Imperial Valley press., 1941-03-28
kewsman Describes
Raj Takeoff for
Raid on Germany
BY JOE ALEX NORRIS
Copyright l94l BY United Press

The royal air force officers point
er circles across a big map on the
wall of the bomber base briefing
room and comes to rest on a Ger
man port.
This" he says to half a hun
dred young flying officers, "is your
target area and this thin line is
your target"
The flying officers lean forward,
soaking up the details outlined in
black and white on the chart. Most
of them had seen that target port
before, had seen it from an altitude
of 10000 feet on a clear night
when moonlight brought out con-
trast between land and water and
when British bursts of gunfire dot
ted the winding coastline.
Outside the airdrome briefing
room the low clouds are lifting and,
in IL hours, these boys will be
heading for the German coast,
looking for a pin point on thou
sand miles of shore line, carrying
death and destruction and the hope
of Great Britain for ultimate vic
tory. For if Britain is to win this
war, these youngsters in giant
bombers must do the dirty work by
carrying the conflict to the enemy.
While navigation and meteor
ology experts explain technical
questions to the pilots, I look
around the room. There are many
veteran officers at a bomber base
but you can usually pick out the
pilots. They look as if they should
be decorating a college campus with
no worry more serious than mid
term exams. Sitting next to me is
boy of 10, delicately handsome
and with a ring of black curls that
fall across his forehead as he stud
les the map. His name is Bill, and
he seems utterly incapable of any
| task of war
l turn to my guide and whisper
How about this fellow Bill? What
can he do?"
You remember that piece in the
newspapers last week about an Raj
pilot dropping his bombs at a
thousand feet altitude over fac
tory in north Italy?" he replies
We'll, that was Bill
We walk from the briefing room
with Bill and Ted, blond, frecklec
young New zealander of 20 with
buck teeth and a remarkable ability
to have a good time. Both are
veterans of many raids and rateo
as the best pilots at the base.
See you about midnight they
say casually as we part. We go past
the air raid shelters piled with
SandbagS, the wing commander
office with its two-inch thick stee
shutters and big hangers in which
airplaneS are seldom TO be seen
The ground crews are bombing up
when we reach the first of the
widely-Scattered planes. A little
tractor with iron wheeled trucks
rolling behind is going from plane
to plane, delivering great yellow
bombs that dropped from 5000
feet, would blast through the armor
of a modern warShip.
hU VIC diC III lOllS
smoke-filled room in one of the
hangers. Crews gather in little
groups talking in low voices, kid
ding each other. chatting about
trivial things far removed from
war Bill stands with us. His right
foot, encased in heavy, soft fly
ing boot, taps noiselessly on the
concrete floor We don't say much.
The wing commander red-haired
and completely businesslike, strides
in with final instructions. The
weather is unchanged. The clouds
will lift to 1000 feet by dawn Keep
just to the right of the flare path
in taking Off Watch for ice on the
wings.
You should be back about dawn, y
he says as the meeting breaks up.
We stand outside talking for a
bit about unimportant things. We
say again that it's cold as hell
But everybody really is thinking
about that thin line three hours
away on the German coast and
wondering if the antiaircraft fire
will be heavy tonight. Then, sud-
renly, without saying a definite
goodbye, Bill is gone into the dark
ness.