The Dragon in Daylight
A large contingent of RAAF investigators and salvage crews converged upon the downed Japanese bomber as dawn broke on the coast; security crews were already on the site by the time they arrived.
The aircraft was large, with a dark grey and black camoflage pattern, Hinomarus of much subdued colur intensity and no specific unit markings.
In contrast to the events of the previous night, it was a calm morning; beyond the low buzz of conversations between investigators and the water lapping against the side of the aircraft’s fuselage, there wasn’t much noise to be heard.
These first impressions of the wreckage were noted by one of the investigators at the time:
“The aircraft had come to rest in shallow water on a beach and had broken into three large sections: The forward fuselage was together with the left wing left wing while the rear fuselage and the right wing lay separately some distance away
The bulk of the damage appears to be located on the inner section of the right wing and cockpit area. The right wing may have broken off on impact due to the damage. The fuselage breakage is very clean, indicating a designed breakage point.
The aircraft is clearly somewhat larger than a Lancaster, which we were using as a size comparison.
Some aspects of the general design are visibly consistant with what we’ve come to expect in Japanese bomber design, while others are markedly different.”
Once the aircraft had been removed from the water and taken to a secured hangar for deeper analysis, more divergences from typical Japanese design were noted.
Recalls an investigator several years after the conflict and much of the information declassified:
“The first thing that struck me was the amount of armor the aircraft had, we really were not accustomed to seeing Japanese aircraft with much shielding at all. The entire upper fuselage from just aft of the cockpit to the wing spar area was armored. It was in that area where the radio operator’s station was, little surprise that one of the only two survivors just happened to be the radio man.
The wing fuel tanks were self sealing, another atypical feature in Japanese aircraft. That and the armor did go a long way to answering why it took so long for us to shoot one of these machines down when others seemed to go ablaze with a single hit.
The cockpit area and nose were largely what we had come to expect of Japanese design; however, the fuselage from just behind the cockpit to the tail differed quite a bit as did certain aspects of the wing design.
As we discovered, upon talking to the surviving crewmen, the Black Dragon actually had the Heinkel He-177 bomber as the main influence and starting point of the design.
We knew that Heinkel had been involved in the development of the “Judy” torpedo bomber, but it was a shock to know they were also involved in something as big as a long range four engine bomber.
It was very provacative considering that Germany were known to be having no end of problems with the original He-177 and were fielding two engined bombers in the main.
We could only assume that with the success the aircraft allowed Japan to hit targets in Australia and New Zealand with, it was only a matter of time before it went full circle and found its way back to Germany. We couldn’t let that happen.”
The Other Side of the Night
Similarly, the radio man spoke of the events publicly only many years later:
“The night is still clear in my mind so many years later:
We had a light industrial area near Darwin as a target that evening and were flying a single aircraft, unescorted mission profile. It wasn’t an unusual mission type for us and we found it was relatively effective when attacking smaller targets. A large formation of bombers is not difficult to detect and engage, a single bomber out in the night sky using some of the tactics that we did was another matter.
We were about to drop to a lower altitude and run towards the target at near sea level when we were jumped by the fighters. I could hear their rounds punching through the unarmored rear fuselage and hammering on the other side of the plating above my head and knowing it couldn’t hold for very long.
Our flight engineer was busy manning the dorsal turret while I was frantically sending out a distress call to any Japanese ships in the area. I was only faintly aware of the sound of our bomb doors opening to jettison our bombs into the sea as we aborted the mission to try to save ourselves and get the aircraft into a position where it couldn’t be recovered if it was shot down.
The engineer’s last words to me were that he’d shot down one of the fighters. The next moment, I found myself showered in his blood and fragments of the turret. I can’t explain how, but somehow I managed to pull myself back to my radio duties after that.
Our right wing around the inboard engine was burning uncontrolably and I could hear the pilot struggling with the aircraft. I could feel the aircraft descending rapidly, but he was keeping it relatively stable.
Moments later, I could hear the shattering of glass in the cockpit. I was sure we were done for, there was no way the pilot could have survived that. He did survive, but only just long enough to make sure we belly landed.
Myself and the navigator were the only survivors. Save for some cuts from the shattered turret, I wasn’t seriously injured. The navigator’s upper right arm and shoulder were very badly broken, badly enough to require surgery to repair.
Landing in the sea had extinguished the fire. I found what medical kit that I could in the wreckage, tended to my crewmate’s injuries as best I could and then we decided to remain in the aircraft until military personnel arrived.
