蜜芽传媒

A TRUE STORY OF THE FIRST OPERATIONAL
UNDERGROUND SUPPLY TRIP TO NORWAY.

38 GROUP
295 SQUADRON
鈥楢鈥� FLIGHT
RIVEN HALL. ESSEX.

Norway supply Chapter 2

Suddenly 鈥楰鈥� king glistened in the headlights and Phil stepped from under the shelter of the port wing to open and hold the wagon door. As we stepped down, ice cold rain stung our faces, and as we gazed up at the black, somber, blurred outline of 鈥楰鈥� king, dripping the same ice cold rain from props to gun turrets, I thought, that tonight, even 鈥楰鈥� king, our very strong member of the crew, would need all the help we could muster.

Tonight we had two old adversaries sitting on the sidelines, the ever patient, totally unbiased pair, content to treat friends and foe alike. Together, they had shuffled the packs and had dealt the cards with forbidding expertise.

First, and in my opinion the most dangerous, was 鈥極ld Man Weather鈥� always unpredictable, and always holding a very strong hand. Night or day, summer or winter, 鈥極ld Man Weather鈥� can call on the rain, wind, fog, mist and blend them how he pleases. He can build huge clouds to form cumulus Nimbus fortresses, and safeguard them with powerful, swirling currents of air, strong enough to shatter small aircraft and spew them out of his stronghold as ruptured, wood, fabric and metal fragments. In these clouds, waiting his bidding is the rain, snow, ice crystals, and above all 鈥榮uper cooled water droplets鈥� suspended in liquid form until nudged by a climbing aircraft. The agitation turns the super cooled liquid into clear ice, which rapidly forms on the props, wings and fuselage. The aircraft stalling speed rises rapidly; the controls cease to function, the nose drops and the aircraft spirals down out of control. The experts warn, that you have two minutes to make your move to safety.

The other opponent, Isaac Newton, the mystic shadowy figure always waiting on high ground, shrouded by his friend in a cloak of mist and clouds, waiting patiently for the injured plane unable to gain height, the lost crew with the wrong altimeter setting searching for a gap in the clouds, the too confident navigator or the over confident pilot. All are pawns in the ungodly pairs never ending game.

Tonight, their 鈥楤ig Book鈥� would open, a name would be entered, they would be quietly content.
As we settled in our seats I intended to pay particular attention to each engine check, the pitot head heater and the 鈥榖lind flying panel.鈥� Tonight once the cold, wet Essex soil had dropped below our nose and the drome lights had faded, we would face a bowl of black ink with only five instruments to keep us suspended in mid air. First the artificial horizon (a pilots best friend), the air speed indicator, the rate of climb and descent indicator, the bank and turn indicator and the altimeter. The other superb instrument was the D.R compass repeater. The main compass was fixed in the least magnetic part of the aircraft, way down the long fuselage away from the engines. The repeater was a reading of the main compass heading without the swinging needle variation.

John and I concentrated on starting engines. The port and starboard inner engines were always first. They each supplied a 24-volt, 1500-watt generator to charge the batteries, hydraulic pumps to operate the nose and tail turrets, compressors to operate George the autopilot and help operate the MK14 bombsight, and vacuum pumps to operate the blind flying panel and MK14 bombsight.

Phil and his crew were standing by with the power accs plugged in, and very soon, following our own well tested after dark routine all four engines bad been started, warmed, run up and magneto drop checked. No problems.

After the power accs were removed and we were switched to our own electrical system, each crewmember rechecked their own equipment. Then a final full intercom check and we were ready to move. I flashed my torch to a drenched Phil, the wheel chocks were removed and a member of the ground crew stood out in front of the aircraft with torches to guide 鈥楰鈥� king from the unlit 鈥榟ard standing鈥� to the perimeter track.

Contact with flying control gave us permission to taxi and following the perimeter lights we splashed our way to the end of the main runway & final engine and crew check, a watery green aldis flash from the runway control van, and a surge forward as I opened the throttles and 鈥楰鈥� Kings engines burst into full life. As we lifted clear of the runway and Les selected u/c (under carriage) up, flaps in, engine gills closed, I set the revs and boost and started a slow climbing turn to port to pass directly over the drome on course for Norway. Already the Drem system, a bright circle of lights surrounding the drome, although turned up to maximum brilliance had almost disappeared into the murk, and we had difficulty picking out the drome outline as we swung onto course. We gained safety height, 2000 feet, and I reduced to cruising power intending to retain this level over the North Sea until we approached the Norwegian mountains. However, we were already in cloud, ice cold rain was hammering down, it was very turbulent and pitch black outside. The navigation lights glowed faintly and eerily, until reaching the coast, not seen, but confirmed by Scottie on a 鈥楪ee鈥� fix all unnecessary lights were switched off and we settled down to sort out a new plan of action. 鈥淪cottie, we must climb through this lot, can you give me a new course to steer using climbing speed.鈥�
鈥淎ye, I have it here Skip, I had made out two flight plans, just in case.鈥� Good old Scottie.
鈥淛ohn, I鈥檓 selecting climbing revs and boosts, will you keep a
close check on the fuel consumption.鈥� The turbulence was too violent, the cloud base too low and the prospects of ice conditions too serious to keep our original plan. The North Sea was waiting just a few hundred feet below, very rough, very cold, and very big. No, we had no choice, we had to gain height.

