G.C.C. were worrying us, as usual. They wanted us to fly a patrol that evening at Dust to cover the Bremen-Hamburg sector. This was because the Luftwaffe had been reacted in strengh along the autobahn during the last few days. S.S. planes had been shooting up and bombing our advanced columns, considerablely hampering their progress and their supply echelons.

We were quite agreeable, in principle, to fly a patrol, but G.C.C. couldn't seem to understand that Rheine Hopsten had only one runway in good order, and a very short one at that, and no night-flight installation whatever. G.C.C.  were also forgetting that the jerries operated immediately after sun-down (if there had been any sun). Looking for small groups of Focke-Wulf in the air and the mist that rose from the marches of the Elbe and the low clouds which reflected the last glimmer of daylight was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Beside, the aircraft situation was very tight. "Chieffy", after we had made some diplomatic inquiries, hinted at only nine machines avalaible - ten at the outside - during the next twenty hours. In the end we decided on a compromise; Bruce Cole kept six Tempest for normal army reconnaissance, and I got the rest myself. As I didn't know my new pilots very well yet, I chose Mc Intyre and Gordon, to see how they coped with a difficult job.
We took of at 1936 hours. Gordon had difficulty in starting his engine and we lost ten minutes of precious twilight, circling round waiting for him. At 1945 hours we set course for Bremen, flying at low level. Not much to be seen - in the distance a few vague burst of tracer, dimmed in the summer lightning. Some houses on fire. In the vast pine forest a few fires glowed furtively. We flew into driving rain wich dragged down the clouds lower still. We went down to tree-top level. I could only just see Gordon's plane. The visibility was getting worse and worse. It was distinctly disquieting. The huns were sure to come out, but I wasn't very keen on venturing at ground level over enemy territory in that sort of weather. I tried to pierce the mist. Hamburg, With its formidable Flak defence, was somewhere, quite close in the murk, straight ahead. What the hell ! Let's go home ! "One hundred and heighty degrees port, filmstar, go." I kept my eyes on the dead straight autobahn as best I could. It was the only reliable landmark in the gloom, even through its white surface had been partially camouflaged by pages of tar. It marked our front line position approximatively. It was about 2030 hours. The rain came down with redoudled vigour. We roured over britsh and american armoured columns, producing considerable panic. Those stupid "pongos" never seemed to learn how to distinguish our aircraft from those of the Jerries. We flew over a squadron of Churchills scattered over a field, and the man all over the place, jumping for the shelter of the tanks, or under the caterpillar tracks or in the ditches. As they had been machine-gunned every evening recently in this part of the world - usually just about htis time - they were taking no chances. Besides, we were probably the first R.A.F. fighters to operate round about there so late in the day. Lousy weather. You might pass within five hundred yards of a regiment of Focke-Wulf and ot see them.All the same, I kept a sharp look-out. 2035 hours. Out of the corners of my eyes I saw somewhere behind my tail a green verey light come up from our lines, folowed immediatelly by an eruption of tracers, wich disappeared into the clouds. Christ, something was up - Jerries perhaps ! I started a left-handed turn and warned the other two : "Look out, filmstar White - 180° port, and keep your eyes open ! Just at that moment I felt a violent impact under my seat and at the same time a burning pain in my leg. Tracer bullets were whizzing up past my Tempest. That really was too much ! Those stupid "pongos" morons not only were shooting at us, but for once their aim was accurate. I broke and went in a tight turn, and poured some pretty varied invectives into the radio. As they couldn't hear me anyway it was rather a waste of breath. The other Tempest followed me in my turn, hotly pursued by increasingly heavy burst of ack-ack. We waggled our wings, switched on our navigation lights, went right trough the whole recognition rigmarole, al to not avail. As a last resort I was just going to let down my undercart when, like a shoal of fish passing under a skiff, thirty Focke-Wulfs appeared. They where hugging the ground and the rapid shapes seemed to slip trough the trees, pursued by the action of their delayed-action bombs dropping on one of ours tank parks. "Focke-Wulf two o'clock, filmstar. Attacking ! I heeled over and, at full throttle, dived toward the huns. Just my finger was hovering on the fire button something made me look around : a dozen of Focke-Wulf in close formation were emerging from the clouds, a few yards from my team mates. In the meantime the ack-ack was increasing in fury - so was the rain. The Focke wulfs - they were magnificent "long noses" with the white spiral round the spinner - broke in every direction. The visibility had by now got even worse, Wich didn't prevent wich didn't prevent two of the huns from making a frontal attack to me - so close that I left quite unnerved. My chief concern was not get involved in a collision in the gloom. That really would be too stupid. In any case I hadn't had a genuine target yet. Suddenly the radio blared. Gordon, in the hell of a flap, started shouting incoherently. He had just been hit by our ack-ack and a Focke-Wulf in quick succesion. One of the Tempest - presumably his - was dragging a long trail of grey smoke and climbing straigh to the clouds, followed by four Focke Wulfs. Poor Gordon ! "Look out, Pierre, break ! break !" Before I had even had time to realize this was meant to me, I pulled hard on the stick - but too late. I was hit somewhere under my petrol tank. The impact was so violent that my feet jumped off the rudder bar. An acrid smoke filled the cockpit with the stench of cordite. A