Weird War If Flight Sergeant John Vivash, a mid-upper gunner in a Halifax of 466 Squadron, RAAF, had any thoughts about his parachute, they were probably similar to most air crews' thoughts on that subject; a deeply felt hope that he would never need to use it, but if he did, a fervent wish that the thing would hold his weight for the 'big drop'. The chunky Australian's wish was amply fulfilled on the night of 4 November 1944. Piloted by a fellow Australian, Flight Lieutenant Joe Herman, Vivash's aircraft left base at Driffield that evening, bound for Bochum in the Ruhr. Twice on the approach to their target the crew had suffered searchlight coning yet managed to evade punishment from the German flak due to Joe Herman's skilful manoeuvring. Running into a fierce barrage of flak soon after, Herman experienced a strong premonition of imminent trouble, and called up each crew member, suggesting that they should clip on their parachute packs; though the tall Queenslander was too occupied `up front' to follow his own advice for the moment. The bombing run itself went smoothly, all bombs were released over the objective, and Herman thankfully turned westwards to start the return leg, out of the menacing flak and searchlight defence belts. Once on course for home he gently let down from 18,000 feet to 10,000 feet in accordance with his pre-briefing instructions, but had hardly begun his gentle descent when the Halifax shuddered violently - hit by flak in the fuselage just behind the wing's rear spar. Instinctively, based on long experience, Herman immediately swung his aircraft to port, but was hit twice more, in the wings. Both wing fuel tanks were ruptured and within seconds the Halifax was afire along its whole wingspan. Realising that it could only be minutes at most before the aircraft fell apart, the pilot yelled 'Bale out, bale out' over the intercom; meanwhile holding the stricken bomber as steady as possible to let his crew get away safely. In the mid-upper turret 'Irish' Vivash (his unlikely nickname in the crew) had suffered a shard of flak deep in one leg, and painfully wormed his way out of his turret. Finally inside the fuselage Vivash started crawling forward towards the escape hatch, noticing his pilot leaving his seat to find his own 'chute, stowed in the flight engineer's crew station. At that moment the Halifax's starboard wing folded back with a blinding flash of burning petrol and the bomber flicked onto its back and then began to spin down. The explosion of the wing root was the last Vivash remembered; his next conscious memory was feeling a draught of cold air on his face and a not unpleasant sensation of falling. He had no recollection of operating his ripcord, yet above his head the silken canopy was fully deployed, swinging him in long gentle arcs through the black air. Suddenly the see- saw swinging motion abruptly stopped and he realised he was failing straight down, still supported by his parachute, but with a puzzling heavy feeling in his legs. Reaching down with one hand Vivash had a shock - he was not alone! Remarkably calm in such circumstances, Vivash later recalled his exact reactions. Firstly he called, 'Is there anyone else around here?' A voice he recognised replied, 'Yes. Me. I'm here, hanging on to you.' 'Is that you, Joe?' queried Vivash. 'Yes, but I haven't got a 'chute, Irish. I seem to have bumped into you on my way down.' The explosion in the Halifax had blown Herman and Vivash clear, but while the gunner had his parachute deploy and begin to carry him safely down, Herman had no 'chute. Falling from some 17,000 feet, the pilot was conscious but resigned to death, when by an astounding fluke of coincidence he had bumped into Vivash as the latter reached the top of one swinging arc of his original descent. Sheer unconscious reflex action made Herman wrapping his arms around the 'object' he'd collided with - Vivash's legs. Both men were descending on one parachute. Minutes later Herman saw some tree-tops rushing up towards him and had just time to yell a warning. Then he thudded onto the ground, and Vivash landed heavily on top of his pilot. Once both men had recovered their breath and senses, Herman realised that his gunner's weight had broken two of his ribs, but apart from a tattered uniform and many cuts, slashes and bruises, he was otherwise intact and amazingly, alive. Turning to his inadvertent 'saviour' Vivash, Herman ripped up strips of parachute silk and bound the gunner's leg wounds; then both men began planning how best to evade capture. Four days later, en route to Holland, they were made prisoners. Both men survived the war and returned to their native Australia. Chaz Bowyer Guns in the Sky One interesting variant of the Centurion in Korea was the Centurion Tug, a conversion of a battle-damaged gun tanks to carry supplies to hilltop positions inaccessible to wheeled vehicles...The Australians frequently employed Tugs to carry defence stores up the hills; it was some time before the 8th Hussars discovered that beneath a thin layer of ammunition or trip flares there was crate upon crate of `Asahi' beer. The Australians insisted that these were an integral part of their defensive plan! Simon Dunstan, The Centurion Tank in Battle, In the no-man's land between the two sides, in the deserted farmsteads, there were plenty of fowls if you could catch them. I couldn't. These chickens, as soon as they saw anybody in battledress, however he much whistled disinterest, scrambled up the nearest rampart, and you could not get after them without revealing yourself in a field of machinegun fire. But I discovered a flock of geese, and I broke my penknife trying to slaughter the first. When I had at last killed them all and loaded them into my jeep for my hungry colleagues, I as covered from top to tail with feathers. A soldier looking like one out of a Giles wartime cartoon, climbed out of a slit trench and said to me balefully, `Them was laying eggs.' MacDonald Hastings, Gamebook Almost at the very moment yesterday that the news of General MacArthur's relief was coming over the radio at the divisional command post on the western front where I have been spending a few days, a terrific wind blew across the camp site, leveling a couple of tents. A few minutes later, a hailstorm lashed the countryside. A few hours after that, there was a driving snowstorm. Since the weather had been fairly spring like for the previous couple of weeks, the odd climate goings on prompted one soldier to exclaim, `Gee, do you suppose he really is God, after all?' E.J. Kahn, The New Yorker, 24 April 1951 After a few minutes conversation, they pointed me towards the Argentinian colonel on the steps of the administration block. I introduced myself to him quite untruthfully, as the correspondent of The Times newspaper, on the basis that it was the only British organ of which he might have heard. We talked civilly for a few minutes. He kept saying that most of my questions could answered only after four o'clock, when the British General was due to meet General Menendez. Could I meanwhile go and talk to the British civilians, I asked? Of course, he said, I walked away towards that well known Stanley hostelry `The Upland Goose' down a road filled with file upon file of Argentinian soldiers, obviously assembling ready to surrender... Walking into the hotel was the fulfilment of a dream, a fantasy that had filled all our thoughts for almost three months. `We never doubted for a moment that the British would come,' said the proprietor, Desmond King. `We have just been waiting for the moment.' It was like liberating an English suburban golf club. Max Hastings The Spectator, 26 June 1982. Some Thracian waves me shield, which I was forced to leave behind undamaged, hidden under a bush, but I saved myself, why should I care about the shield, let it go, I'll get another just as good again. Archilachas an Athenian soldier (6C BC).