.

They motioned me to go back around the house. I did, and when I was screened from them by the house, I took out my 45 Cal. automatic, threw a shell into the chamber, left the safe off, and shoved it back into my holster. I would go down with all guns firing!. When I rounded the east side of the house, where I had looked the first time, there was a gate big as life and the Germans waiting for me. Again, my arms flew up in surrender, and they took the forty-five.

We started down the knoll towards the town, with me out front like The Pied Piper of Hamlin with a gun in his back, I think every kid in town showed up. They hooted and hollered at me in the German equivalent of, "We gotcha, We gotcha!" Kids are are kids. In my best military manner-head up chin in-I tried to ignore them and the dour stares of the adults that had joined the parade.

That morning I'd given extra care to my uniform-boots and brass polished. I even wore a tie. If I was going to be their prisoner, at least I could be a proud officer and gentleman of the U.S. Army Air Force.

There was a a small factory at the edge of the town, where they led me down into a basement office. The room was maybe eighteen by eighteen feet with solid concrete walls. The first thing they did was make me strip off every stitch of clothing. They must have thought I was hiding secret papers or weapons. I did as ordered. However, standing stark naked in front of a bunch of people, to whom I'd not been properly introduced, lacked a certain propriety. But I didn't have much choice.

About now, they decided to unload my forty-five. This set off the damnedest brouhaha and commotion among them as none of them knew beans about unloading a Browning 45 Cal. automatic. I was the only person in the room who knew there was a shell in the chamber and that the safety was off. If that forty five went off, in this eighteen foot square concrete room, the carnage would be unbelievable. I wouldn't die with my boots on; I'd die with nothin' on.

Naked as I was, I desperately pantomimed how to unload the piece. They thought I was trying to get the thing back and yelled and cursed me. But I kept at it, and it finally dawned on them I was trying to help, and "we" unloaded the forty-five. It was a scene right out of a Three Stooges comedy.

When they found I didn't have any hidden weapons or secret documents on me, they let me get dressed and marched me over to the burgermeister's office. The kids of course, tagged along and continued badgering me. They were no longer amusing.

Of the four or so Germans in the burgermeister's office the Burgermeister was the kindest. If he hadn't been there, I believe the others would have made short work of me because of the devastation and civilian deaths that resulted from Allied bombing.

Two self-important uniformed officials came in and took over. I had no idea who they were or could I understand a word they were saying. But I got the feeling they weren't sure what to do with me, and I began saying, "Luftwaffe, Luftwaffe."

If captured, we had been told to try to get in the hands of the Luftwaffe-comrades-in-arms, that sort of thing. The next choice was the Wehrmacht, and most of all try to stay out of the hands of the Gestapo, SS, and the civilians. At least these weren't the Gestapo or SS, and the "Luftwaffe" suggestion might work. I must have said the right thing, for the leader quickly started to telephone.

He greeted the person at the other end of the line with a loud, "Heil Hitler," at the same time his arm shot up in the Nazi salute. I couldn't believe it. I thought this only happened in Charlie Chaplin movies. Whatever he said was Greek to me, as I spoke no German. But it seemed to have solved the problem.

I was dying for a cigarette, and with a lot of gestures was able to persuade them to let me have one. I sat ramrod stiff in the straight backed chair, and puffed away "by the numbers" in my best officer and gentleman pose.

The moment didn't last. A man in peasant clothing stormed into the room and began screaming and hollering at me. Then he smashed the cigarette from my hand. I had no idea what was going on. Through a little French, I finally realized he thought I had killed his wife and children. I couldn't have, unless they had been out in the middle of the field where my bombs had landed. No doubt his family had been killed at some point, and, for that, he was taking out his rage on me.

In French he yelled, "Pourquoi? Pourquoi?" (For why? For why?)

My only answer was, "C'est la guerre." (It is war.)

It was the wrong thing to say. He jumped on me, and beat on me with his fists. I didn't dare fight back and just curled up in a ball. The other Germans finally pulled him off and shoved him out of the room. I was damned lucky he hadn't captured me first.

The situation calmed down after he left, and I was turned over to an older man in uniform. I thought he was the town constable. He took me outside, picked up his bicycle and motioned me to come with him. The kids were still with us but had stopped their antics. We walked through the town, until he stopped at a house in the middle of a block. He leaned his bicycle against a low brick fence and went up the walk to a side entrance.

What followed was the greatest pantomime I have ever seen. The constable stood outside the door in profile to me, apparently telling an unseen wife that he had to take this vicious "Terraflieger" to the airfield in Giessen, and that he would be late coming home for supper. But it was just as obvious from the look on his face and the lecture he was receiving that she didn't believe one word of it. She must have yelled that all he wanted to do was to go to Giessen, get drunk and chase girls.

He argued back furiously, while pointing down the walk at me, but staring straight ahead at her. Didn't she realize the importance of his mission and what a hero he was? Finally this shrew's face pops out from behind the door, like a Jack-In-The-Box, she craned her head to see the "Terraflieger." Pop-eyed he'd been telling the truth, she jerked her head back into the house as quickly as it came out. The constable turned and strutted back down the walk full of himself, muttering, "Boy-did I ever tell her!" I didn't understand a word of what they said, but I didn't have to.

The constable shoved the kids aside. He mounted his bicycle and motioned me to get going. I trotted along slowly, as he did S-turns to keep from falling off the bike. The kids had tired of the game and quit. I said the hell with running and slowed to a walk. The constable got off his bicycle, and we walked out into the beautiful German countryside-alone.

