The Story of Charlie Dowzell (6): Bomber Escort
Posted: Thu Jan 26, 2006 11:45 am(Some of the aircraft models have been substituted for another - Seafire IIC for a Spitfire Mk IX 
)
It was a mild Autumn day as I walked along the cobbled path. My parent's home stood in front of me, with them inside. I couldn't wait to see them again, after a long two years of fighting. At least I was still alive, I thought, and my medals I bore proved that.
As I stepped over the autumn leaf litter, I saw a pair of Spitfires roar overhead. "Good luck boys!" I called to them. Soon that would be me, back in the skies battling the Gerries.
I knocked on my front door, and I heard my father's voice. "I'm coming, hold on a minute," he called. He opened the door slightly, to see me there, in full uniform and medals.
"Hello, father," I said, "I'm home."
I saw his face light up with delight. "Yelica!!" he called to my mother, "Charlie's home!!"
Both of my parents came out to the front door, and embraced me greatly. "Son!!" Mother said, crying in my arms. "It's so nice to see you again!"
****
We went inside and sat around the kitchen table. I told them my spectacular stories of victory, defeat, and friendship. They seemed to be amazed.
"I have one last story to tell," I told them, picking up my steaming mug of cocoa.
APPROACHING BERLIN, GERMANY
25TH MAY 1943
0035 HOURS
"This is one here, we're approaching the target. Good luck boys," I heard the pilot of Lancaster PO-A say over the radio.
"Yes sir, this is Two, are we on course?"
"Let me just check....." I heard One calling to the navigator over the radio. "It appears so. In that instance lads, lets run through one final check. Two."
"Yes sir."
"Three." One had began the last of many checks to see if we were all here.
"Yes sir."
"Four."
"Yes sir."
As I listened to One going through his list, I thought what it must be like to be a Wing Commander of a squadron of Lancasters.......
"Spitfire escort RS-T and RS-Y."
"Yes sir," I called over the radio. My Mk IX which I had been issued had been with me since March, and apparently Supermarine were working on yet another Spitfire design.
"Yes Sir," Rory acknowledged. He was patched up pretty quickly by the doctors, and it was great to be flying with him again, as we knew how one another flew and performed, and often we worked together in dogfights.
"This is One, here, close formation slightly, there are some heavy Flak emplacements either side of us. Closing our formation would keep us out of their range."
"Yes sir," I said as did everybody else. I watched as the Lanc's closed up together, and the first couple of Spitfires (and one of those Navy 'Seafires' which had come along to help) closed in. I was soon to follow.
"How you doing, Rory?" I asked him.
"Fine thanks, but I was used to the Hurricane more.....these Spits are a bit too manoeuverable, hard to get used to."
"Yea, I know what you mean," I responded.
"10 minutes to target, boys," One's navigator told us over the radio.
"Roger that," the Lanc pilots said. Berlin, the majestic German city, was a mere 10 minutes away.....and we were going to bomb it to the ground.
I still didn't quite understand why we fighter pilots had to fly all the way from Tinwald Down to Biggin Hill, and then onto Berlin with this bomber squadron. It made me think - were we the fighter aces of the war, or had the local squadron been destroyed, and if so, why were we called down?
While I was busy pondering the question, I could see a small shape moving in the distance. I peered through the dark gloom, and made out a few more shapes, and then, I realised that we had company.
"Bandits! 11 o' clock!" I called over the radio, and broke formation to deal with the approaching threat.
"Roger, gunners, open fire at will," One told the Lancaster gunners as Rory followed me to battle.
"Okay, I'll deal with these three," Rory told me, "you keep any that come onto my 6 off me."
"Roger that," I replied, listening to my superior. We had both reached the "Squadron Leader" rank, but he ad a few months more experience than I did.
Rory passed by my Spitfire, as I pulled up sharply and kept an overview of the unfolding conflict. Rory was dealing with these three 109's well, the Seafire was keeping a few of them at bay and the Lancaster gunners lit up the sky with tracer rounds.
I saw Rory pull a hard left, and a BF-109 followed him. This was my chance. I swooped down and leveled off at the 109's 9 o' clock.
I saw the guns flare on the Messerschmitt, and, in rythm, so did mine. It appaeared that Rory was taking damage heavily, but with every round that he took, so did his oppressor.
At last, smoke began to plume from the Messerschmitt's Daimler engine, and it stuttered to a halt. The pilot began to glide down to the German soil, but I fired a burst of rounds at him - just to make sure.
Rory pulled up steeply, and leveled off. "Thanks," he said, "good job, mate."
