Some time ago, I was watching a TV programme in which a few WWll veterans were being interviewed. Probably, it was connected to a Remembrance Sunday. The interviewer asked one lively looking gentleman, who said that he was a flight engineer in RAF Bomber Command, what his duties had been? He received the somewhat inane reply – “Looking after the engines, I suppose. ” Obviously, caught off balance - this was the best that he could come out with.
All this brought home to me that I should try and fill this gap in general knowledge, before it is too late. There isn’t any need for me to write of Briefings; egg and chips; and the bumpy ride out to the aircraft; for you will have read of such, in many books by different aircrew. So, we have arrived at our Kite and have been greeted by our ground crew with a grin and the words – “All’s well .” It will now be, at least, one hour before take-off. As the F/E, my first action is to carry out an external inspection of the aircraft.
Starting at the nose, I check for damage and note that the pilot head cover has been removed (otherwise – no airspeed indication in the cockpit). Then, I inspect the port (left), wheel, tyre, and undercarriage bay for leaks or damage; move on to the propellers, engines (all cowlings secure and no leaks), and no damage to the leading edge of the wing. Check no visible damage to the trailing edge of the wing, aileron and flap (the first controls us in roll; the second, when partially down, gives us more lift; fully down, acts as an airbrake).
Probably, the bomb-doors will be open, I’ll carry on around the tail gun turret and follow the same procedures on the starboard (right), side of the aircraft. I would have checked the tailplanes, elevators, rudder and fin for damage, on passing.
Then, I and the pilot (Captain/Skipper) would enter the aircraft. He would take his seat; check his harness, instruments, and controls for full and free movement. At the same time, he would engage the auto-pilot clutches. On my way up to my position, just behind him, I would select four fuel tanks by pushing levers forward, located at the front of the rest position - a separate tank for each engine.
Note. This text is mainly based on the time I flew with the Main Bomber force, in Merlin-engined Halifax Mkll and MkV aircraft.
I would check the fuel gauges for contents and all panel readings, correct. The pilot and myself would then start the engines, in turn. From the stb. u/c bay, the ground crew would prime the engines with fuel so that they would fire and pick up smoothly.
All engines would then be warmed up to a minimum temperature, then the pilot would start his checks by switching off each magneto in turn, to make sure all were working. He would then increase power and check each propeller for constant speeding (the speed of the propellers would remain constant, regardless of the aircraft’s altitude). He would then open the throttles and check take-off RPM and boost; throttle back and check each magneto for RPM drop then fully close throttles and check each engine’s slow-running speed. The engines would then be kept running for a short time, to cool down; then switched off. All this time, I would be checking and recording the engine pressures and temperatures and noting down the readings from the pilot’s checks, which he told me over the intercom. The pilot would check the pneumatic brakes and brake pressure.
That’s about it and some of you will know that this procedure was very similar to any pre-flight inspection of a piston-engined aircraft.
So, all checks by the aircrew completed satisfactorily, we would leave the aircraft, have a last smoke and chat until about fifteen minutes before take-off; then back inside. I would be last; stamp my foot on the door to ensure that it was safely locked, then I’d go forward to my position. I would pass the mid-upper ‘gunner, wireless/op, navigator, all seated in the rest position until after T/O. Engines would be started and at the set time we would taxi out and join a queue to the runway. The bomb-aimer would be seated alongside the pilot to assist in the T/O by adjusting the throttles and RPM levers at the pilot’s request. He would also by monitoring the instrument readings At T/O I would have closed the radiator shutters to reduce drag, and then sit on my small, folding seat, watching my instruments. Once airborne, the pilot would raise the undercarriage, then the flaps and select climbing power, the rest of the crew would move to their own positions. Nearly forgot, as soon as I could I would open the radiator shutters just enough to
bring the engine temperatures down to normal.
I make entries on my log-sheet; check with the navigator the German colours of the day and load the Very pistol, which is located in the roof, with one of these cartridges. There were times when it seemed we were in trouble and I fired the pistol and we were left in peace. We are now on a steady climb to operational height, heading for the enemy coast. Usually, 19,500 ft. was the best we could do. So far, all I have written is, more or less, universal and routine. My official duties from now on would be to enter on my log-sheet, instrument readings and the fuel state; this, every twenty minutes; to follow the selection plan schedule of fuel tank changes (the Halifax had twelve fuel tanks), and to compute the fuel consumption. “Computers in those days?” “Yes – why not!” My computer consisted of two cardboard discs, one smaller than the other with holes through the middle of each. A rivet held them together, the small one on top of the larger one.