The constable was an older man, and I gave a thought to overpowering him and escaping. But he kept the bicycle between us and his Luger on the far side. He knew what I was thinking and was prepared for any tricks I might pull. If I tried it one of us was certain to be killed. If I did escape, I had no food or anything else I would need to survive. It was seventy mile trek to our lines. The risk wasn't worth it.

We plodded along silently into the late afternoon sun. Each deep in his own thoughts. In about an hour I guessed, my watch and all my other possessions had been liberated back at the factory-we came to an airfield in Giessen.

The constable turned me over to the Luftwaffe and without ceremony they dumped me into a cell. My sixtieth mission was incomplete and all hopes for rotation home- shattered.

EPILOGUE

Greycliff, Montana is a quintessential wide spot in the road. No post office, one retail store, and a few occupied houses. Greycliff is not a place to expect extraordinary coincidences to take place.

In the summer of 1992 my wife, Joan, and I were playing tennis at a friends ranch outside of Greycliff. One of our doubles opponents was Martin Siebert, a native of Germany, and pastor of the Congregational Church in nearby Big Timber. After the match, I mentioned to Martin that I had been a fighter pilot and P.O.W. in Germany at the end of World War-II.

"Where were you shot down?" Martin inquired.

"Near Giessen," I told him.

"That's not far from where I was brought up," he answered.

I told Martin in 1984 that. we'd tried to locate the town (I never knew the name of it) where I'd been shot down, but we were unsuccessful. I believed it was about five miles northeast of Giessen.

Two weeks later Martin introduced me to a visiting young German couple who lived very near the place of my capture. I told them how I had parachuted into the back yard of a house on top of a knoll, and about my capture, and trip to Giessen. I believed the town was roughly 5 miles northeast of Giessen.

A month later a letter arrived from my new German friends. In it were photos of "my house" exactly as I remembered. Included was the current owner's name and address, Prof./Dr. Albert Spitznagel of Staufenberg-Mainzlar, plus names of several people who remembered the incident.

In response to my letter, relating the events of that day and my excitement at discovering the site of my "downfall," Prof. Spitznagel invited my wife and myself to spend a weekend with him and his wife, Gisella, at the "house on top of a knoll." We could not refuse and in February of 1994 we went.

Their hospitality was fabulous and included a reception for us to meet many of those who remembered that March day in 1945. They included the burgermeister's son, Willie Krieling, one of my "kids," Friedrich Zecker and the current deputy burgermeister, Reiner Mehler, and a reporter from the Giessen newspaper to record the events.

But the belle of the ball was Hilde Schmitt. Hilde was then the twenty-one year old housekeeper/governess for the family of "the house on the knoll" and told the following,

"...I don't know why I didn't go back into the house with the rest of the family, when the 'all clear' sounded. Suddenly, I saw a man - bent over running - along the fence and hedge. It was clear he was the shot-down pilot, and I ran up behind him with a pick-axe! Then other people came up the hill and captured you."

At the reception, Hilde and I discussed how fortunate it was I didn't see her, when she followed me with the pick-axe. I had my forty-five, and if she had threatened me, I might have shot her. That would surely have been curtains for me when I was captured. The next day Hilde invited us to her home for champagne and cake. We continue to exchange Christmas cards.

The story was published in the Giessen newspaper on Monday morning and was read by a young man, Andreas Dort. He immediately called the Spitznagels, missing us by 15 minutes. He was livid.

Andreas' grandfather had retrieved a section of my plane using it to cover a wood pile. His grandmother had made underwear from my parachute.

Andreas had grown up obsessed with the plane and its pilot. Over the years he had collected many parts of my plane from the crash site. Now his pilot had come to Mainzlar and he had missed him! Andreas' story also became a feature article in the Giessen paper.

He wrote me that he wanted to send me pieces of my plane and parachute. After a lot of bureaucratic haggling with the customs department, the package arrived with the cherished mementos.

In his covering letter Andreas wrote, "Please don't be angry because the pieces are in bad shape. They are very old. And only you know, what a sh*t big crash you've done."

Another letter from Andreas told about how he found out who the constable was:

"Dear Phil,

"On Tuesday Sept. 5th a man from Staufenberg visit me in the Burgermeisterei. We talk about some official things. Then he said: are you the man, who found some plane-pieces? I said: of course, what's happened?

"He like to hear our story, because he was a 10 year old boy from Daubringen, than you have been going like a POW across Daubringen behind a bike!

"Then he said: in front of the pilot was the police-officer, Mr. Hahn from Lollar. I thought, whom the (to f*ck) is Mr. Hahn? So I call the son from Mr. Hahn at that same minute. I explain him the problem and he said, it's real possible, that his father was the right man. He knows by himself (1945 = 13 years old) a story like this. I demand from him a picture from his father and told him, that you will be crazy, if you can see the man in uniform and he was the right one. He will call me at the weekend, then I get the photo. The house where they are live in 1945 is real like this today. I take some pictures from it and send them prompt to you."

In March of 1997 we visited Andreas and his wife, Claudia. They gave us a super time and we have become great friends. In addition to visiting the crash site and finding some more small parts of my plane, we met a neighbor of Mr. Hahn's. He remembered my being at the Hahn house and confirmed that Mrs. Hahn was a real, "battle-axe."

