David Ince - Brotherhood of the skies : wartime experiences of a gunner officer and typhoon pilot

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Published by
Grub Street
4 Rainham Close
London
SW11 6SS

Copyright Grub Street 2010
Copyright text David Ince DFC BSc FRAeS 2010
Copyright foreword A.F.C. Hunter CBE AFC MA LLB DL 2010

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Ince, David

Brotherhood of the skies: wartime experiences of a gunner
officer and typhoon pilot.
1. Ince, David 2. Fighter pilots Great Britain
Biography. 3. World War, 19391945 Aerial operations,
British
I. Title
940. 544941092-dc22

ISBN-13: 9781906502645
ePub ISBN: 9781908117694

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the
prior permission of the copyright owner.

Cover design by Sarah Driver

Typeset by Pearl Graphics, Hemel Hempstead

Printed and bound by MPG Ltd, Bodmin, Cornwall

Grub Street Publishing only uses
FSC (Forest Stewardship Council) paper for its books.

CONTENTS

FOREWORD

In the decades following the end of World War II, many books were written on all aspects of air warfare. Often, those earlier books fell into the Boys Own category, and were none the worse for that, given a public appetite for accounts of the deeds of those directly involved in operations. Even as the rate of publication abated, it was becoming clear that such books had not always done justice to the circumstances surrounding the gallantry and sacrifice that they portrayed, Very often written for a lay readership, they tended rather to gloss over the context in which men were sent into battle, their preparation and their training.

David Ince has avoided this pitfall. He writes both movingly and with great insight into the exploits of a Typhoon squadron in battle, from Normandy to the Elbe. He writes with firsthand knowledge of the demands and stresses of life as a ground-attack pilot and he paints a very convincing picture of the highs and lows of his experience in a costly but highly successful campaign. His style is both distinctive and graphic. He is a keen observer of human behaviour and has the ability to describe events with an immediacy that will commend itself to the reader. He is, however, uniquely qualified to expand his approach to the subject beyond the limits of more familiar earlier treatments. In many ways, that is the most important aspect of this book.

David Ince draws on his own experience as a former army officer, a highly successful fighter-bomber pilot, a test pilot and engineer, to tackle areas such as tactics, operational training and equipment which have very largely been neglected by other authors. His analytical powers are much in evidence in his observations on these matters which deserve the attention that he has given them. His account of the dearth of structured weapons training and his views on operational training are of particular value.

Perhaps it is in the final reflective chapters of this book that there is most to digest and to admire. David Inces own personal odyssey from what he honestly describes as intense hatred for his foes in 1945, to his embracing of reconciliation with the former enemy in later years, is sensitively and powerfully described. He has been instrumental in handing on the traditions of the short-lived Typhoon squadrons of the 1940s to members of todays nascent Eurofighter Typhoon Force at RAF Coningsby. This book will provide a permanent and powerful reminder to them and to later generations of what it was like to fly and fight in the conditions of the Second World War.

Air Vice-Marshal A.F.C. Hunter CBE AFC MA LLB DL

CHAPTER ONE

CLOUD PAVILIONS WHITE

Typhoon 1B. About to become airborne with two 1,000lb bombs. Arguably the best fighter ground-attack aircraft of World War II.

Jumping from our jeeps we dived under the camouflage netting and scanned the operations map for evidence of change. There seemed to be no movement at all on the approaches to Caen and progress amongst the hedgerows of the Bocage and the foothills of the Alpes Normande appeared to be as limited and difficult as ever. The rumble of guns, clearly audible, was continuing evidence of slow progress on the ground and we knew that the Germans were still capable of mounting a major counter attack.

Yet there were no feelings of unease. Rather there was a sense of satisfaction that we were back in France. In growing strength, thanks to the miracle of Mulberry, the artificial harbour which had been towed in sections across the Channel. We were here to stay amongst the first RAF squadrons back on the Continent supporting our ground troops in the liberation of Europe and somewhat frustrated that it all seemed to be taking so long.

It was sweltering in the heat as we crowded round the CO studying the target photographs. The aiming point was the middle of a tiny village, overlooking a wooded escarpment, some twenty-five miles inland from the Normandy beaches. Well run in this way and go down to port. Remember our boys on the ground are very close and ready to go in. No, repeat no, undershoots are permitted!

The sunburned face, under its mop of curly dark hair, seemed confident almost relaxed. He looked at us thoughtfully, then glanced at his watch: Press tits at fourteen thirty Good luck chaps! Nothing to it really, just thirty-five minutes chock to chock and back in time for tea. I glanced at the others. Some of them had been with the squadron for a long time. Did they feel as I did, fulfilled beyond my wildest dreams, flying a Typhoon to war? Did they savour the preflight tension, the challenge and uncertainty of every sortie and, in the background always, fear to be mastered? Questions which were never asked although for most of us the answers would have been in the affirmative.

I look back on the period of my life and recall the words of another airman:The fact is I enjoyed the war it became my driving force because it had a purpose and I accepted the risks, the excitement of combat, survival and retrospect. We all did with faith and courage.

In from the coast a belt of well developed cumulus reached upwards, dazzling white. Where they merged together the clouds formed deep canyons of clear air, framing a distant landscape of sunshine and shadow. They grew higher, closing in on the formation until we were flanked by walls of shimmering vapour sitting ducks for the gunners waiting below. And with the thought a salvo of black oily bursts materialized from nowhere as the aircraft moved into echelon for the attack. Bassett Leader going down now! Another salvo closer still shredding and gone in a moment. In the same instant we were plummeting earthwards, strung out down the sky, gunsights tracking onto the target as it emerged from the shadows far below. A picturesque almost alpine scene wooded heights, tortuous winding roads and a deep gorge bathed in brilliant sunshine. And there the similarity ended. Where the village had once been was just a vague cruciform shape, its outline merging into a sea of rubble. A charnel house of pulverized limestone and flickering fires where a Panzer unit had dug in its tanks and guns.

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