We both felt our chances would be better in the hands of the military than in those of, quite understandably, angry civilians should they find us first.
As soon as the investigators arrived, we found ourselves being taken under heavy guard to a military hospital complex.”
From One Cage to Another
The navigator of the flight died in an automobile accident in the late 1950s, but his recollections survive through his own personal journal entries which have been carefully maintained by his family through the years. While the entries say very little about the evening he was shot down, they do give some intriguing insights into other aspects of his life at the time:
“Imperial Japan was a difficult place to be if you had any significant exposure to the larger world. The rhetoric of ethnic superiority the state advocated wasn’t so easily sold to those who had spent time with people of other cultures or taken part of their education abroad.
For myself, I took some of my university education in France during the interwar period. I learned to speak French to a very high level and developed too much respect for the different people from different cultures I met along the way to continue letting myself think my own cultural background made me in any way better than them.
I cherished my time outside of Japan, especially after I returned there from France in the mid 1930s.
I planned to return to France, but that became impossible once Germany invaded in 1940. I found myself still in Japan at the time of the attack on Pearl Harbour; I was in shock, not only by the sudden attack but also the gravity of knowing that Japan had joined the war and I was stuck there.
Soon enough, not by my own chosing, I found myself in a uniform. My university education saw me as worthy of a junior officer commision and I was sent to ground school to learn how to be a navigator.
I found myself able to go through the motions and keep up the appearance of fanaticism the Japanese army became notorious for during the war, but I nearly made myself sick in doing so.
I learned very quickly who were the people I could let my guard down around as far as maintaining such appearances were concerned. The radio operator on the bomber I was serving on when I was shot down was one such man.
Like myself, he had a university education that included studies abroad. He spoke English nearly as well as I spoke French. He was a sombre man who didn’t speak much, but what he did say was always well considered.
Also like myself, he found himself trapped in Japan in the wake of Pearl Harbour and put on a similar road of being a junior officer but learning radio operations rather than navigation.
As we gained each others’ confidence, I learned that his sombre demeanour came from the fact that he had family in Canada and knew they had lost everything and been put in internment camps almost as soon as war had been declared on Japan.
Neither of us were fanatics by any measure and thankfully his abilities with English were enough to vouch for both of us and generally satisfy our captors that we would be untroublesome as prisoners.
After we were released at the end of hostilities, I was able to make my way to France and start a new life there. At that point I lost contact with my former crewmate entirely.”
The Mauler in Mumbai
The downing of that particular Black Dragon would turn out to be one of the last night fighter missions George Konidas flew. Soon after, he received a promotion and a rather unexpected assignment:
“I was in a state of disbelief at first and thought someone was playing a joke on me when they told me that I was being given command of a Squadron whose task it was to deploy to India and train the first squadron of Indian Air Force pilots to operate the Yarara.
As it was, the Black Dragon threat was given new urgency when the Heinkel connection was confirmed and it was felt that a presence of the Yarara in India would be a prudent measure not only in insuring Japan made no further military advances in that direction, but also as a ready and powerful strike force should an attempt to ferry Black Dragons to Germany be made via air, staging through the Middle East, or sea through the Indian Ocean.
I had no lack of faith in the ability of the Indians to fight or their will to; they had certainly made no small contributions to the war effort to that point. I did, however wonder where their Yararas were going to come from. I knew well enough that Australia couldn’t spare any.
As it was, FMA had supplied India with several Yarara kits which were quickly and competently assembled by Hindustan Aircraft. They had ordered and assembled enough Yararas that we were ordered to India without our own aircraft and told to use the ones already there.
Shortly after New Year of 1943, we shipped out to India and acquainted ourselves with the newly formed 7 Squadron. The unit had been set up in early December of 1942 with the intent of being trained on and equiped with Vultee Vengeance aircraft.
With Yararas being offered in kit form and capable local hands to assemble them, India very quickly cancelled its order for the Vultee aircraft.
To call the pilots of 7 Squadron trainees would be doing them a tremendous disservice; most of them were well experienced pilots with at least one tour of combat duty in Europe or Africa with the RAF to their credit. They had experienced Hurricane and Spitfire pilots in the mix and the training went quite smoothly due in large part to their already accumulated experience.
By May of 1943, 7 Squadron was fully active and my own unit was preparing to be transitioned from training duties back to active duty.
It would be coming full circle for me personally; I had flown Yararas in the strike mission in Africa before returning home to take up night fighter duties.