Wing Leader

Battle of Britain "Wings of Victory"
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rogeroger
Staff Sergeant
Posts: 271
Joined: 13 Aug 2016, 15:04

Wing Leader

Post by rogeroger »

WING LEADER

an excerpt from 'Johnnie' Johnson's book

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My ground crew have been with the squadron since it was formed and have seen its changing fortunes

and many pilots come and go.They know that for me these last few moments on the ground are full of

tension, and as they strap me in the cockpit they maintain an even pressure of chatter. vaguely I

hear that the engine is perfect, the guns oiled and checked and the faulty radio set changed and

tested since the last flight. The usual cockpit smells, that strange mixture of dope, fine mineral

oil and high grade fuel, assails the the nostrils and is somehow vaguely comforting. I tighten my

helmet strap,swing the rudder with my feet on the pedals, watch the movement of the ailerons when I

waggle the stick and look at the instruments without even seeing them, for my mind is racing on to

Lille and the 109s.
Ken starts his engine on the other side of the field and the twelve Spitfires from 610 trundle

awkwardly over the grass. Bader's propeller begins to turn, I nod to the ground crew and the engine

coughs once or twice and I catch her with a flick of the throttle and she booms into a powerful

bass until I cut her back to a tick over. We taxi out to the take-off position, always swinging our

high noses so that we can see the aircraft ahead. The solid rubber tail wheels bump and jolt on the

backbones acting as shock absorbers.

We line our twelve Spitfires diagonally across one corner of the meadow. We wait until Ken's

squadron is more than halfway across the airfield and then Bader nods his head and we open our

throttles together and the deep throated roar of the engines thunders through the leather helmets

and slams against our ear drums. Airborne, and the usual automatic drill. We take up a tight

formation and I drop my seat a couple of notches and trim the Spitfire so that it flies with the

least pressure from hands and feet.
One slow, easy turn on to the course which sends us climbing parallel to the coast. Ken drops his

squadron neatly into position about half a mile away and Stan flanks us on the other side. Woodhall

calls from the ops. room to his wing leader to check radio contact.:
"Dogsbody?"
"Ok,Ok."
And that's all.

We slant into the clean sky. No movement in the cockpit except the slight trembling of the stick

as though it is alive and not merely the focal point of a superb mechanical machine. Gone are the

ugly tremors of apprehension which plagued us just before take-off. Although we are sealed in our

tiny cockpits and separated from each other, the static from our radio pours through the earphones

of of our tight fitting helmets and fills our ears with reassuring crackles. When the leader

speaks, his voice is warm and vital, and we know full well that once in the air like this we are

bound together by a deeper intimacy than we ever feel on the ground. Invisible threads of trust and

comradeship hold us together and the mantle of Bader's leadership will sustain and protect us

throughout the flight ahead. The Tangmere Wing is together.

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