On one disc was graduated the engine RPM and opposite, the altitude we were flying at. On the other was the engine boost pressure and opposite, fuel consumptions for one engine. From memory, I might have got this all wrong, but you get the idea. Turn the small disc until the RPM and boost which the engines are running at, are in line. On the opposite side, read off the fuel consumption in gallons per hour, against the altitude. Eg: turn the inner disc to line up the RPM with the boost pressure on the outer disc. Say – 2650 + 4lb boost. On the other side, read off the fuel consumption against the altitude we were flying at. Say – 10,000ft = 48 galls per hour. So, for twenty minutes we have used 16 galls per engine. Multiply by 4 = 64 galls total used. Simple, wasn’t it and so accurate. Why all this? Because one could not rely on the fuel gauges.
When I had calculated that a fuel tank was nearly empty, I would tell the skipper and go back to where the fuel cocks were. Soon, a red light would show and I would then turn off the empty tank and turn on a fresh one.
During our F/E training, we went through a short Airgunners’ course. On this, we were instructed about evasive action against enemy aircraft; searchlights, and antiaircraft fire (this was against ordinary Flak – ‘Try to avoid it’).
Very early in our tour, I came to realize that I could do more to ensure our, hoped for, survival than filling in a log sheet and checking my panel.
Above me was a large, clear Astro-dome of Perspex in which my shoulders fitted and I could brace myself against my instrument panel. I had a 360 degree view; in fact, I was in a similar position to that of a Tank commander in battle. However, as the mid-upper, in his turret, was not far from me, down the fuselage, we teamed up. He kept up a backward and upper search pattern; I took the forward and upper search. Here, I could watch for searchlights swinging onto us and for radar, predicted flak.
Against searchlights, I would try to pick the right time to tell the pilot when to turn and cut through the beam. Carried out correctly the searchlight would continue swinging away. Not so, against the blue-beamed radar controlled searchlights. Then we would call on the W/Op (wireless operator), to switch on the IFF (identification - friend or foe). More often than not, it worked - the beam would go out or move away.
Doing this was strictly against rules and, today, we are told that this practice did not have any effect on these Master searchlights. All I can say is that, for us, quite a few times, it seemed to – except one. Then, we never had a change to see it. What!
The beam swung and locked on to us and immediately about thirty or so normal white beams had us in the dreaded position of being coned. What happened next I hardly knew, for I was stuck on the aircraft’s roof, but I take it that the skipper slammed the control column right forward and we went straight down and away, thankfully into the darkness. We were lucky or blessed for I have watched aircraft, like a moth, coned in 60 to a 100 beams, with flak bursting all around them. A hopeless situation!
Then there was the predicted flak; radar controlled AA fire. I can’t remember having any instructions regarding this, except by an army officer who told us of how little the chance of being hit there was. One had to learn to recognize it – three shell bursts close together and very close. I was best positioned to recognize this and say – Port, or Starboard, Go! Skipper. Our aircraft would peel off one way or another. The rapid, next burst of flak was, probably, where we would have been.
Lastly, there were the enemy night fighters; heavily armed with machine guns and cannons. Some of these had upward firing cannons and so would stalk you, getting into position underneath and – Bang! One instance of this happened just when I was filling my log sheet. Over the intercom I heard our rear ‘gunners voice – “Say, skipper – I think we’ve got company” (Slim, was an American). I leapt up into the astro-dome as he said, “It’s OK, it’s another Halifax.” Now, I could see when he couldn’t see, the full shape of the aircraft. “Halifax be damned, it’s a 110, port go, skipper. ” The night fighter was below us and very close so all the rear gunner saw was the twin tail fins; so like the twin fins of a Halifax. We straightened out and the Messerschmitt was now below and to our starboard (right) side. Our skipper tilted the aircraft so that the mid upper ‘gunner could bring his guns to bear and Ginger blazed away, but he still couldn’t depress his guns far enough down. He must have given the enemy a fright, though, for he dived away into the night. So, only myself was in a position to safely identify this aircraft, but it was thanks to Slim, our rear ‘gunner, for the initial warning. From the mid upper turret, Ginger, was not able to look down to where the enemy was first seen. Thus, the value of another
pair of eyes in the astro-dome.
Many of these Messerschmitts were fitted with upward firing cannon, so we were, probably, within seconds of having a ticket to Eternity. I expect that I spent at least 70% of my time in the astro-dome and it paid off. One good reason to be thankful was that I could continue to keep a lookout until we were back on the ground. One night, with the second crew which I flew with, we were orbiting the airfield, waiting our turn to land, when I noticed lights, someway off our port wingtip. I told the skipper who immediately recognized these were lights of another aircraft on a collision course; he went into a steep, diving turn and the other aircraft passed overhead.
There – I’ve gone way beyond the laid down duties of a wartime, Halifax, F/E, but now you know why I (and so many other aircrew), loved our Halifax aircraft – Halibags, as we called them. F/Es – looking after the engines? Well, many of us did a little more than that.
Ernie Hughes (originally published in 76 Squadron Newsletter)
This article is from the Summer 2008 issue of Confound and Destroy