All this is a tale the result of a tennis game at that "wide spot in the road," Greycliff, Mont.

[bobbysocks]

part of the war we never think about but should

Dogfights over Belgrade - The First Day. Pt1 yugo pilots stories

Furious because a small nation resisted the almighty German war machine Hitler ordered the attack on Yugoslavia. In Hitler's 'Order 25' the role for Luftwaffe was clear: the destruction of JKRV (Jugoslovensko Kraljevsko Ratno Vazduhoplovstvo - Yugoslovian Royal Air Force) and the bombardment of Belgrade.

For Operation 'MARITA', against Yugoslavia and Greece, the Luftwaffe dropped 1090 aircrafts (Luftflotte 4) and Germans were supported also by additinal 660 Italian and some Hungarian planes. JKRV was able to resist by totally 470 first line aircrafts, but only 269 planes were airworthy modern types. In first day of attack Luftwaffe concentrated mostly on Yugoslavian airbases, destroying a part of JKRV force before take off. But soon Yugoslavian pilots appeared in air...

The German attack came at the wrong time for the 102 eskadilju, 32 vazduhoplovne grupe as witnessed by its CO Mihajlo Nikolic:

".....In Mostar we were supposed to be relived by the Fighter Scholl from Nis. While waiting for them our planes were turning ready for their 100hrs check, because they all had from 110-130hrs flying time. The Me 109E had the Daimler Benz 601 engine, and the only repair shop for these engines was in Zemun. So on Saturday 5. April in the evening we landed on the Zemun airfield. The airplane of August Kovac engine failed while still on the runway, and the others were practically unflyable. But we were immediately included in the 51. vazduhoplovna grupa, which flew IK-3, but only had six of them-three each squadron. That night we were called by the CO of the unit Rupcic and gave as the following order:

- At dawn tomorrow morning you will patrol over the border part Vrsac-Bela Crkva where German tank units from Romunia are anticipated."

A member of these tank units, a tank gunner, describes the Major Diner StG 2 attack on a mountain pass fortification:

"A fine coating of dew covered the vehicles. Only a thin strip of slowly lightening sky above the mountains heralded the start of a new day. It was 5 am on the morning of 6 April. We looked at our watches. Fifteen minutes to go. As we adjusted our binocular, a pale dawn light started to seep down the hillside in front of us. The mountains behind rose out of a milky white morning mist. One more minute. There! To the west a machine gun rattled briefly. Then a muffled explosion. A few seconds of complete silence, then the whole front erupted into noise. Our own light flak units added to the din of the artillery.

Despite the racket, my ears picked up the thin drone of aircraft engines, growing louder every second. I knew from experience what it was, and pointed the glasses upwards. Sure enough, the dim shapes of approaching Stukas. Now they were circling above us, the dark red pin-points of their position lights plainly visible beneath the shadows of their wings.

They slowly began to climb, breaking into the clear light of the new day. More and more aircraft joined them as they headed towards the ridge of the mountains immediately to our front. One last circle, as it to make double sure of the target below, and then the first Ketten went into their dives. Even from here we could hear the familiar nerve-shattering howl of their sirens. And then the first bombs fell. The tiny black specs rained down on the enemy positions. The noise of the explosions echoed back unseen clefts in the mountains as Staffel after Staffel attacked. Soon pillars of yellow-brown smoke were staining the pristine whiteness of the high snowfields."

While Stukas of StG2 were attacking enemy positions and Me 110 were attacking all airfields in the general direction of the attack, a large formation of bombers from II./KG 4, KG 2 and KG 3 was joined by the fighters from II/JG 77, III/JG 77 and III/JG 54. A Yugoslav fighter-pilot during the Zerstorer run said: "When we were watching, almost all, of our fighter airplanes burning our CO said:

- It really is war. We will get paid double".

The approach of the bomber formation to Belgrade went really quiet, and only when the noise of multiple aircraft engines was reported from the hills surrounding Belgrade JKRV's response late due to the failure of the early warning system.

Kapetan 2. klase Mihajlo Nikolic:

"In the morning 6. April 1941 I took-off as first, with my wingman Milodrag Boskovic to follow the order. We returned after 50 min, when we landed we started to eat some sandwiches when from the office burst our CO giving us the sign to take-off. When we were strapping in he radioed us that German airplanes crossed the border at Subotica and were flying from South to Belgrade.

The officer ordering Nikolic to take-off was the CO at Zemun-Adum Romeo. 16 planes took-off.

The first was the IK 3 squardon of kapetan 1. Klase, who was escorted by narednik Dusan Vujicic. The second pair consisted of kapetan 1. razreda Todor Gojic his wingman was narednik Milislav Semiz. Dusan Borcic was leading the third pair and his wingan was Bamfic.

Mihajlo Nikolic continues

The IK-3s flew first because they got the information earlier, we followed them with seven Me 109E (there were ten, but one was unserviceable, and two were on patrol).

It was a clear day with a bit of haze and scattered clouds so we flew towards Sava river. When we were in the air, I looked back from habit and I saw that my wingman Milodrag Boskovic in confusion forgot to pull in his landing gear. I called him via radio but to no success, and only when I opened my landing gear, he cleaned out his gears and joined fighting formation. At first we saw nothing, then we spotted our planes diving into something. When we got closer, the sky immediately went black from German airplanes, and we flew into this turmoil not ever dreaming that Germans had an umbrella of fighters above us. First we saw the Stukas flying in groups of seven. There were so much targets that we didn't have to chose anything. I attacked one group from the left and bellow, but immediately the right side of the group descended for the gunners to have a clear shot. This was a trained tactic, but the group didn't break. We made a couple of runs, but didn't pay attention if there was any results. A little later I noticed that a Stuka was starting to burn, The group immediately-as being ordered-broke fearing an explosion.

