CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE - Part Three
The skies over Northern Germany
September 2, 1939
Operation Artemis
“Green One, Blue one, Ghostwriter One here,” the radio crackled in his ears,
“Take your flights down to the deck and come in from the east end of the base, I’ll take Red and Gold flights and bring in from the west.”
“Right-o, skipper,” Blue flight’s leader replied.
“Johnnie, do you want the right or left side of the run?”
Flight Lt. James Edgar "Johnnie" Johnson, Green flight’s leader, grinned under his oxygen mask and replied,
“My lads and I’ll take left, Bertie, and remember the lowest man down gets a bottle of Laphroaig.”
“Will you two miscreants can the chatter,” the voice of Ghostwriter One, No. 52 Squadron’s commanding officer Michael O’Rourke, boomed over the radio.
“We all know the wager and the costs, you two just make sure you don’t auger in with your ‘Canes. Not only will you be responsible for repaying His Majesty’s government the cost of your kite, if you survive I doubt there’ll be any blonde fräulein’s waiting with open arms to take care of you!”
Smiling wider into his mask, Johnson jerked his Hurricane into a sharp left diving bank and replied by calling out,
“Tally-ho, Green flight!”
Born in Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire, and educated at Loughborough Grammar School, "Johnnie" Johnson attended the University of Nottingham in the middle 1930s where he qualified as a civil engineer. Before he could graduate he was supposedly found in the school's swimming pool with a young lady, which being very taboo at the time, resulted in his expulsion. Joining the RAF in late 1937, he was found to be a natural pilot and a ruthless fighter pilot, and was soon promoted to Flight Lieutenant and made a flight leader in No. 52 Squadron of No. 454 Wing, flying the newest Hurricanes in the skies above Germany.
Flight Lt. James Edgar "Johnnie" Johnson
Flying near Bremerhaven, No. 52 Squadron first sortie of Operation
Artemis was to fly an airfield suppression mission upon the Luftwaffe’s airbase at Nordholz. Arriving at below tree top level very quickly from their previous cruising altitude, the Hurricanes of Blue and Green flights thundered over the fields, their props cutting the weeds as they came in at the maximum speed they could coax from their fully loaded Hurricanes. As they come over the airfield’s main administrative building Johnson lined up upon a line of Me-109s sitting wingtip to wingtip and squeezing the trigger on his flight-stick, riddled the hapless aircraft with enough bullets to render four of the six unflyable, two of them catching fire when Johnson’s tracer rounds ignited the Messerschmitt’s fuel tanks.
Any plane on the ground is no good against one in the air
Spotting one of the Luftwaffe’s large Me-110’s attempting to take off and battle the Hurricanes in the air, Flt. Lt. Johnson called out,
“Green flight, break! Break! Break!”
As this flight split into the four two plane elements that made up the flight, Johnson executed a chandelle to the left, pulling up behind the accelerating German fighter and opening fire as the plane scrambled for altitude. His bullets tearing a line of holes along the large Me-110’s wing root, the German aircraft’s wing folded up upon the canopy while the plane began spinning over on it’s side. With mixed elation at his kill and pity for the trapped flyers Johnson watched as the trapped German aircrew rode their plane back to earth, the impact turning the wreckage into a large fiery pyre marking their graves.
A flash of tracer rounds screaming past his cockpit and several thuds from his airframe alerted the Flight Lieutenant that he and his squadron mates were no longer alone in the sky and brought him back into the here and now as heard the chatter of aerial combat coming through his radio. Jerking the flight stick into his belly and sending his Hurricane rocketing into the sky, the young RAF pilot turned his head to watch the firing Me-109 send a burst into his wingman’s engine that turned the aircraft from a graceful aeroplane into a flaming eight thousand pound coffin for his friend. Choking back a sob Johnson continued his loop over the attacking German topping out at one thousand feet. His aircraft screaming through the air, he came in behind the searching enemy muttering,
“Now it’s your turn, bastard.”
Opening fired at close range the British pilot’s cannon fire quickly tore into the German aircraft, alerting the pilot that he had quickly gone from hunter to the prey. Any subsequent thoughts were ended when the second burst of cannon fire struck home and turned the German aircraft into an oily ball of flame. Banking to the right and climbing again Johnson gave no thought to the fact that he had just gained his second air kill of the day. Regrouping with the rest of his flight just to the north of Nordholz, Johnson tallied the results with his flight. His wingman was their only loss on their run, and their attack had caused considerable damage. Knowing that his wingman’s demise would be the first of many and that his day was far from over, he radioed,
“Ghostwriter One, Green One here. Charlie’s got caught by Jerry, but the rest of the flight is clear.”
