Chapter 20
David had found out the history of the unit from the personal diary of Oberstleutnant von Beneckendorf (Maria had interpreted the down loaded pages) that he must have accidently left behind in his desk draw, along with his fountain pen and a photograph of presumably his beautiful wife and young children, in the rush to get back to civilisation, although it seemed not to have been that much of a rush. The Oberstleutnant knew that his Führer had a master plan, so he had all the aircraft placed in ‘long term storage’ before they departed. The aircraft were jacked up, batteries removed and all the systems drained. The ammunition from all the under wing 37mm anti-tank cannon and the 20mm wing cannons were removed, and then every orifice on each aircraft was carefully sealed. The Engineering Officer then concocted a preservative that was liberally applied to all their exterior skins, and I thought, as I stared in amazement, ‘he should definitely have patented it’, it worked spectacularly. I realized that all the leather and rubber would be perished, and the fabric covering of the Storch’s would be brittle, but that was about all, I guessed that it wouldn’t take much to get them all in the air again. As I slowly walked around the hangar I realised that I had stepped back into history, everything was as if the crews had just gone down to the local for quick pint, or to visit the Mary Celeste, and not only had the aircraft been prepared for their next masters but also the offices, accommodation, kitchen and stores; it was obvious that the last thing that Herr Oberstleutnant had done before he locked the door and placed the key under the stone was carry out an inspection. Everything was tidy, there wasn’t even any rubbish in the bins, and even the dust was not especially thick, apparently after the aircraft had been dust proofed so had the hangar, and even the small personnel door had been sealed after it had been closed for the last time, but what had happened to everyone, surely someone would have come back after the war to investigate?
David found the answer to that question on day three of their adventure; it had puzzled them all so when Maria translated the diary he had scoured the satellite imagery and found the road through the canyon. It was obvious to him that the convoy, with all the personnel on board, had blown up sections of the road behind them, dissuading any inquisitive Bedouin from going any further, and at the entrance to the canyon he found the road, or what was left of it. They had obviously used the last of their explosives to induce a rock slide, and then driven off into the desert, but unfortunately not very far, but that was for day four, and an internet search.
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Lieutenant Commander Dabrowski USN was leading half his squadron of F4F Wildcats on a sweep along the coastal plain and decided to re-visit the spot where one of his flights had gotten lucky a week earlier, who knows there might be more tankers about, and as the burned out tankers came into view, just approaching them was a convoy of trucks crammed full off personnel, although they didn’t look like soldiers, so he sent Lieutenant JG ‘Buster’ Gutt to investigate. It wasn’t uncommon for such convoys, especially with Vichy French or Italians on board, on seeing an Allied plane to disembark and start waving anything white in the air, and as Jug slowed and started to approach the lorries this started to happen, until (David presumed) the Waffen-SS detachment soldiers, spread throughout the convoy, opened up on him with heavy machineguns. Although the SS detachment was attached to the unit more to keep an eye on the airmen rather than protect them, Jug and his aircraft were shredded, and it tumbled out of the sky, but it had hardly come to rest before Lt Cmdr. Dabrowski and the other fourteen aircraft went line astern and swept in to take revenge, and what followed wouldn’t go down in the annuls of history as a glorious action, it was all but embarrassingly forgotten about as Jug had been a popular pilot on board the escort carrier, and had only days before found out that he was now a father. The F4F’s swept in, one after another and hosed the convoy, and anything or anyone that moved, with their four .50 calibre Browning’s, and long after returning fire had petered out they continued circling and sweeping in again and again, until all four hundred and fifty rounds from each gun had been expended, and there was no sign of life. In a final fit of remorse for sending Jug to his death, ‘Dab’ slid his hood back and flew slowly down the burning vehicles, emptying his Colt .45 service automatic into the carnage as he went. Even if anybody was unfortunate enough to have survived below, he knew that they wouldn’t get far in this heat, and he hoped that it would be getting even hotter.
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After David had recited his research I realised that this wasn’t just a jolly to collect some old war birds, people had lived and died here in this desolate part of Morocco, so we all sat down in their air-conditioned tent and saluted fallen comrades, and consumed a significant part of the away teams ‘little extras’ (with the exception of Aaron of course). Add to the list of places to visit - the German Embassy and their version of the War Graves Commission.
In the past week, whilst David and Pierre came to terms with the steam roller and itemizing and photographing every scrap of paper and piece of equipment, Topsy had settled down to some aircraft mechanicary and had removed both sets of the Storchs wheels, plus two sets of Fw 190 and Stuka wheels. Whilst we could not yet remove any of the artefacts that we found, I stretched my luck a bit and hoped that no one would mind if I ‘borrowed’ some, as long as I returned them in better condition. I had scoured the permit to fly (on the back of that receipt for a goat) and nowhere did it actually state the type of aircraft that I was permitted to use, so if the Americans could land and launch a C130 Hercules (21 times) on and off the USS Forrestal, then so could I, off the Lady S, and an hour later one taxied up beside Twinkle, to disgorged yet more comforts of home, and specialist equipment that Topsy had requested. After almost being knocked over by Michael as he climbed the ramp, Topsy stowed the wheels safely in the hold, to be transported back to El Campo where the next job for Michael would be to find tyres that would fit them. At this stage in wasn’t necessary for Michael to have the correct aircraft tyres, anything would do, just as long as my new finds could be pushed into the back of a Hercules; but who was Michael?
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