On 30th July 1944, 315 Squadron was tasked to provide ten aircraft to escort 48 Beaufighters attacking enemy shipping off the coast of Norway. Four Mustangs became detached on route and the six others, led by S/Ldr Horbaczewski, encountered a mixed formation of about 15 enemy fighters 30 miles west of Lister Fjord and in a surprise attack destroyed seven without loss.
F/Lt Cwynar recalls:
In early morning of July 30th, 1944, ten Mustangs of 315 Squadron, with Horbaczewski leading, took off from Brenzett with empty droppable combat fuel tanks. After an hour we landed at RAF station Coltishall. We enjoyed a sumptuous lunch in the Officers' Mess and then went back to the airfield to await the order to take off. Our Mustangs had been refuelled. The droppable tanks were also full, holding 75 US gallons each.
There was nothing else to do but relax in the shade of the aircraft wings before an arduous, five hour long flight. I closed my eyes and my mind began to wander... Abrakadabra (sic) (nonsense) ... what a change. After our stodgy meals under Brenzett canvas, good steak and desserts, all served up by WAAFs ~wih pretty faces and shapely, inviting legs ...
At this point, to explain the purpose of our mission, I must digress.
The Allies were receiving reports that the Germans were shipping uranium ore from the Bergen region of Norway, along the cost towards the Kattegat and on to Schweinemunde(now Świnoujście in Poland). The British were sending light bomber formations to sink anything that moved along the Norwegian coast. The Germans posted one Staffel of Bf-109 to Stavanger to protect vital traffic. Our light bombers, mainly Canadian Beaufighters, were taking heavy losses at the hands of the German fighters. To counter it, the RAF High Command decided to surprise the Germans by sending an escort of Mustangs along with the Canadians.
Finally the control tower ordered a rendezvous with the Canadian squadron. We took off, as
usual, with the fuel in the main tanks behind the pilot's cabin. When escorting at heights of 20k feet or more, we always flew 25 to 30 minutes on these tanks to make sure we used up a certain amount of fuel. That eliminated the Mustang's adverse lateral instability. This time, however, heading low towards the Wash, we had to change to droppable combat fuel tanks soon after being airborne. This, as it later transpired, posed some difficulties.
As we approached the Wash, the weather began to close in with a rainy, warm frontal system from the west. We soon spotted the Canadians in close formation, low down, "on the deck", to avoid radar detection. CO Horbaczewski, with his section of three Mustangs, took up position on the starboard side of the Beaufighters while I went to port and Maciek Kirste to the rear.
The weather worsened rapidly as we closed in on the Beaufighters, forming a tight formation around them. Their leader kept steady course whilst "hugging the waves". Maciek Kirste came through on the radio to inform that he had lost visual contact with the formation. Horbaczewski ordered him to fly back to England. (According to Kirste, this happened only while coming back to England.) It was dangerous in bad weather or while in the clouds to accelerate in an attempt to rejoin a formation after losing visual contact. With only six of us left, we ordered our wingmen to go echelon starboard and port respectively, and as in cloud formation, held on grimly. We did not dare lose Canadians because we had to protect them.
After two hours of total concentration, suddenly it was as if we had flown through a curtain or passed over a cliff. We had overtaken the eastern edge of the frontal system. The sun was behind us - a useful tactical advantage - and in front we had a beautiful panoramic view of the Norwegian coast. So this is Glieg' s homeland, I said to myself. But it was not a time to think of music!
A few miles from the land, the Canadians turned to the right along the coast in search
of shipping. Behind them and slightly above, Horbaczewski tucked in with his section
while I moved to his right with mine. We changed to the main fuselage fuel tanks and, keenly observing the Norwegian coast, waited. Not to betray our positions in the sun, we 'still kept our droppable fuel tanks under our wings.
Within a few minutes, one of Horbaczewski 's wingmen spotted German fighters approaching through a fjord's inlet, heading for the Beaufighters. There were two groups of four Messerschmitt 109' s, leisurely, almost nonchalantly carrying out a left hand turn to take up position to attack the Canadians. Jettisoning our wing fuel tanks, we attacked. Horbaczewski went in first, attacking the inner group, and I engaged the outer formation.
They were taken completely by surprise at first. They turned towards us and, having
learned a thing or two in battles over France (they were told the Spitfire, when diving shuddered and with us approaching out of the sun they had not recognised our Mustang's) they dived towards the sea.
In diving and then climbing in a left hand turn, I had engaged the group's leader. By the way he was scything through the air, the edges of his Messerschmitt's wings stitching the sky with air-condensed threads, I realised he was good.
He pulled hard, so did I! With the fuselage fuel tank still full and the Mustang's adverse lateral stability, there wasn't much room for imaginative manoeuvring. I had to hold a steady, smooth turn. With a few hundred revs always in reserve, I held on patiently. For one 360 degree circle or more there was stalemate. Then the Mysza/Michał duo's idea came in useful. I lowered flaps 10 degrees and was gaining on him. My solar plexus stopped churning as I felt sure of getting on his tail, all the time thinking Pull smoothly. Get that extra reserve throttle on. I got him in my gunsight's illuminated ring, pulled straight through his line of flight, one diameter - two - three diameters of deflection and then pressed the firing button. For a split second there was nothing, then I saw bullets punching holes, first on his tail section, and then on the fuselage, canopy, wings ...
I broke-off to the left, put the flaps "up" and, diving to gain more speed, in left turn, started to climb, and spotted another Messerschmitt 109 above, at about eleven 0'clock, also in left-hand turn! It appeared that he did not see me. I came close behind him, and opened
fire ... His undercarriage dropped down, so did the wing flaps - hydraulics shot-up. Pilot's canopy flew past me above. I stopped firing, and moved to his starboard side to avoid collision (his speed dropped). I came close abreast. The pilot, leaning forward, was wiping his face. Suddenly, one of colleagues' Mustangs started firing at him, pumping tracer bullets from behind. In this grim, merciless "it's-either-him-or-me-down-in-the-water" situation. A spark of humanity took over... I pressed R/T button and shouted - Zostaw go! Zostaw go! Leave him alone! Leave him alone! My colleague stopped firing. The Messerschmitt 109's pilot was still wiping his face with his left hand, the aircraft's propeller idling, he glided gently towards the dark blue waters of the sea. War is a strange, cruel affair!
The following year, 1945, as Commanding Officer of 316 Warsaw Fighter Squadron,
I flew the unit to Fairwood Common, South Wales, for air to air and air to ground gunnery course. At the pre-course cinema show there was a selection of fascinating air battles of the war... my film of the engagement in Norwegian Fjords was there! ...Somewhere in the Air Ministry archives Michał' s film is gathering dust.