"No problem, just - watch out Rory, 12 o' clock!" I replied.
"Don't worry, this one's mine," he said, an air of confidence about him......
)It was a mild Autumn day as I walked along the cobbled path. My parent's home stood in front of me, with them inside. I couldn't wait to see them again, after a long two years of fighting. At least I was still alive, I thought, and my medals I bore proved that.
As I stepped over the autumn leaf litter, I saw a pair of Spitfires roar overhead. "Good luck boys!" I called to them. Soon that would be me, back in the skies battling the Gerries.
I knocked on my front door, and I heard my father's voice. "I'm coming, hold on a minute," he called. He opened the door slightly, to see me there, in full uniform and medals.
"Hello, father," I said, "I'm home."
I saw his face light up with delight. "Yelica!!" he called to my mother, "Charlie's home!!"
Both of my parents came out to the front door, and embraced me greatly. "Son!!" Mother said, crying in my arms. "It's so nice to see you again!"
****
We went inside and sat around the kitchen table. I told them my spectacular stories of victory, defeat, and friendship. They seemed to be amazed.
"I have one last story to tell," I told them, picking up my steaming mug of cocoa.
APPROACHING BERLIN, GERMANY
25TH MAY 1943
0035 HOURS
"This is one here, we're approaching the target. Good luck boys," I heard the pilot of Lancaster PO-A say over the radio.
"Yes sir, this is Two, are we on course?"
"Let me just check....." I heard One calling to the navigator over the radio. "It appears so. In that instance lads, lets run through one final check. Two."
"Yes sir."
"Three." One had began the last of many checks to see if we were all here.
"Yes sir."
"Four."
"Yes sir."
As I listened to One going through his list, I thought what it must be like to be a Wing Commander of a squadron of Lancasters.......
"Spitfire escort RS-T and RS-Y."
"Yes sir," I called over the radio. My Mk IX which I had been issued had been with me since March, and apparently Supermarine were working on yet another Spitfire design.
"Yes Sir," Rory acknowledged. He was patched up pretty quickly by the doctors, and it was great to be flying with him again, as we knew how one another flew and performed, and often we worked together in dogfights.
"This is One, here, close formation slightly, there are some heavy Flak emplacements either side of us. Closing our formation would keep us out of their range."
"Yes sir," I said as did everybody else. I watched as the Lanc's closed up together, and the first couple of Spitfires (and one of those Navy 'Seafires' which had come along to help) closed in. I was soon to follow.
"How you doing, Rory?" I asked him.
"Fine thanks, but I was used to the Hurricane more.....these Spits are a bit too manoeuverable, hard to get used to."
"Yea, I know what you mean," I responded.
"10 minutes to target, boys," One's navigator told us over the radio.
"Roger that," the Lanc pilots said. Berlin, the majestic German city, was a mere 10 minutes away.....and we were going to bomb it to the ground.
I still didn't quite understand why we fighter pilots had to fly all the way from Tinwald Down to Biggin Hill, and then onto Berlin with this bomber squadron. It made me think - were we the fighter aces of the war, or had the local squadron been destroyed, and if so, why were we called down?
While I was busy pondering the question, I could see a small shape moving in the distance. I peered through the dark gloom, and made out a few more shapes, and then, I realised that we had company.
"Bandits! 11 o' clock!" I called over the radio, and broke formation to deal with the approaching threat.
"Roger, gunners, open fire at will," One told the Lancaster gunners as Rory followed me to battle.
"Okay, I'll deal with these three," Rory told me, "you keep any that come onto my 6 off me."
"Roger that," I replied, listening to my superior. We had both reached the "Squadron Leader" rank, but he ad a few months more experience than I did.
Rory passed by my Spitfire, as I pulled up sharply and kept an overview of the unfolding conflict. Rory was dealing with these three 109's well, the Seafire was keeping a few of them at bay and the Lancaster gunners lit up the sky with tracer rounds.
I saw Rory pull a hard left, and a BF-109 followed him. This was my chance. I swooped down and leveled off at the 109's 9 o' clock.
I saw the guns flare on the Messerschmitt, and, in rythm, so did mine. It appaeared that Rory was taking damage heavily, but with every round that he took, so did his oppressor.
At last, smoke began to plume from the Messerschmitt's Daimler engine, and it stuttered to a halt. The pilot began to glide down to the German soil, but I fired a burst of rounds at him - just to make sure.
Rory pulled up steeply, and leveled off. "Thanks," he said, "good job, mate."
"No problem, just - watch out Rory, 12 o' clock!" I replied.
"Don't worry, this one's mine," he said, an air of confidence about him......
