by Norby King .. Sept 2002

October 29^th 1944

To defend a people we still called ‘Mate’,
We came…killing the Jerries without hate.
‘Only country boys,’ Herr Hitler calls us.
True…we refuse to shoot transport horses.

Formed up now, 485 a fighting force.
The present we leave behind…set course.
Duty clear: follow our cannons’ pointing.
The coming hour…mostly interesting.

Climbing now, into the wild blue yonder.
Godless? Fateful? Stop, thoughts: don’t wander.
Brightly defiant the gun-sight. And friends!
The sky is shared: white brushstrokes; Death intends
Vapour trails to take bombs to Hitler’s lair.
Our small load point just beyond Antwerp air.

Caution pulls glances to mirror and sun:
Black-crossed wings…Luftwaffe not yet done,
Their game to deny our ships Antwerp port.
Wehrmacht spot us, each swinging gun a fort,
Concrete-castled. From breached sea-walls a flood
Will smother our bombs in swallowing mud.

October has been focused right on Flushing:
Sorties; dive-bombing; three runs of strafing.
Ammo dumps, road bridges, plentiful flak.
Shot down near Poppel, my turn to hit back.
Flushing: the flak battery aims, pounces,
Black puffs, red centred: my Spity bounces.

Noses down. Fleeing speed; black balls of wool
Overtaking. A curving turn to fool
The anxious aimers. Straight down now, the clock
Winds up. Speed, four hundred. Bomb grips unlock.
We follow, flattening out. Mud fountains;
Forts in gun-sight circles grow to mountains.

 Our cannons chatter, to speak of defeat:
To remind, our Dunkirk now their retreat.
Concrete dust the white jets that leap and spurt,
Calling cards for Jerries, snug, safe from hurt.

Throttles wide. Climb! Climb! Get to the hell…
Debriefing? Combat report? What’s to tell?

Yeah!