Erich
the old Sage
While the raid is in full swing, I see a Halifax and follow it into the darkness. I slowly close into position under it so I can use my "Schrage Musik": two, 20mm MG/FF upward-firing cannon. I am almost in firing position when a nearby aircraft catches fire and lights up the sky-for me, a dangerous situation, so I quickly move to the darker side and wait. After a couple of minutes, I close in again and aim between its two port engines where the fuel tanks are. A short burst of cannon fire causes a small bluish flame, but the bomber immediately goes into a steep dive and crashes in an explosion 20 miles west of Hamburg. We see two of the crew bail out.
Later, Schani has a blip on his cathode-ray tube; he takes over and guides me. "Marie 800 [distance 800 meters], a bit higher, left, left, straight now, Marie 500, straight ahead, a bit higher and to the right, now you should be able to see him!" And so it is another Halifax flying home, straight and level, no evasive actions. Again I close into the same position and fire! This time, the tanks in the right wing immediately catch fire, which quickly extends along the fuselage to behind the tail. We can clearly recognize the code letters "W-BM" on the camouflage-colored Halifax. The burning aircraft flies onward for another two minutes, and again, only two crewmen bail out. Eventually, as if in agony, the Halifax turns slowly upside down and falls to the ground. It crashes at 01:28 hours.
We are right in the middle of the returning bomber formation and look for our next victim. Again, Schani sees a blip on his screen, so we start the chase for the third time, however, we are having trouble closing the distance. I give my "ES" full power. There are some Polar lights in the north that enable me to see the bomber quite early: another Halifax, recognizable by its bluish exhaust glow (the Lancaster's exhaust glow looks orange). This time, I close in from astern and then give a burst from my two, forward-firing Mk 108 30mm cannon. Its right wing immediately bursts into flames, and I notice the code "EQ-P." The Halifax inclines to the left and slowly goes down.
Suddenly, something unexpected happens: diving away, the brave British rear gunner gives me a burst from his four Brownings, and my plane is hit in the right engine, which immediately catches fire. To watch the bomber go down, I had to lower my left wing, and that saved my life. The bullets pass over my head and into my right engine. While the burning Halifax goes down [at 01:36 hours], I try to extinguish the fire. Unlike the British, we have no fire extinguishers. The only means of putting out the fire is a steep dive with a strong relative wind that we hope will extinguish the flames. Thank God, it works!
Our altitude is now 6,000 feet; I shut down the engine and manage to feather the propeller. Only now do we realize that our chase has brought us far out over the North Sea. We have no Mae Wests nor dinghies and only one engine left to take us home! To fly with one engine is not usually a problem for the Bf 110, as long as we don't have to climb. I set a heading of 180 degrees to reach the Dutch coast to the south, and I'm very cautious to avoid the heavy flak-defended areas around Bremen and Bremerhaven on one side and the East Frisian Islands on the other side on my return flight.
Schani calls the tower at Twente, still 150 miles away. Luckily, they hear us, faintly, but they warn us that an intruder Mosquito is patrolling the area. This could be fatal for us, but I must take the chance, as no airfields are nearby with a runway long enough to allow a single-engine landing by night; the only other suitable airfields Leeuwarden (Holland) and Wittmundhaven are fogged in. When the intruders are on patrol, all lights on the airfield are dimmed to an absolute minimum. But because of our emergency, these restrictions are now ignored and all help is given to us. The runway is fully lit, and the flak searchlights form a "dome" that is visible for quite a distance as a white patch on top of the clouds. This gives us absolute priority for communications and landing, and the fire brigades and medical personnel are prepared to rush to the site of a crash.
By now, we are flying at 5,000 feet, partly in the clouds and with a speed of only 180mph. It is not at all easy because our artificial horizon is out of order; the dead engine powered it. Again, we are lucky, as after about 45 minutes, the tower radios that the Mosquito has left the area. I prepare for an instrument landing, and my only remaining problem-to avoid an additional circuit-is to meet the main beam of our ILS at a point and altitude at which we usually begin our approach. To fly another circuit with the Bf 110 at low altitude and one engine is not a good idea!
Fortunately, I manage to hit the main beam at the favorable point of 600 feet. Still in the clouds, I lower the flaps and landing gear. At 150 feet, I break free of the clouds and realize that I am short of the runway. So I start the right engine again, but it immediately starts to shoot sparks and flames, so I turn it off; it does, however, give me the necessary few meters I need to reach the airfield and cross the 200 yards to the runway, where we land safely. Our blood pressures go back to normal!
