[Tim O.]

I have an article amongst the papers of Hauptmann Willi Gaul that I have translated roughly below. It is sadly undated but I would love to know if it fits somewhere into this thread! Gaul was with 1./106 from the start of the war until October 1941, when he transferred to 2./906 where he remained until transferring to III./KG40 in June 1942.

From Unteroffizier K. to Tommy with Love

"Nice weather today - tsch - but a damned tired mill, this ‘Fritz-Heinrich’," grumbles our Pilot, Oberleutnant Gaul, through the intercom. He is right on both counts. Today is a textbook day. Even far out here in the North Sea, the wind just ripples the surface of the water, the sun shines into the cockpit of our aircraft, and visibility is excellent. And it is also probably what makes us feel our brave ‘Fritz-Heinrich’ is particularly slow today. It seems to us that we have been flying a course towards England for an eternity. We have been able to spot nothing; absolutely nothing. It has become lonely on the sea routes around England. Now we change course and ‘creep’ slowly northward. Monotonous left, right and down the quiet North Sea; above us the tiring blue sky and from starboard the sleep-inducing warmth of the radiant sun.

Our Captain sings - he sings beautifully but through the throat microphone his voice echoes as if from an old horn gramophone. Something keeps them going. With his reconnaissance in a sea area where very little is going on, the Observer comments "Well, I thank you but others can get grey hair." Hours pass in the same fashion - continually criss-crossing the western North Sea not far from the English coast.

But suddenly the melodic singing of our Captain is interrupted. An emergency message suddenly comes through. "Machine astern – two thousand meters away!" roars through the intercom. The warning cry comes from the Radio Operator, Obergefreiter K., who despite the monotony, is alert at his post. Quick as a flash positions are taken. The Observer leaves his compass, map and navigation calculator and is ready for defence at the bow machinegun.

"Let him get close, let him get close - steady!" warns Oberleutnant Gaul to the Radio Operator, who is aiming through the windows of the cockpit to the rear. "Blenhein," he notes in a matter of fact way. Fast, too fast for us, he closes on our tail. Now he fires - close to and behind us streams of tracer disappear into nowhere on the starboard side because Oberleutnant Gaul has put our Heinkel 115 into a steep curve to port. That is enough to bring us out of his gun sights and give the Radio Operator a field of fire.

"Now, open fire!" orders Oberleutnant Gaul and our rear machinegun opens up. "Good! Bravo! Keep shooting!" The Blenheim is tough, she dives and goes in an elegant curve away beneath us. It is faster than we are. Far ahead they curve around and line up for the second approach. There are only a few seconds of silence but the Obergefreiter, our Radio Operator, uses them to send his radio message. Then he lets the key go and grabs his machinegun because the Blenheim is behind us again. From four hundred meters they open up with all weapons. "Steady - let him get close!" repeats our pilot admonishing while steadily evading the field of fire. In the same manner as before, the field of fire for the Radio Operator comes clear.

The Obergefreiter waits as he has learned at gunnery school - still waiting a little longer, to some extent for the sake of the Oberleutnant, and then he shoots. "Well done, well done! Keep it up!" The shots hit home just between the cockpit and starboard engine. Then right in the engine. Two bursts of fire and the Blenheim is pushing off. It curves in a wide arc but not back towards us - no, but off to the west, very close to the water and towards England. She bugs out. Is that possible? Far superior in armament and speed, and so close to its home territory?

"She was hit in the engine," says the Radio Operator. "It was the only way," replies the Oberleutnant, "but in any case well done!" And then we turn for home in high spirits and fast-cruise. "It’s a brave, old sledge, our Fritz-Heinrich," muses the Captain. Will the Tommy dare to tell the truth when he gets home?

War Correspondent Kestner
Die Seeflieger der Deutschen Luftwaffe


Best wishes
Tim O.