HISTORY'S MOST FANTASTIC GAOL-BREAK

Press, Volume XCIII, Issue 27860, 7 January 1956, Page 11

HISTORY'S MOST FANTASTIC GAOL-BREAK

Release Of Maquis Leaders From Amiens Prison

dramatic story of courage AND RESOURCE (By WING COMMANDER R. W IREDALE (Royal Australian Air Force), D.F.C cron tie Guerre] [As tola to GRAHAM FISHER) * It was snowing hard that February morning as I walked across to the briefing room at Hunsdon air base, a few miles north of London, where I was in charge of No. 464 Squadron of the Royal Australian Air Force, serving at that time in Britain as part of the Tactical Air Force. The wind, rising in squalls, gusted the cold, damp flakes into my face, shredded the clouds which hung low above the hangars. I didn’t like the look of those clouds. They reduced visibility to nil and promised to prove a severe hazard in the assignment that lay ahead.

It was just coming up to dawn, an unearthly hour to start being briefed for an operation not due to take place until noon. But it was a difficult, intricate operation—perhaps the most difficult ever assigned to the Mosquito fighter-bombers of the Tactical Air Force.

I knew the details, but most of the other 38 young pilots and navigators who gathered in the briefing room that eloudy. snowy morning ten years ago. were still in the dark. My own men of No. 464 Squadron were there, the bovs of a New Zealand Squadron, and those of an R.A.F. squadron. Each was a nicked man. Puzzled faces swung towards me as I walked into the briefing room —curious faces, tense faces. Of detail they knew nothing, but they guessed that something big was in the wind.

From me the eyes swung towards the large box which stood on the commanding officer’s table. It was five feet square at the ton, several inches deeo. What lay hidden beneath it? That was what they wanted to know. 1 knew, but it was not my job to do the talking. That would be done by Group Cao tain P. C. (“F for Freddy”) Pickard. D. 5.0., D.F.C.. at 26 one of the R.A.F.’s most distinguished and experienced pilots, who commanded the 140th wing from which these boys had been picked. When Pick came in he was accompanied by Air Vice-Marshall Basil Embry, Air Officer. Commanding No. 2 Group, whose quick brain had decided that, the precision bomb experts of the Mosquitos were just the boys to stage the most amazing gaol-break in history. We were going to use bombs and ground-level precision bombing in a last-minute attempt to release a group of Maquis leaders from the prison at Amiens in France. In one of those lightning raids at which the German Gestapo and Field Security. Police were so good. 187 members of the French resistance movement had been rounded up and were now huddled in the prison. The hour of their execution was only a dav or so away. Of the 187. perhaps 182 were expendable. But five were not. Those five were the leaders of the Maquis movement in that area, important men to have in the right place at that time just before the tum-of-the-tide of the war in Europe. The French knew it. We knew it, too. But how to get them out If the resistance forces in France could not hope to stage a successful gaol break, how on earth was it to be achieved from England. Basil Embry had the answer. And now. as he came in with Pick the others gathered in that tightly-guarded briefing room were to be let into the secret. Death or Glory Pick. I remember-, took up a stance with his hands resting on the mystery box. In the hectic, exciting life of war-time flying he had had several hair-raising escapes, and as he stood there now, looking round the rest of us. no-one thought that for him death was only a few hours away. Yet death, I suppose, for all of us was only a few hours away in those mad. tense days. Any mission might be the one from which you didn’t come back. .....

“Well, boys.” said Pick, ‘‘you’ve always wanted it. Now here it is a real death or glory job.” He lifted the outer cover and began to talk in that quiet, Yorkshire voice of his. The others, craning forward, saw what I already knew was hidden by the box —a model of a three-storcy building, built in the shape of an irregular cross, and surrounded by a high wall. It was a model of the prison at Amiens. We were to study It until we knew every detail by heart. Slowly, carefully. Pick outlined details of the plan—a dangerous, tricky plan, which might result in our own deaths, might even result in the deatns of those we hoped to set free. Zero hour was noon precisely. At that hour, trucks, camouflaged white to hide them against the background of snow which blanketed that part'of France, would be waiting nearby to move in as soon as' the attack was made, ready to whip off into hiding those prisoners who escaped. The first wave of six attacking planes would go for the outer walls of the prison. They must go in low, lower even than the 20ft height of the walls themselves, to make quite sure that the bombs hit the walls and did not skip over into the prison yard. The bombs—soo-pounders—would have 11second fuses—ll seconds after you delivered your load to skim up over the walls, over the prison building itself and away. Exactly two minutes later the second wave would go in—split into two threes. One unit of three planes would fly the length of the building. Pick’s finger came down on a particular building. “Here are the guard’s quarters. At noon they will be in there, eating. There will be few, if any, in any other part of the prison. One plane must put its bombs precisely on that building.” The other two planes of the same three had to drop their bombs nearby to open up that end of the prison. The other three had to use their bombs to open an alternative escape route in one of the side wings. The third wave would be brought into action if either of the first two failed to achieve their objective. Up top also would be a film ship to record for history. Led to his Death