The next three and a half hours flying was a constant battle to slowly gain height and keep on course in a sea of black ink broken occasionally by glows of lightning deeper in the cloud formations. 鈥楰鈥� king was being blown around like a dried leaf in a March wind. Everything loose had long since been battened down but Scottie had been complaining for some time of heavy thuds against his section of the fuselage. Unfortunately the navigators cabin was directly in line with the propellers and chunks of ice were forming on the props, breaking away, and some of them were slamming against the side panels of the fuselage.

The one thing giving me real cause for concern was the blind flying panel. Because of the turbulence the panel was over stretching it鈥檚 rubber anchor mountings to such an extent that it was colliding with the recessed metal frame in the main instrument panel. If the artificial horizon collapsed then I had a real problem. Flying on the other instruments was possible but, my gosh, not easy in these conditions.
鈥淪kip,鈥� Sandy was calling, 鈥淐anna noo come up the fuselage and thaw ma sandwiches?鈥� Blast it, I had been so involved in flying 鈥楰鈥� King that for the first time I had forgotten all about Sandy. I have a lot of sympathy for tail gunners, it鈥檚 a very isolated spot in the rear turret and although conversation was cut to essentials I always made a point of calling Sandy every half an hour or so to let him know we hadn鈥檛 forgotten him and to make sure he was O.K. 鈥淪orry Sandy, I should have called you ages ago. There鈥檚 nothing you can do back there, fix your turret and keep Maxie company, he鈥檚 got the warmest spot. You can pass messages to and fro if the intercom crackling get鈥檚 worse.鈥� The electrical build up outside was getting stronger and it was affecting the intercom. Maxie had already warned me that he had lost contact with base. The lightning flashes had been more numerous, but luckily had moved from ahead to slightly port of track.
鈥淪kip,鈥� Les was calling, 鈥淪hall I drop down and recheck the front gun turret?鈥�
鈥淕ood idea Les, and will you check for ice or snow on the guns,鈥橩鈥� King is definitely heavier, something is happening.鈥� A few minutes passed there was a click as an intercom was plugged in and then a very aggrieved voice spoke;
鈥淪kip, there鈥檚 snow piling through the front gun slots.鈥�

Hells bells, I knew it would be there but after flying in daylight through snow storms in Scotland and at Rivenhall I had been able to watch the snow build up on the front leading wing edges, the air scoops, propellers and screen, and it had been less than I expected. Checking the snow on the ground, each time it had been powdery and crystallised. I was sure that with our outside temperature the snow now would be powdery.

No, at the moment snow was not my greatest concern. We were now at just over 11000 feet. If we didn鈥檛 break cloud by 13000 feet we could meet the ultimate hazard, 鈥楽uper cooled water droplets.鈥� Somehow we had to carry on climbing to break cloud and miss them at the same time. It was going to be more luck than judgment.

Suddenly, the intercom interference increased dramatically until it seemed a rolling surf was surging along the cables and into the earphones. Blue twinkling flashes climbed over the fixed radio aerial mast, the gun turrets and all metal projections. Saint Elmos fire, blue pixie gremlins dancing electronically in all directions. Very amusing on another occasion but not tonight. Luckily they disappeared as quickly as they had arrived and with the last ones skidding down the gun barrels and dropping off into the black void, the intercom cleared in time to hear John talking with just a trace of anxiety in his voice.
鈥淪kipper, we have coring on three engines, the two outers and the port inner have high cylinder head temperatures and low oil pressure.鈥�

On a very interesting trip to the Bristol aircraft factory where we saw the radial air cooled engines being assembled, we had been warned by the Bristol engineers that this could happen in very low temperatures. The oil cooler positioned underneath the centre of each engine was a maze of three quarter inch diameter coiled pipes. Normally the very hot engine oil was pumped through the pipes at full bore, was cooled during transit, and returned to the main storage tank for the recycling action. This cooling process was essential to retain the oil viscosity, and keep the oil, engine, and cylinder head temperatures at the correct functioning level.

When coring occurred the oil flowing against the metal pipes congealed, leaving a small bore of oil in the centre of the pipe to feed the engine. The result was extremely hot oil that changed its viscosity to a very thin quality, resulting in the low oil pressures and the high cylinder head temperatures, which John was reporting.

