Library Reference Number: 082
Crash Landing
The aircraft was a Mk.X Wellington bomber from No.70 Squadron based at Tortorella Airfield, Foggia, Italy. The date was 10th June 1944. The aircraft had been adapted to carry a 4,000 Ib bomb, and that night the target was Budapest the Hungarian capital. The Ploesti oilfields and refineries in Rumania were the principal sources of oil for the German war machine. The American 15`h Air Force by day, and the RAF Wellingtons by night were waging a co-ordinated campaign to destroy the oil installations, and cut off the supply route back to Germany. Being vital to the German war machine, these targets were heavily defended by searchlights, flak and nightfighters. Casualties were heavy for 15`h Air Force and ourselves, but we were setting out to destroy supply lines.
Our crew had been to Budapest before, so they knew what the opposition was like. Crossing the Adriatic Sea, we flew over German occupied Yugoslavia, then over the high jagged Dinaric Alps. On approaching the target, our aircraft was struck by flak, and both Pilot and myself (Bomb-Aimer) were wounded. The flares and target indicators were dropped and illuminated the railway marshalling yards spread out below us. Although wounded, I managed to take up my Bomb-Aimer's position lying in the nose of the aircraft, guided the aircraft over the target and dropped the 4,OOOIb bomb. The Pilot kept the aircraft on a straight and level course until the necessary photographs were taken, then a course was set for our home base back in Italy.
It was part of the Bomb-Aimer's duty to check & control the fuel system. I discovered the fuel gauges were falling, and the Pilot instructed me to check for fuel leaks in the fuselage, for on a previous occasion I had managed to reconnect a fractured petrol pipe under the stretcher bed. On this occasion however there were no obvious leaks, which meant the wing tanks had been holed by enemy flak. We could only hope and pray that we had enough fuel to reach our base. We flew back over the Dinaric Alps without encountering any more nightfighters, but as we crossed the Adriatic we could see the petrol gauges had dropped to almost zero.
The Pilot then told me to prepare to operate the emergency nacelle tanks. The drill here was that I moved threequarter way down the fuselage, sat on the floor in the dark, picked up the toggles on ropes emerging from both the port and starboard sides, waited until the engines spluttered from lack of fuel, then when the Pilot shouted over the intercom "Pull toggle now" I pulled, hoping that our timing was right and that fuel would reach the engines in time to keep them running. Those nacelle tanks situated on top of the engines had no fuel gauges, but it was estimated they would allow 30 minutes flying time. This was of little comfort, when the Navigator gave the chilling news that it would be 35 minutes before we sighted our base.
Preparing for the worst, we began throwing out equipment to lighten our aircraft, but we were also carrying an extra wireless operator, an Australian named 'Frisby' who was on his first familiarisation operation. It was with a great sense of relief when the Italian coast loomed up, and we could see the flare-path of Tortorella Airfield. I fired a red Verey cartridge and asked airfield control for an emergency landing. We were instructed to come straight in. and I lowered the undercarriage as the Pilot started his approach. Suddenly! Through the intercom the controller ordered us to go round again. I raised the undercarriage, and the Pilot told the crew to take crashlanding positions. The Bomb-Aimer's seat was only a fold-up insecure affair, and I picked up my parachute and placed it in front of my face, as we were still about 800 feet in the air with the engines spluttering. The engines finally stopped, and the Pilot struggling with the controls successfully crash-landed the Wellington in a wheatfield where it immediately burst into flames.
Sgt.Frisby came into the cockpit to escape, but found the Pilot unconscious at the controls, whereas I had slumped down by the front gun turret in a semi-conscious state. Flames were causing the ammunition to explode and picking me up, Sgt.Frisby opened the top escape hatch and pushing me out, I slid down the aircraft on to the ground. Frisby then rescued the Pilot in a similar fashion, before making his own escape onto the ground. Lying on the ground, I remember seeing headlights rushing through the wheatfield. It was the Wing Commander in his jeep. He rushed forward and dragged me away from the burning aircraft, while Frisby also dragged the Pilot away to a safe distance from the flames. Sgt.Frisby certainly got a dramatic introduction to operational flying, and there is no doubt that his prompt action saved the lives of both the Pilot and myself.
It was a great relief to find that the Navigator, Wireless Operator & Rear Gunner had all survived unhurt. The Wing Commander drove us to the Medical Officer's tent, where we were each given a mug of Black Navy Rum which sent a glow through our tired bodies. This was the only anaesthetic we received, then the Pilot was sent to Military Hospital in Foggia to have his wounds attended to, while I had 25 pieces of shrapnel extracted from my body. Our Pilot was later congratulated on a superb piece of flying, also to Sgt.Frisby on his first operation, for his prompt action in dragging us from a burning aircraft. We later marvelled at our miraculous escape, as it is well known that crashing with almost empty fume-filled petrol tanks has caused many other aircraft to explode on impact. All in all - a very memorable night.