Chapter 15; Their Spirit is Serene

THIS STORY is an attempt to describe the exploits of a force still at close grips with the enemy. It is therefore a chronicle of contemporary events and as such must fall far short of the whole truth. The pattern of their deeds is being woven on the loom of history by the pilots and crews of Coastal Command ; but the tapestry is not yet complete. Not until, bright with the gold of victory, the last threads have been drawn into place will the finished picture be seen in all its detail of triumph and setback, of courage, hardihood and achievement. Yet the general design and its many outlines are clear enough.

It is a seascape, the largest vet depicted, for it embraces most of the Atlantic Ocean. To fight and win the Battle of the Atlantic has always been the main task of Coastal Command. it carries this out in many ways--by protecting convoys, by anti-submarine sweeps and patrols, by " strikes " against U-boats and surface raiders, by combat with enemy aircraft, by attacking his bases, by unending reconnaissance over the sea and along his coasts. All this activity is directed to one end: to aid the Royal Navy in frustrating the enemy's endeavour to blockade Great Britain and to prevent supplies from passing into her ports or out of them,

In the fulfilment of these duties aircraft of Coastal Command, between 3rd September, 1939, and 30th September, 1942, has escorted 4,947 merchant convoys, attacked 587 U-boats, and, if offensive operations against enemy shipping are included, flown some 55 million miles. This is a considerable achievement, especially if it is realised that to attain such a rhythm of activity the force has had to undergo a considerable expansion from a comparatively small beginning.

Nor is this all. Coastal Command is not, and never has been, only on the defensive. It is not merely content with striking down the attacker in whatever guise he may show himself. It carries the war into his own waters. The mine, the torpedo, the bomb-all three are to be found in its armoury. The first and second have taken a heavy toll of the enemy's shipping; the third has, in addition, lit many a fire and blasted many a hole in the buildings and workshops of his bases.

Coastal Command is an air force in miniature. Its Sunderlands and Catalinas range the ocean to protect our ships ; so likewise do its Beauforts and Blenheims, its Whitleys and Wellingtons, its Hudsons and Liberators, but they are also a bombing force capable of instant use against a wide choice of targets ; its Beaufighters and Blenheim fighters join combat with the Luftwaffe at ranges beyond those within the compass of Fighter Command.

It is an amphibious force in the sense that, though its element is the air, it makes use of both land and sea to provide it with bases from which to set out against the enemy. its aircraft fly over the restless waters of the Atlantic, the Channel and the North Sea, over the pack-ice about the shores of Greenland, over the desert scrub and palms of West Africa, over the stern mountains of Norway and Iceland, over the wide fields of France, over the iron and concrete buildings of Reykjavik, the wooden houses of Trondfijem, the brick-built mansions of Rotterdam, the lighted windows of Nantes.

Theirs is a wide and varied battle-field. With other Commands, they experience the triple onslaught of flak, fighters and bad weather but for Coastal Command the last is of special significance. Not once but many times have flying boats been compelled to circle for hours till dawn because low cloud, fog, rain, snow or mist made alighting on the sea impossible in darkness. The weather forecasts, much of them based on' the reports furnished by the pilots of the Met. flights carried out daily by the Command, have a peculiar value for men %%hose calling takes them for many hours many miles from land over the bounding and abounding waves.

What do the pilots and crews of Coastal Command see during their strong, monotonous flight? Such things as these : the curve of the shore as they leave and approach it, and grey mist smoking from the surface of the sea ; and the wake of a ship in moonlight, and the bubbles bursting in the track of a torpedo ; and the coloured balls of flak which come up so slowly and then arrive with a sudden, furious rush; and the light foam about a periscope; and the circles made by depth charges ; and always the expanse of ocean with the clouds overhead, and sometimes upon it a patch of oil . . . an empty raft . . . an upturned boat . . .

It is time to leave them. Their story has in part been told. Many fine achievements lie behind them ; many more will be theirs before this war is over. Their spirit is serene, for, though humble of heart and at times envious of their comrades whose duties bring them into more frequent contact with the common foe, they know the importance of their task.

As these words are being written some of them are talking with their navigators, plotting the best course for a "Rover" along the moonlit shores of Holland, Belgium or France, others are being briefed for a "strike" on enemy shipping in a Norwegian fjord, others are landing from a U-boat patrol, others are resting before going aboard their flying boats for one more sortie over the Atlantic. They will take off in darkness and, with "no shapes but the keen stars" to guide them, they will be above the convoy at dawn.