“Sorry to hear that, Johnnie,” O’Rourke’s voice came back through the radio.
“Bertie augured in and Jerry got Henry, Pinkie, and Angus. Any joy on your run?”
“Aye, I got two in the air, several probables on the ground, Steve, Alan, and Georgie each got one in the air.”
A new sudden voice broke into their conversation, and was in obvious distress.
“Alert! Alert! Alert! This is Caffran Flight One-Six to any RAF aircraft in the area southwest of Bremerhaven. We are under attack by twenty plus Messerschmitts and are in need of assistance! We have multiple stragglers! Anyone that can come to our assistance, please do so!”
Recalling from his early morning briefing, Johnson recalled that Fairfax flight one-six was section of a Whitley bombers from Strategic Command. With limited defensive firepower, he knew that with that many Luftwaffe fighters, unless they received their requested assistance, they would be shot from the sky. Evidently of a like mind, Sqd Cmdr. O’Rourke replied,
“Caffran Flight One-Six, this is Ghostwriter Flight, we are headed in your direction, give us a heading, over.”
Ghostwriter Flight to the rescue!
Leaving a smoking Nordholz behind, No. 52 squadron raced toward their Bomber Command comrades, each pilot silently willing their aircraft faster. Reaching an altitude of 15,000 feet several minutes later while traveling forward fifty miles, the Hurricane squadron sighted thirty German fighters diving in upon the fleeing bombers, watching in rage as one of the bombers suddenly emitted smoke from it’s starboard engine and as it slowly fell from formation, being swarmed by the attacking Me-109s.
“Green One, you take your flight and Red flight to the right, I’ll come in from the left,” O’Rourke ordered.
“Lads, now’s when we earn our keep. Up and at ‘em!”
Reaching the two fighting formations shortly after the doomed Whitley exploded from the gun fire of the ravaging Messerschmitt’s, Johnson took his flight and Red flight into a shallow diving attack, immediately breaking into a section of German planes, shooting one and then a second Luftwaffe fighter from the sky. After that the sky was transformed into a wild aerial melee as Hawker Hurricanes dueled with Messerschmitt Me-109’s flying amidst Armstrong-Whitworth A.W.38 Whitleys attempting to flee the area as rapidly as possible.
“Pinkie, break left,” Johnson screamed as he rolled in firing his cannons at a German who was firing upon a squadron mate. Grunting as he followed the German into a high-G bank to the right following Pinkie’s escape to the left, Johnson squeezed the trigger a second time. Banking his Hurricane a little more while firing a third time, he watched in satisfaction as his cannon shells laced a pattern up the side of the Me-109’s fuselage and caused a gout of flame and smoke to erupt from the belly of the German plane.
Johnson's next fifth kill
As Johnson’s fifth kill for the day spiraled to earth in a shroud of oily smoke, he scanned the sky looking for his next target, and was quickly able to see that his squadron mates had been as busy as he in their pursuit of the Luftwaffe. As the fleeing bombers were pulling further and further away, and the was a force of eighteen Hurricanes blocking their path from those bombers, the sixteen remaining Me-109s attempted to break contact with the British interceptors, content with what damage they had been able to inflict.
“Johnnie, take over,” O’Rourke called out.
“My kite’s taken some hits and can’t handle a pursuit. I’ll take my flight and what’s left of Blue and shadow the Whitleys to make sure no other Jerry’s get hungry. You take the rest of the lads and keep chasing this lot off.”
“Understood, skipper,” Johnson replied grimly. While the war had just started and had started well for the RAF, the young airman knew that a single sortie was not the whole war. Shaking his head to focus on the here and now and not get himself killed he radioed,
“Right-o lads, you heard the skipper. Form up on me and let’s give Jerry another go, shall we?”
Ten minutes later the battle was ended by the British pilots turning for their bases in Denmark, running low on fuel and ammunition and having lost two more of their squadron mates. Despite their losses, the RAF airmen were jubilant with the ability to claim the destruction of ten more German aircraft, Flt. Lt. Johnson obtaining an additionally kill in the speeding melee, his last victory bringing his total for the day to six, becoming the RAF’s first “an ace in a day.”
Just a note... as if it weren't obvious, Flight Lt. James Edgar "Johnnie" Johnson is a real life personage. I've changed a few things, but some of the important things (like his college days) remain factual (as near as can tell!
).
Up next (in about a week or so
): Actions not involving the RAF.