Then I noticed that the He 111 were coming. I made a turn and told Boskovic that we are going for a group from behind because they are defended from the top and bellow. I started my attack carefully choosing my position, all concentrated in aiming...from nowhere a blast in the cabin and a German fighter almost rammed me with his wing, coming from the left.

My wingman didn't even saw him. That fighter got a good shot in me, but I to squeezing the trigger gave full left rudder and fired at him. The cabin was already filled with smoke. The fuel tanks are behind us and they could catch fire, we were told to put the fire out with a quick dive, I managed to do that, but when I wanted to apply throttle the engine did not respond. I don't see or hear Boskovic (I never saw him again). I started to chose where I will land, and between the villages Sakule and Baranda I notice a clearance with some stock on the left and right a field. I chose the field and I belly-land. I open the cabin and I notice there is blood on my flying suit, I got shot in my left leg."

In fact Boskovic wasn't found until 1955, when he and he's Me 109 were recovered from Dunav river near the village of Kovilj which is about 2min flying time in general heading towards Belgrade to the place that Nikloic crash-landed his Messerschmitt. Some parts of his Messerschmitt are kept in the Yugoslav air force museum, including the DB 601 engine.

The other pair of JKRV Me 109’s were Miloš Žunič and Džordžem Stojanoćem.

The pair closed in on the He 111’s, one bomber was shot down by Žunič. The pair quickly turned to the fighters and defended themself untill they ran out of ammo. Me 109 flown by Žunič was hit a couple of times, and he bailed out. He came to earth dead. His wingman survived.

The flight of IK-3’s lead by the talented aerobatic champion and flight instructor Savo Poljanec from Maribor soon reached the first wave of enemy bombers.

Poljanec lead the group on to the bombers but they were seperated because of the German Me 109 diving on them. Poljanec was now alone and fighting with the guns of 27 bombers. The experienced aerobatic pilot made an immelman turn and came back down the side of the formation concentrating on the right bomber of the last three. Just before the bomber was engulfed in fire the tail gunner watched the victorious Poljanec climb over the formation. Then on the alititude of 6000m Poljanec noticed that a formation of German Me 109 fighters were preparing an attack on him. Poljanec evaded the first fighter, and then started a high speed pursuit, with a couple of short bursts from Poljanec the Me 109 began lossing altitude and was aparently out of control. His joy was to be shortlived because in the next moment, he was attacked by the next fighter who was following him closely all this time. Poljanec felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder and his engine started to quit. Seeing there was no point of proceding, he shut off his engine and started spinnig. The trick worked since the enemy fighters sure of their kills started climb again. His spin became uncontrolled now and only his great experience as an aerobatic pilot enabled him to exit this spin, and this only at minimal altitude. Poljanec was now flying his bullet ridden IK 3 towards Zemun trailing a glycol trail behind him. Just before landing he was strafed by a Me 110 and one of his shell exploded behind the seat that Poljanec was ocupaying. But all in all he managed to land safely and was immediately put in hospital.

Worth mentioning here is that Poljanec in a IK-3 flew a lot of mock dogfights against Yugoslavian Me 109E usually flown by Boris Cijan.

Over another part of Belgrade, over Senjak the second pair consisting of podporočnik Borčič and Bamfič, was looking for a good fight, but they didn’t find any enemies, so they separetad to increase their chances.

Borčič flew toward the Rumanian border and then returned to Belgrade. Over Zvezdara he caught up with 20 Do 17’s enemy bombers that was heading towards the centre of the capital. He attacked the last three and sent one Do 17 in the Danube river. The same scenario as happaned again as with the Poljanec. The German Me 109’s were diving on him, but Borcic gained just a spot of advatage, so he could shot down a Me 109E. Now he was alone, and German fighters were trying to encircle him, but they weren’t suceding untill Borcic run out of ammo. He was shot down on the banks od Danube 15km nort of Belgrade. His last fight was observed by a lot of spectators in Belgrade city. After the war the remains of his IK 3 was lifted from the river, and it revealed that no big ‘white 10’ was worn on the fusleage, but just a little ‘black 10’ on the rudder.

His wingman Bamfić was also fighting with the Me 109s over Batajnica. His IK 3 was alo badly damaged, and he was coming in for landing, but was bounced by two Me 109s. To avoid certain death Bamfic was forced into a series of steep turns, with his wingtips almost touching the ground. He crash-landed near the airfield. His IK 3 was completly destroyed during the landing, but Bamfić was not hurt.

Vujičić had to return to the airfield due to cooling problems.

The pair Gogić and Semiz shot down a Stuka.

A pilot of the bomber stream piloting one of StG 77 Stukas was lucky to avoid Yugoslav fighters:

"After the Green hedgerows of the Normandy countryside, the warm browns and greys of the local landscape were still unfamiliar to our eyes. The morning sun was glinting off the peaks of the Transylvanian Alps at our backs as we were approaching the unmistakable silver ribbonod the Dunav, the frontier between Rumania and Yugoslavia. The hazy outlines of a large city appeared in the distance-Belgrade!