square wing bearing a black cross swept past in a flash only a yard or two away, and the Focke-Wulf's slipsteam was so violent that this time the stick was wrenched out of my hands. Instinctively I completed a roll and levelled out just above the tree tops. The nausea of fear gripped my throat as a short bright flame licked my feet. Fire ! I felt the heat through my boots, quickening the first stabs of pain in my wounded right leg. I bent down and flumbled whith my glove, trying to locate the course of the flame. Bang ! Bang ! Two more shells smacked into my plane. This time my engine missed a beat - so did my heart. I hurled my Tempest into a violent skid wich jammed me against the side of the cockpit, and at the same time reduced throttle. Then I slowly opened full out - the engine responded normally. Stick right back, I climbed back to the cloudbase. All around me, in dismaying confusion were Focke-Wulfs machine-gunning, climbing, diving, turning. In the half light one turn toward me, rapidly wraggled itd short wings and engaged me. I turned at once to face him, fired a burst from tree-quaters front, but evidently missed him, and passed like a whirlwind just a foot or two below him, I immediately brought the sick hard back, and put on full left rudder. My Tempest shuderred, showed signs of stalling, but completed an astonishingly tight turn all the same, two white "contrails" at its wing tipes. The Focke-Wulf seemed nonplussed - began to turn to startboard - skidded - righted itself - then turn to port. That was a boob : now I in turn was in a good position, at less than twoo hundred yard range. Quickly, before before he had time to complete his manoeuvre, I corrected 10° - two rings of my sight. One long burnst from my four cannons - lightning flashes lit up and seemed to bounce off his fuselage and his wings. Fragment were tossed about in a cloud of rapidly thickening smoke - the cockpit flew off and spinned down, and I saw the pilot, his arms glued to the fuselage by the speed, trying to bale out. Then the Focke-Wulf veered sideways at less than 150 feet, righted itself for a moment, hit the ground, bounced up, moved down a pine tree in a shower of flames and sparks and finaly crashed in a sunken lane. There was a terrific explosion wich threw a lurid light like a magnesium flare for hundred yards around. The weather now seemed to be clearing a bit. Gaps appeared in the wall of mist, revealing a broad of moist, yellow horizon throwing a wan light over the pine forests and the marshes On the left a fire was raging; it was our tank park blazing, its tank trucks and its ammunition lorries in flames. Four Focke-Wulfs were flitting around like big moths, occasionally spitting a stream of bullet in the inferno. I daren't attack them - I could feel the other prowling round in the shadows. Aha ! I spotted a lone plane skimming over the tree tops in the direction of Bremen, whose tall chimneys stacks look positively medieval outlined against the dying sky. Engine temperature 125°, oil pressure down to the fifty five. Regretfully I opened the radiator and closed the throttle to 3500 revs. Even then I went on gaining on the Focke-Wulf, who was probably making for home, his magazines empty. We were now over Bremen, and he was still a thousand yards ahead. This businness might take me rather far; I closed the radiator again and opened the throttle flet out. My "Grand Charles" responded at once. We were now over the first docks of the Weser. We roared between the shattered remains of the big transporter bridge. On either side rose the charred hulks of the ware-houses; the few cranes and derricks still erect rose uo like black skelettons. Suddenly a salvo of Flak shelles blossomed beetween theFocke-Wulf and me - brief white flashes, mingled with brown balls which passed by either side of me. More kept appearing miracously out of the void. The automatic flak now chimed in and the orange glow of the tracers was reflected in the black oily water, from wich overturned hulk emerged, like enormous stranded whales. I concentrated on not losing sight of my Focke-Wulf - lukely he was silhouetted against the dying glow of the sky. For a moment the Flak redoubled in intensity. There was a sudden Clang behind my back - then suddenly the tracers were snuffed out and diseappeared... A bit suspicious ! A glance behind me explained this curious phenomenon : on my tail six Focke-Wulfs in perfect close echelon formation - exhaust white hot -pursuing me at full throttle. With one movement I broke the metal thread to enable me to go to "emergency" and shoved the throttle lever right forward. It was the first time I had occasion to use it on Tempest. The effect was extraordinaire and immediate. The aircraft litteraly bounded forward with a roar like a furnace under pressure. Within a few seconds I was doing 490 m.p.h by the air speed indicator and I simultaneously caught up my quarry and left my pursuers standing. I had soon reduced the distance to less than 200 yards. Although in this darkness my gun sight rather dazzled me, I had him plumb in the middle and I fired two long, deliberate bursts. The Focke-Wulf oscillated and crashed on its belly in a marshy field, thowing up a shower of mud. He miracously did not overturn. Whithout losing anytime I climbed vertically toward the clouds and righted myself to face the others. They had vanished in the shadows. They must have turned about and left their comrade to this fate. I flew back over the Focke-Wulf I shot down. The pilot was limpimg off, dragging his parachutte an dquite dazed by the shock. I besparred the remains of his machine with shells and they caught fire at once.
That made two !

Extract of "flames in the dusk"

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Other story :
"Encounter with Guynemer "
by Ernst Udet
illustrated by Serge Stone

Click on the picture and enjoy the action


Pierre Clostermann


One of the two Focke-wulfs " Long-noses" shot down by the autor on april 1945.

If you want to know everything about the tempest, visit...
The Hawker Tempest page !