AIR PATROL

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume 78, 1 July 1943, Page 3

AIR PATROL

AMERICAN’S TRIP WITH NEW ZEALANDERS RECONNAISSANCE FROM GUADALCANAR Guadalcanal*. Dust swirled thickly around Henderson Field as our jeep pulled up under the wing of a camouflaged Lockheedlludson bonder, reports Gordon Walker, staff correspondent of “The Christian Science Monitor.” Its twin engines were warming up for a routine patrol mission through the Solomons. The New Zealand crew of five were at their stations, as we pulled the door or- i against the slip stream and gingerly seated ourselves on a case of ammunition. The plane raced down the runway and out over the coconut palm groves which line the shore between Koli and Lunga Points, on Tulagi Bay. Below stretched the now famous Guadalcanar coastline. To the north, on the shore at Tassafaronga, we could see four rusted Japanese transports, bull’s eyes scored by American pilots on 14th November as they broke up the last big attempt of the enemy to land reinforcements. ROUTINE SEARCH This was to be a regular daily search the pilot explained over the squealing head sets—nothing as spectacular as a night bombing mission. Eight limes a day Hudson bombers, flown by New Zealand pilots, cove- an Interlocking network of search routes radiating from the American base in the Solomons. They fly a total of 38 hours a day i and cover more than 6,000 miles—- { a distance roughly equivalent to that from San Francisco to Sydney, Australia. Originally the searches were organised mainly to report approach of the "Tokio Express,” as the Guadalcanar boys dubbed those once-frequent nightly excursions of Japanese transports and warships down from Bougainville to Cape Esperence. Although their role was merely to radio in the information, these flyers were directly responsible for many of the successful interceptions such as culminated in the Battle of Russell Island in October and the Battle of the Solomons on 13th15th November. The “Tokio Express’” may not be heading for Guadalcanar again, but there are ship movements to be spotted, enemy submarine locations to be plotted, weather reports to be gathered for bombing missions, and the l'request rescues of pilots forced down in enemy areas. It was on one of these searches recently that a Hudson spotted a P-39 pilot whose plane had been shot down. He had managed to land on a tiny 30foot atoll between Choiseul and Santa Isabel. His primary need was clothing, and the tail gunner dropped his shirt before the rescue plane headed back to its base. For the next 18 days Hudsons dropped food, clothing, and a rubber raft with which the pilot was able to row to another island from which he was rescued. “We’re not glamour boys, like the chaps -who fly the B-24’s and the P-38’s,” our pilot modestly summarised. Yet he flies his lightly armed plane into the Japanese zone in broad daylight, within vulnerable striking distance of enemy air bases, and frequently has to fight off attacks by Zero fighters. The crew told later that this pilot had won the Distinguished Flying Cross for making some 30 strikes over Germany, adding that they too had “done a bit” with the R.A.F. over Egypt and Malaya. It was obvious then why they anticipated with relish the occasional opportunity to swoop low and strafe a barge filled with troops or drop a “stick” on some Japanese coast watchers shack. We were now approaching a large island on our port which the pilot identified by pointing to New Georgia on his chart. The plane nosed down and by the time we reached a point barely a hundred yards off shore, we were skimming over the water at an altitude of no more than 80 feet. Tree tops were actually above us as we scrutinised a myriad of bays and coves for hidden enemy ships. PLANE FLIES LOU The pilot was well occupied in avoiding air pockets, which at times dropped the plane so low that the wake of the propellers could be seen in the water below. A gunner, standing with his head thrust up through an open air port, closely scanned the air above for lurking Zeros. He dropped down while another took his place, and explained that this “wave-top” flying was actually the safest way to make reconnaissance —far safer than the substratosphere runs which provide an easy mark for Japanese anti-aircraft fire. At this altitude Zeros cannot get under the plane. They must dive from above, and once they have committed themselves to a dive it is a relatively easy matter to do a flat turn and “get out from under.” A Hudson just the day before had successfully eluded the attack of three Zeros for 17 minutes by this manoeuvre. We had now passed the area nearest to the enemy air strip at Munda—a few miles over the hills—and were skimming out over the wide gulf which separates Munda from Kolombangara and the air strip at Villa Plantation. It was into this dead-end gulf that United States warships more than once had steamed through the night to shell these airfields. Just this sid- of Shortland harbour v. cut abruptly across the sea to Choiseul. From there it was a relatively safe run down the o‘her side, with Santa Isabel and the enemy seaplane base at Rekata Bay the only danger zones to be passed. The navigator in the nose of the plane folded up his charts. The gunners uncocked their Brownings, and the pilot settled back in his seat as he headed the plane “upstairs.” The copilot scribbled out his report: “Nothing sighted; nothing engaged ” It might have read: “Sky clear. No Zeros coming down to-night, and there’ll be a high ceiling for the lads who in a few hours will be opening their bomb bays over Munda and Bougainville.”