Below us the first few burst of enemy flak. But nothing to worry about. Those of us who'd been through Poland and France had seen much worse. The city is much clearer now. The white tower-like buildings bright in the morning sun. The Staffeln opens up as pilots prepare to dive. Our target is a the fortress which gave the city it's name. Perched high above the promontory where the Sava joins Dunav, it couldn't be missed.

I felt the jolt as our bomb was released. We leveled out and turned back for base at high speed, ready to prepare for the next mission. As we retired I saw the fortress ringed in smoke and flames. Fires had also been started in the royal palace and the nearby main railway station. Soon smoke hung over the whole city like a great grey shroud.

On 6 April 1941, during the first mission of Luftwaffe's I.(J)/LG 2 - low-level attack against the base of the 36th Fighter Group base at Rezanovacka Kosa at Kumanovo shortly after 6:00 am - the Bf 109s of this unit got involved in a dogfight with the Hawker Fury biplanes of 36th FG above this airfield. Without any reported losses, I.(J)/LG 2 (equipped with Bf 109 E-7) made the following claims of Hawker Furys: Lt. Geisshardt - 4 Furys (victories Nos 14-17), Olt. Clausen - 3 Furys (Nos 6- and Gefr. Quatember - 1 Fury (No 3).

During the first mission of JG 77 - escort to the raid against Belgrade - between 07.30 and 08.40, 56 Bf 109 of JG 77 were involved in furious dogfights with Yugoslav fighters. Oberleutnant Erich Friedrich of Stab/JG 77 claimed a Yugoslav Bf 109 as his third victory. In II./JG 77, the following pilots claimed one Bf 109 each: Olt. Jung (his victory No. 3), Ofw. Petermann (7), Lt. Zuzic (1), Fw. Ftröba (3), Olt. Patz (1), Fw. Köhler (2), Ofw. Petermann (. And - in III./JG 77 - Olt. Schmidt one Bf 109 (No 1) and Ofw. Riehl one Ikarus IK-2 (No 2). No losses were reported by JG 77 during this mission.

After a short brake with some refreshments Yugoslav pilots, anticipated the next raid on Belgrade between 10 and 11am.

Under the command of Gogić now six planes took off. They attacked the bomber formation, but the resistance was much better then during the first raid. The Me 109E flown by Karl Štrebenk a native of Zagorje on Sava river, was badly damaged, but Štrebenk was able to land safely. After landing he discovered that his airplane was had 80 bullet holes. Determined to get his revange, he begged the CO which was Rubčić at the time, to let him use his plane to go and pursue the Germans. After a short argumnet since Rubčić said that it was no point as the Germans are already attacked by the fighters from Prnjavor, but all in all Rubčić allowed Šterbenk to use his plane. Štrbenk flew right in the gagle of German and Yugoslav fighters. The Germans noticed the special marking carried on the CO’s plane so they concentrated all the eforts on Štrbenk. With the combined efforts of the pilots with well over a year of constant fighting. Šterbenk stood no chance. He crashed on the Glogonjski rt.

During the second mission of JG 77 - low-level attacks against the Belgrade area - Lt. Omert claimed a Bf 109 (No 1), while another eight Yugoslav aircraft were claimed destroyed on the ground. During the same mission, Olt. Hans-Ekkehard Bob of 8./JG 54 claimed the only victory by that unit - a Bf 109. During this mission, Olt. Heinz Duschle was shot down by ground fire and crash-landed in Yugoslav territory. He was hidden by German Yugoslavs and later returned to his unit. No other German BF 109 was reported lost during this mission.

I.(J)/LG 2 flew another five low-level attacks against airfields in the Niš area during the day. Three of its Bf 109 E-7 were repotted shot down by ground fire.

During one low-level attack against the Yugoslav airfield at Laibach, the Bf 109 piloted by Oberfähnrich Hans-Joachim Marseille was hit by AAA, but Marseille managed to return the aircraft to base.

The CO of the 142 eskadrile 32. vazduhoplovne grupe 6. lovackoga puka Milutin Grozdanovic also took-off from Prnjavor airfield with his Me 109 with code number 52 that morning:

"At 6.30 we were overflown by a large formation of German bombers. There was more then hundred of them. When we saw this we immediately jumped in our aircraft which were ready from three o'clock in the morning. We took-off and followed the German formation in pairs. We caught up with the German formation in 2 -3 minutes. Me and komandant grupe Danilo Djordjevic, Bozidar Ercigo and Radoslav Stamekovic attacked the bombers. There was so much bombers that we attacked a bomber each. We had two cannons and two machine guns.

We flew over them then we dived and tried to get as many hits as possible in the bombers cabin. We attacked one bomber after another until we spent all of our ammo. Then we dived to the treetops and escaping enemy fighters and one by one returned to the airfield. We didn't even pay attention if we had shot-down somebody and after the attack we didn't have any losses.

After a short break at about 10 o'clock we flew again and again attacked the bombers. There were so much bombers some returning from Belgrade some flying to,my god there were so much bombers. When I was returning I saw a group of 60 - 70 Stukas. I separated from my group and attacked them because I was faster and had more ammo. I closed in to 20 - 30 meters so I didn't even have to use my gunsight. We had so high goals we didn't even watch if we shot-down somebody, we just kept attacking till our ammo ran out. When I run out of ammo I made a low-level escape to the airfield to reload the airplane and to give others a chance to fly."