Pick said that he. himself, would bomb with the second wave and then stooge around to decide whether the third wave was needed or not. It was the obvious thing to do. But it led to his death. As he finished speaking I saw the old-young faces look at one another Grins hid tenseness, wisecracks hid

orry. Some of them had been on fantastic precision jobs in their time —the Mohne dam-busting, the wiping cut of the Gestapo headquarters in Copenhagen—but never on one requirD LL he Precision of this. Who was to do what? The problem ’ S 3B s ?J ve d by the flip of a coin. The Zealanders won themselves the a., ..breaching the walls. My own a; £ aban squadron beat the Royal 5, -£ orce bovs for the task of attackV» e Dnson itself. enlvßM tha t. that - n was stin 6 jFor four hours we studied fa^ mo<^e on Pick’s table until every uhm -j every action, was indelibly P inted on each man’s mind.

We took off a few minutes before 11. Each plane carried four bombs. We zoomed at only 300 feet above England, but even at that height we were unable to see either the ground skimming by below or the other planes with which we flew.

Then, reaching the south coast, miraculously we left the storm behind. And there, as we achieved formation. were the 24 Typhoon fighters which were to escort us on our hazardous mission.

We came in over the French coast a* only 20 feet —tree-hopping, twisting, and turning as we went, to deceive the ack-ack gunners, who blasted up at us. and also to deceive the enemy as to our real objective.

Turning-points had been planned in advance. We pin-pointed each in turn twisting on our course, heading for the point 75 miles north of Paris where the main highway to Amiens runs right past the prison. This road, a dirty white ribbon, was our marker for the coming attack. Zero hour was noon. We made it only 14 seconds late. Down went the first wave of Mosquitos, heading for those 20-foot- high, three feet thick prison walls. Their bellies would be almost scraping the snow as they jettisoned their bomb loads. Then that awe-inspiring movement when you send your ship hurtling skywards again, when buildings loom up ahead, almost scraping the fuselage, and you wonder if you are going to make it. My own squadron made a tight turn to bring us over the main highway. Down we went, hurtling along it straight as a die. . There was no ack-ack fire here. The prison was not normally a military objective to be defended. But almost four miles away two squadrons of MElOP’s would have been alerted and the pilots would right now be scrambling into cockpits. Ahead, dust and smoke from the first wave of Mosquitos partly obliterated our objective. It was impossible to see what success they had had. The prison wall loomed up. I hopped my machine over it. Quick Ending to Raid I pin-pointed the guard's quarters, let go my bombs so that they would skid right into the annexe, then pulled my machine up in a steep climb. It was all over as quickly as that. I learned later that there were 54 German guards feeding in the annexe when the bombs fell. All were killed. The first wave of Mosquitos were already streaking for home. The ME’s were on the scene with a vengeance, circling, diving, trying their hardest to penetiate the cover-screen of Typhoons. Then I, too, was on my way home. Pick stayed behind, as scheduled, circling to try to gauge the success of the damage. It was gpod enough for him to signal the final wave of Mosquitos that they were not needed. The film ship, with its escort of two fighters, was now making its run over the target. Its crew said when they got back that, as the smoke and debris Cleared a little, they could clearly see tiny figures, scuttling like rabbits across the debris-littered, snow-covered ground towards the four holes the New Zealanders had blasted in the outer walls.

In his anxiety to gauge results as accurately as possible, Pick left things just a little too late. Two FW-190’s jumped him from behind. He was buried by the Germans in the cemetery alongside the prison. It was a funeral which /lot all German thoroughness could prevent scores of grateful French countryfolk from attending. Against us on the score-card was the loss of two Mosquitos, including Pick’s, and two Typhoons. But the film-ship brought back photographs which proved the raid a success beyond all doubts. And three hours later, via London, came a radio message from occupied France, which told us that'nearly 100 patriots had escaped with their lives.