The remedy, against all engineering instincts, was to increase revs and boost. The increased oil flow pressure and higher oil movement through the pipes thaws the frozen congealed oil and everything in theory returns to normal. How long could we hold these high revs before the engines exploded in a ball of flame. The pilots and engineers flying notes stated 20 seconds, after which time the engine must be feathered. What bothered me was that logically if one engine cored there was a good chance all four would follow suit. It was impossible to feather all four engines and keep airborne!!! Actually, it was just possible on two engines with no load and not too much fuel, but you slowly lost height. Twenty seconds to me just wasn鈥檛 enough time to thaw the oil, and as there was no low temperature exclusion zone in the flying manual, it was a flying risk we had to accept. I had to find out more.

After the lecture I managed to sidetrack the engine specialist;

鈥淲hen coring, how long can we really hold these high revs?鈥� He had looked at me steadily, decided that I was deadly serious, and then said;
鈥淭he figures in the pilots and engineers handbook
are pessimistic. Each engine when running at 2200 revs per minute has at least six gallons of oil in constant suspension as a thick mist, that will help you, but even so your maximum time will be one, to one and a half minutes, but, and remember this, if the oil temperatures reaches one hundred degrees centigrade you MUST close down and feather. Otherwise you risk a complete engine seizure and an oil fire. You know what that means don鈥檛 you? Two minutes to get clear of the aircraft.

鈥淥.k John, selecting high revs and boost on all engines. Don鈥檛 forget the one hundred degrees centigrade is a deadline, if we reach it we must feather, keep in touch.鈥�

I had no intention of the good engine going the same way, and I knew the extra revs and boost would be a safeguard.

Our rate of climb had been slowing and I was sure we had taken on more ice. At least the extra power was extremely useful.

As I lifted the revs and boost I glanced at my watch to check the second hand as it swung slowly around the dial, somehow I had to plan our next move. Ten seconds gone, mentally to me the engines were in the green zone, twenty seconds, now the colour had changed to amber and after sixty seconds the colour to me would be red for danger. Thirty seconds gone. I was watching the rev counters like a hawk. I couldn鈥檛 believe that the engines could explode in a ball of flame without first giving a flicker of warning from the rev counters. Forty seconds. Hells Bells, how much longer? Several times over in the last few seconds I had mentally clarified the feathering procedures, and located the feathering and fire extinguisher buttons, for I knew if I had to move, the movement had to be fast and accurate. Fifty seconds gone, still no change. We had one good engine, we needed two to keep W King stable but we would be losing height but we needed three to get home. Sixty seconds, with three engines we could keep our load until clear of the Norwegian coast before jettisoning our containers.

I could feel my pulse quickening, we were running out of time but I had decided that I was not going to feather, that would give us very little chance, but reduce power to minimise pressure on the engines, turn away from the mountains and head towards the coast, lose height and trust that with higher outer air temperatures the engines would recover. If the engines didn鈥檛 recover and we were still over land, the crew would have to bail out and hope to be located by the underground agents.

Seventy seconds, and then John was calling; 鈥淧ort inner and starboard outer returning to normal Skip.鈥� Relief flooded through my veins like vintage wine, fantastic, now we had three good engines which left just the port outer below par, we couldn鈥檛 ask for much more. 鈥淛ohn we will give the port outer twenty more seconds and then if there is no change I鈥檒l reduce revs and boost to light cruising. We can鈥檛 afford to feather it unless it sounds really rough, or your temperatures go over the top.鈥�

The port outer was still coring as twenty seconds later I reduced the revs and boost.
鈥淛ohn, we need that engine to give some power otherwise we must turn back. I鈥檓 still watching the rev counter like a hawk, will you keep me up to date with temperatures and pressures. Don鈥檛 forget the one hundred degree centigrade is a deadline for the oil., if we reach it we must feather and turn for base.

The minutes passed and then a thin banshee wailing emerged from the darkness. What the heck is that, blast it must be the port outer engine in trouble, but no flicker from the rev counter, that鈥檚 strange. 鈥淛ohn, is the port outer Ok?鈥� 鈥淵es Skip, no change.鈥�

The whistling wailing noise increased and suddenly Scottie was on the intercom, 鈥淐an yee noo hear a whistling sound Skip?鈥� 鈥淵es Scottie, I鈥檝e been listening to it and trying to decide what is happening. Can you pass me the big torch, I鈥檒l look outside at the engines, something is happening out there.鈥� The torch gave the answer. The carburettor air scoops - fitted with a thick wire mesh to stop the intake of birds, - riveted on top of the engine nacelles and facing directly into the air stream had completely iced over on three of the engines. On these engines the automatic air duct controls had moved from the cold air to the hot air intake, and apart from a small loss of power there had been no change. However on the port inner engine the automatic control was not working and air was being sucked through the partly ice covered scoop and into the carb, via a three inch diameter hole. No wonder we had a whistle. Hm, I hope it doesn鈥檛 ice over completely!!! Perish the thought.

Please read Norway Supply Chapter 3 to continue with the account.

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