The JKRV's communication system was insufficient so that some squadrons didn't even know about the war. Blenheim's pilot Ivan Miklavec, a member of 8. bombardeski pulk 215. eskadrile stationed at Topoli explains:

"A solider slams opens the door and starts screaming at us: - Did you hear? Belgarde was bombed...The Germans attacked us!

I stood up and asked: - Who told you that?

- Radio Belgrede we heard it on the Caproni ( the only radio was in one of our school Caproni).

Then in a second the airfield came alive. Alarm! Airman in readiness, mechanics, bombs, ammunition!!! Short commands resounded. I look up in the clear Sunday sky, in to the sun-the blood is boiling in our vanes. After the first salvo of orders and news there is silence. Everybody is doing their work and preparations without much speaking.

Sunday, the first war day passed in take-off readiness just in case we were attacked. We loaded our planes with 100 kg bombs and with machine gun ammo. In the afternoon the first two machines took-off at 13.30 with a recon mission over Graz. They bombed a station in the way back and returned safely.

At 5 o'clock in the afternoon we received the order for take-off, but regretfully for tomorrow. Komandir Jovičić explained the mission for us, we were to bomb road and railway bridges around Klagenfurt. Jovičić surprised us by saying: We don't have much ammunition, but we will use the one we got the best we can. To make sure the bombing is accurate and to avoid enemy fighters I suggest that we attack at 300m. Do you agree? We all accepted the dare suggestion. At 20.30 we were surprised by another mission order, the first was called off. We were to bomb the a railway section and station Feldbach in Austria. Take off before dawn, we were to meet at the airfield at 3 o'clock in the morning. So tomorrow is the day..."

Ivan Miklavec describes his story later on, but for most of the pilots 6. April was the day.

The mission against Graz railway station was executed by the best JKRV bomber pilot Karl Murko.

The group commander ordered Murko to head straight to Maribor on the altitude of 2500m, then follow the railtracks to Graz. From the height of 300m he should drop his four 100kg bombs onto the railway station.

His mechanics checked his Blenheim and loaded it with bombs and amunititon.

The Blenheim was piloted by Murko, his gunner was Malešić and the bombardier was Pandža. They took off at 13.30 in the afternoon.

Murko didn’t agree with the route he was ordered. He flew towards Maribor at the height of about 300m, He then turned towards Austria and then proceded uo the valley of the river Raba. When he overflew the railway crossing Gleisdorf, he descended even lower, so he was virtually huging the ground. He was sure that if he was higher he would be spotted by the AAA and fighters from Thalerhof (Miklavec proved this was right-see the second day). Without any resitance he closed into the suburbs of Graz and climbed to 700m. With the railway station in sight, he put his Blenheim in a shallow dive to increase his get-away speed. He released the bombs hitting the tracks with two bombs, the third demolished a building with food suplies and the fourth one missed. Just before reaching Maribor Murko was attacked by a German Me 109E, but the shots from the gunner Malešić and the low flying by experienced Murko prevented the Me 109E to get any real hits. The Me 109E probably low on fuel turned for home. Later mehanics discovered only 2 7.7mm holes in the tail of the Blenheim.

Another known pilot was shot-down that day. Knight cross holder Oblt. Herbert Ihlefeld was brought down by Yugoslavian AA. The pilot landed near Nis, and got slight head injuries.

The Germans continued their attacks against Belgrade through the day and till about 11 o'clock in the evening. Four hours later narednik Miklavec woke up.

[bobbysocks]

Dogfights over Belgrade - The Second Day. ( of 3 )

Bristol Blenheim was the most modern bomber of JKRV. That type was build under licence in Ikarus factory. At moment of German attack in 1941 in line duty was ready totally 56 Blenheims, in bomber and recon versions.

"7. April 1941. We all woke up at 3 o'clock in the morning. In the dark backyard splashes of water were heard, the well pump was quickly filling the buckets with water for refreshment. A bus drove as from the village to the airfield in pitch darkness carefully following the blackout regulations. At the airfield komandir Jovovic repeated the mission, refreshed all agreements and we all started to dress for the flight. We didn't get any meteorological report. At 4 o'clock in the morning we were ordered: To positions! Start the engines! A quick salute to the CO. His last words were: The time has came, either to strike as warriors or to die! We all separated into the night each in the general direction of his aircraft.

The mechanic with his soldiers was already there. The formation was starting their engines, the noise was tremendous. I checked my aircraft, walking around it with a flashlight. I was stunned, the lower wing surface had multiple bayonet-made holes. So, sabotage... I didn't notice any other damage, so I didn't report it. I thought that I could do it after the mission. I also checked the four bombs and unscrewed the igniter half a turn each. I presumed we would have to fly low. When I entered the cockpit I found out that somebody broke the clock in the aircraft. I didn't have the time to find out who did it so I borrowed a wrist watch from the first man who walked past. The crew included a pilot, mechanic/gunner, and bombardier/navigator/aircraft leader (me), we didn't have any radio operator because we didn't have the radios installed yet. One by one all of our 28 aircraft took-off in pitch dark, only a small signal light blinked the take-off command in one minute intervals. I counted the take-offs ...five ...six ...seven ...we were number ten. But where is my pilot? I am waiting, he should be here minutes ago. Mechanic leans out of the cockpit and asks the closest solider if he has seen him. Nothing... number eight is already rolling... I order the mechanic to close the cabin, we will fly alone. I check both engines again, everything is OK. Then I hear knocking on the cabin. The pilot boards the plane in the nick of time. The cabin is closed again. I am looking for the light signal. Here it is! Let's go.