Now, 56 years later, I sit in Hamburg Airport on a warm summer evening after thunderstorms have passed over the city. I watch as airliners take off and follow the traffic with the tower over the intercom. My memories go back to a time when Lancasters and Halifaxes took off from their airfields in England to bring their deadly loads to Germany. Fortunately, this belongs in the past; the Allies and Germans have become partners and, in many cases, even friends. But we should not forget to honor the brave airmen on both sides, who did their duties and were not as lucky to survive as we were.
Later, Schani has a blip on his cathode-ray tube; he takes over and guides me. "Marie 800 [distance 800 meters], a bit higher, left, left, straight now, Marie 500, straight ahead, a bit higher and to the right, now you should be able to see him!" And so it is another Halifax flying home, straight and level, no evasive actions. Again I close into the same position and fire! This time, the tanks in the right wing immediately catch fire, which quickly extends along the fuselage to behind the tail. We can clearly recognize the code letters "W-BM" on the camouflage-colored Halifax. The burning aircraft flies onward for another two minutes, and again, only two crewmen bail out. Eventually, as if in agony, the Halifax turns slowly upside down and falls to the ground. It crashes at 01:28 hours.
We are right in the middle of the returning bomber formation and look for our next victim. Again, Schani sees a blip on his screen, so we start the chase for the third time, however, we are having trouble closing the distance. I give my "ES" full power. There are some Polar lights in the north that enable me to see the bomber quite early: another Halifax, recognizable by its bluish exhaust glow (the Lancaster's exhaust glow looks orange). This time, I close in from astern and then give a burst from my two, forward-firing Mk 108 30mm cannon. Its right wing immediately bursts into flames, and I notice the code "EQ-P." The Halifax inclines to the left and slowly goes down.
Suddenly, something unexpected happens: diving away, the brave British rear gunner gives me a burst from his four Brownings, and my plane is hit in the right engine, which immediately catches fire. To watch the bomber go down, I had to lower my left wing, and that saved my life. The bullets pass over my head and into my right engine. While the burning Halifax goes down [at 01:36 hours], I try to extinguish the fire. Unlike the British, we have no fire extinguishers. The only means of putting out the fire is a steep dive with a strong relative wind that we hope will extinguish the flames. Thank God, it works!
Our altitude is now 6,000 feet; I shut down the engine and manage to feather the propeller. Only now do we realize that our chase has brought us far out over the North Sea. We have no Mae Wests nor dinghies and only one engine left to take us home! To fly with one engine is not usually a problem for the Bf 110, as long as we don't have to climb. I set a heading of 180 degrees to reach the Dutch coast to the south, and I'm very cautious to avoid the heavy flak-defended areas around Bremen and Bremerhaven on one side and the East Frisian Islands on the other side on my return flight.
Schani calls the tower at Twente, still 150 miles away. Luckily, they hear us, faintly, but they warn us that an intruder Mosquito is patrolling the area. This could be fatal for us, but I must take the chance, as no airfields are nearby with a runway long enough to allow a single-engine landing by night; the only other suitable airfields Leeuwarden (Holland) and Wittmundhaven are fogged in. When the intruders are on patrol, all lights on the airfield are dimmed to an absolute minimum. But because of our emergency, these restrictions are now ignored and all help is given to us. The runway is fully lit, and the flak searchlights form a "dome" that is visible for quite a distance as a white patch on top of the clouds. This gives us absolute priority for communications and landing, and the fire brigades and medical personnel are prepared to rush to the site of a crash.
By now, we are flying at 5,000 feet, partly in the clouds and with a speed of only 180mph. It is not at all easy because our artificial horizon is out of order; the dead engine powered it. Again, we are lucky, as after about 45 minutes, the tower radios that the Mosquito has left the area. I prepare for an instrument landing, and my only remaining problem-to avoid an additional circuit-is to meet the main beam of our ILS at a point and altitude at which we usually begin our approach. To fly another circuit with the Bf 110 at low altitude and one engine is not a good idea!
Fortunately, I manage to hit the main beam at the favorable point of 600 feet. Still in the clouds, I lower the flaps and landing gear. At 150 feet, I break free of the clouds and realize that I am short of the runway. So I start the right engine again, but it immediately starts to shoot sparks and flames, so I turn it off; it does, however, give me the necessary few meters I need to reach the airfield and cross the 200 yards to the runway, where we land safely. Our blood pressures go back to normal!
Now, 56 years later, I sit in Hamburg Airport on a warm summer evening after thunderstorms have passed over the city. I watch as airliners take off and follow the traffic with the tower over the intercom. My memories go back to a time when Lancasters and Halifaxes took off from their airfields in England to bring their deadly loads to Germany. Fortunately, this belongs in the past; the Allies and Germans have become partners and, in many cases, even friends. But we should not forget to honor the brave airmen on both sides, who did their duties and were not as lucky to survive as we were.
