HUN 1
Deck of
Glorious rising up and down,
anymore and
we can’t launch.
See my
mates fly off—now it’s me!
Full
throttle and my Gladiator is up
and away,
biplane wings biting the air,
Norway
bound to kill the Hun.
What! No
airfield with neat grass strip,
petrol
bowsers, NAAFI shop? Are you nuts?
Where do we
land? On a farm track or hidden
beach, a
road in a town? No! On a frozen lake.
One metre
of ice to be a concrete pad.
See the
snow white lake frozen solid
over the
mountains, past a forest.
Coming down,
I see my mates over there—
no one
bought it so I’ll land okay.
Defend
Norway from the evil Hun!
HUN 2
Our little
biplanes stand at the edge of the ice lake
ready to
launch to hit the Luftwaffe, Germany’s elite.
Wind blows
down the valley whistling and singing
over our
fragile planes. A flare goes up
and we rush
to our planes, engines warmed up
by our
trusty mechanics. Start up,
taxi over
ice, bumpy ride but not too bad.
Just think
a hundred and thirty metres of water
under us in
the middle of our lake.
Power on,
we head for the sky,
not a bad
idea this ice lake runway.
Where an
enemy target? Into the sky battle bound.
Clear blue
hangs over us so real it looks false.
Past a valley,
over another, see the Hun!
Time for
battle in our biplane fighters!
HUN 3
No radar to
see them, no Spitfires here.
A couple of
observers sit on a mountain,
spot the
Hun, get on the short-wave:
“Here they
come!”
I head for the enemy,
I head for the enemy,
green
crosses against a blue sky, white ground.
Don’t you
know a Stuka is as fast as my kite?
So I, we,
have to be quick. Dive down
get a
Heinkel 111 in my sights,
fire my
guns, turn away. A kill?
My mates
follow me to get some hits,
time for
another attack before they bomb
our frozen
base. We got three that day
but lost
two planes on the ground with five men
killed on
our moonscape lake.
Move to a fresh bit, do it all again
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