A unpleasant felling of dampness surrounds us at 700m. I quickly notice the first meteorological information-clouds. I order the pilot to climb, because we are flying above 600m high mountains, and my map is telling me we are flying towards even higher mountains. My pencil marks the already flown path of our Blenheim. The pilot asks me where we are. I answer him: Varazdin is to the right. Our altitude is 1500m. It will be dawn soon, and I think we are flying in upper cloud levels so I order to climb to 1700m. The success is obvious as we brake the clouds. I am scanning the sky to spot the others who took-off before us. Far below us I spot a white dot-it's a plane. We are quickly catching him, I recognize him he is one of ours! We are closing in, I want to see the commander, but the airplane signals us the sign.

Watch it! it waggles its wings and makes a U-turn and flies back from where it came from. When he disappears I start to wonder. Did they receive the command for return, was it the whether. Without the radio receiver I didn't get the answer to any of those questions. Soon after we cross the border my mechanic shakes my shoulder and screams There are two fighters in combat above us, one of them is ours. In a moment we lose sight of them (that could be the two JKRV's Me 109 in combat with a German one above Maribor). We have reached our target, far below us, in the valley surrounded by hills we don't see it, it is hidden by the cloud base, our recon won't do us much good. I calculated another 6min before we make the U-turn. We start to sink in the clouds, we are waiting for results of our cloud braking, if I miscalculated...we dive to only 400m. Then we brake through, firs we see something dark brown, then fields, than houses. We fly over a road at 300m. Raindrops are banging on the windshield and are obscuring my sight. I notice some dark transport vehicles driving south, we are going that way too. Feldbach must be somewhere on the right side. I am looking for the railway. I set the bombsight, triggers, electric button. We passed over the road again, we still don't see the railway, then a bright line flashes-a river, a bridge bonds both sides with a road. I show the bridge to the pilot. We fly over the river and make a turn.

Another glance to the bombsight, I press the button, the plane climbs a little and makes the turn. The old bridge is gone only a couple of beams are left. 100m ahead two transport cars stopped, they won't get over the bridge! Then the valley closes in, then opens-up again. Look there is the Feldbach station, we fly over the station at 200m, no traffic, no defense, they even removed the stations name. I press the button and the second bomb parts from the aircraft. After the turn we notice a full hit on the tracks an railway crossing. After a while my mechanic screams: Airplane! and shows me a little dot on the right. When we close in to 300m a recognize the shape, the yellow band, the black cross...no doubt Stuka!!! Machinegun! a yell to the mechanic who is already in the machinegun turret. We close in to 30m and they spot us. In that moment our machine gun sings it's mortal song three salvos 50 bullets each, and the Stuka rolls over an disappears in the clouds. First victory...We won't be taken easily. We fly over a 900m high hill, then we spot barracks lots of them then a warehouse then a railway more barracks. I drop the fourth bomb on this establishment. I latter found out I bombed the wings assembly plant in Wiener Neustadt.

When I was ready to order the plane back I saw a main road leading to Vienna. I dropped my last bomb there.

Then my mechanic screams: - Enemy fighters!

... I turn around, yes four fighters on our tail. I order the pilot to climb into the clouds a turn right then after a minute a turn left to previous direction. I quickly calculate the heading from Vienna to Maribor. We turn our trusty Blenheim in that direction. Then we literally fall out of a cloud and we see the Wiener Neustadt airfield full of aircraft!! The temptation was just too big so we made a low pass our machineguns spiting death. Then came the Flak... But the worst was yet too come we had to fly over a hill 900m high we were flying at 300m. We have to make a circle to gain height over the airfield, the flak was ready for us. We took multiple hits and escaped in the clouds. It is getting lighter, I suddenly hear the engines coughing and spiting, I check the gasoline level...30 liters...the pilot immediately cuts down the throttle to save gas. What now? We had 400 liters seven minutes ago, the fuel tanks must be hit. The pilot and mechanic ask me:

- Shall we jump?

- No! Steer 30° to the left!

(I choose to crash-land because our Yugoslavian made Blenheims didn't have the emergency hatch, our CO had a simple explanation: No jumping. These machines cost 5 million dinars each.) We gave up hope to reach Yugoslavian soil. Only 400m left we brake the cloud base and start looking for a place to land. There on the left below that hill, the crash-land is possible only there. We will plug our nose in, but we have no choice, pilot pulls out the flaps, and I the gears. We are flying with speed 230km/h. The wheels absorb a strong blow, full throttle, the earth bounces, I am not strapped in so I grab for my harness at the last second, a nose blow, the cabin crashes, I am thrown out of the seat...over.

I don't know how long we just lay there, not unconscious but we just lay there. We crawl from our positions and we check if everybody is all right. We climb on the wing and we pet our giant Blenheim N°25 who saved our lives with his destruction.

This is the start of the story about a Yugoslavian war captive Ivan Miklavec, who latter wrote a book "Skozi deset taborišč". ("Through ten prison camps").

While Miklavec was laying in Austria, the Belgrade defenders had their hand full.

After a early morning briefing it was decided that the JKRV pilots would fly in five plane formation, since the pairs didn’t enable to act more agressive.

The first group of five Me 109 scrambeld and attacked a small group of Stukas.

