Buck's Story

Moments earlier, Kearns had taken the Wellington through heavy flak at 10,000 feet and Moller had let the ordnance go over the target — seventeen 250lb armour-piercing bombs for the reinforced-concrete submarine pens of Saint-Nazaire, on the Atlantic coast of Nazi-occupied France.

Now they were skimming the Brittany coast at wave-top height, racing for the Channel. As Moller climbed back into his front turret, he was the first to see the three white wakes ahead of them — German patrol boats.

He yelled to Kearns to pull up. They were too low to turn away.

Depressing his guns as the plane started to climb, Moller opened fire and shouted, “Boats to starboard!” over the intercom. In the rear turret, Buck Price opened up too, as tracer fire streaked around him.

There was a crash at the rear of the aircraft.

The intercom went dead.

Moller made his way aft and pulled Buck out of his turret.

“WHERE ARE YOU HIT, BUCK?”

“UP THE ARSE!”

The enemy shell had exploded beneath the Wimpy's tail. Buck had taken shrapnel in his leg and backside. The turret was riddled with holes and out of action.

Then they were out of range and over open sea, headed home. Moller gave Buck a jab of morphine and put a marked ticket around his neck.

Their story would not end that night.