The group lead Grozdanović acompanied with Ercigoj, Grozdanović, shot down the leader of the Stukas while other fighters protected them. The Stukas droped their bombs and ran for the border. A group of German fighters apeared, but they didn’t attack.

In the morning Karl Murko tried his luck again with the target of Segedin airport in Hungary. The 68. Vazdušna skupina this time flew in formation and was intercepted soon after crossing the border. Murko was leading a element of three planes and sucesfully evaded the fighter ambush. But latter on when he was returning from the mission his plane now alone was attacked by a pair of Me 109’s. They scored a lot of hits, but didn’t hit any important parts of the aircraft. Then a cannon shell bounced off the cockpit greenhouse and exploded only meters away shatering the greenhouse. Murko now had a tough time controlling the aircraft, and set it on a glide-like path towards Romunia. The trick worked since the fighters changed course.

After a few minutes murko set course again for Yugoslavia. Over Bosanski brod, he was almost shot down by Yugoslav AAA. Murko managed to land safely though.

In the afternoon the Me 109’s again acted in the five planes formation. Again a small group of Stuka overflew Fruška Gora, they reportedly shot down two Stukas, but then the escorting fighters started to apear in great numbers. The fivesom, had a tough time defending themselves. They were low on ammo, so they started to head back to the airfield. The first to land was poročnik Kešeljević. Just about then the asistant CO of 103. eskadrilje Miha Klavora from Maribor was preparing to take-off he exchanged a few words with Kešeljević about the situation in the air, and immediately after that Klavora and his wingman took off to aid their friends.

The sun started to set, and two more fighters came in for landing with Vilim Acinger and Ivo Novak.

Then the voice of Klavora resounded over the speaker.

This is Klavora. I am out of ammo.

He shot down an enemy fighter, but was still fighting with two other. Now out of ammo, he fought a desperate batle with time, hoping at the same time that someone from the airfield would come to his aid.

The only aircraft ready for combat was CO’s Džordževič’s machine. He walked very slowly toward his aircraft, stood on the wing and then turned back to the barracks, explaning that the parachute wasn’t ready. It was obvoius he had no intention to fly.

One of the attackers over flew the airfield strafing, Klavora tried to take his chance to land, but the other fighter caught up with Klavor and poured a steady stream of fire into the aircraft of brave Miha Klavora. He crashed on the Sremska ravnica.

Just after that one of the enemy fighter with his pilot was obviously wounded and crashed into Fruska gora.

All in the field knew very well, who was to blame for the death of the brave native of Maribor.

Milislav Semiz didn’t have a peacefull day since he around 17.00pm attacked a formation of three bombers, in this attack his IK-3 took 56 hits, 20 among them in the engine and airscrew, but as Poljanec the previous day he managed to land safely at Zemun airfield.

The second day brought a little pause in fighting, so the chain of command and organization recuperated after the first shock, Mile Curgus explains:

I was more a spectator then an actor in the April war. I was a kapetan 2. klase, fighter-pilot 2. lovackog puka. On 2. or 3. April I was given an order to go to the Knic airfield and to prepare all necessary for the arrival of the puk from the Kraljevo airfield. When I arrived at Knic I was notified that I was transferred to Belgrade to help defend it. When I was travelling we were told that the Germans attacked Yugoslavia. The train stopped and we didn't start to move till 7. April in the morning. The first train from Nis to Belgrade got to the city at about 7 o'clock in the evening, the train wasn't able to get in the station so it was redirected over the bridge to Zemun. I immediately went to the JKRV's command, and there I find only two artillery soldiers guarding the building. I walk a couple of kilometers to the Zemun airfield. I ask somebody about the location of the command, and he shows me a bunker, a large cement pipe. There was the Stab brigade and komandant, pukovnik Rupcic. I reported to him and he ordered me to remain at the airfield (it was the same Rupcic that ordered Nikolic and Boskovic the unsuccessful border dawn patrol two days earlier).

The 7. April battle report came with a special message. Today at about 11 o'clock in the morning one of our pilots in Me 109E chased a group of 18 Stukas, and managed to get two. But he to fell in flames at Krcedin in Srem. We found a watch on the hand of the pilot on which there was a special engraved message: For the champion of the First pilot school in 1939 vazdusnim purucniku Zivici Mitrovicu-the Rogozarski factory."

The second day of the war wasn't so active because the Germans didn't continue so strong bomber offensive, their goal was achieved. German reconisance planes discovered the 32. group airfield, and airfield Belgrade was constantly under attack, it was decided that all fighters should transfer to Radinci airfield. If all fighters weren't able to follow the command, they should join the main bulk at Radinci on 8. April in the morning.

Komandir Milutin Grozdanovic had a definitely spoiled day:

"In the afternoon I was given an order from the komandant Bozidar Kostic to transfer to an airfield near the village Radinci, because he feared that our airfield was discovered by the Germans. I was very tired, and when we got over Radinci, I tried to land first, I lost too much speed, stalled, flipped my wing, and crashed. I turned over and got serious injuries. Unconscious I was transported to a hospital in Sremska Mitrovica, after 7-8 days the Germans came and treated me. When they found out that I was an officer and that I put up a brave fight, they treated me with respect, and after 15 days I was accompanied by two medicals to Belgrade, where I finished my treatment."

Between 09.15 and 10.40, JG 77 flew low-level attack missions against airfields to the south of Belgrade and escort to Stukas. Two aircraft were reported destroyed on the ground. No losses were reported by JG 77 on this day.