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BILL 'POPPY' DUNN "My first big day came on 2 July 1941 when our squadron formed part of the fighter escort for twelve Blenheim bombers on Circus 29 (the code name for a daylight bomber raid) to bomb the Lille electric power station in occupied France. Just before reaching Lille we were attacked by two enemy squadrons of Me.109Es and 109Fs. Their attacks continued during the bombers' run to the target and for about thirty minutes after, until the French coast was crossed near Gravelines. Since we were flying Hurricanes we formed the close escort for the Blenheims. High cover escort was provided by the faster Spitfires of our fighter wing.
 
I was flying the Red 2 position, with Squadron Leader Paddy Woodhouse leading, when I saw an Me. 109E diving through the bomber formation at about 6,000 feet, squirting at the Blenheims as he dove. The 109 pilot made his break to port, right in front of me, maybe 75 or 100 yards away. I jammed the throttle wide open and, attacking the Me.109 from the port quarter, fired one burst of four seconds and three bursts of two seconds each. At about 50 yards range (the Hun kite filled my whole windscreen) I could see my machine gun bullets striking all over the German's fuselage and wingroot. Then he began to smoke. I continued my attack down to 3,500 feet, again firing at point-blank range. Now the 109 began burning furiously, dived straight down to the ground, where it crashed with a hell of an explosion near a crossroad. Scrub one Squarehead!
 
People have, on occasion, asked me what it felt like, inside me, to shoot down and kill an enemy pilot. To be truthful, I was elated that I'd shot the bastard down before he could shoot me down. Of course I was very pleased with my first victory-that's what I was hired to do-and, happily, this victory was confirmed by Pete Provenzano and Bob Mannix, two other Eagle Squadron pilots."
 
Through July contact with the Germans became frequent with the focus being escort missions to the Lille, France area. Gus Daymond shot down an Me 109E on the 6th while escorting 6 Stirling bombers on Circus 35 to bomb the Lille Steel factories. Bill Dunn shared an Me 109E destroyed with a No 306 (Polish) pilot on that mission. Victor Buno claimed a probable Me 109 on the 19th, and Bill Dunn shot down a Me 109 on the 21st. Bill Dunn wrote of his fight on the 21st while escorting Stirlings on Circus 54 to the Lille steel factories:
 
"Shortly after the Stirlings had dropped their bombs and were leaving the Lille target area in shambles of bomb bursts, shock waves, billowing dust and debris, I spotted two Me 109Fs climbing up fast behind our formation to attack the bombers from below. The time was about 08:35 hours and we were flying at 16,000 feet. I pulled my Hurricane around in a steep turn with White 2, Tommy McGerty, flying just off my starboard wing. One Squarehead saw us coming to attack, took violent action, and breaking away went into a fast, steep dive. We couldn't hope to catch him with our slower Hurricanes. The second Kraut took no evasive action other than a shallow climbing turn. I attacked him from the port beam at 50 or 60 yards, firing two bursts from my eight machine guns into him. The 109's rudder and port elevator were completely shot off, and its starboard elevator was ripped to shreds by my blast of bullets. At first the Hun went into a gentle dive, which soon steepened until the 109 was falling fast on its back. The pilot jettisoned his hood, bailing out at a very high speed, his chute undoubtedly giving him a hell of a jerk when it popped open. At least the lucky SOB got out of his busted kite. I didn't see the Me 109 go in, but there could be no doubt that, pilotless, it did hit the deck some 14,000 feet below--another confirmed kill. My gun-camera filmed the whole episode."
 
During the first half of August both Dunn and Daymond were credited with kills and a tense rivalry developed between the two. On 3 August 1941 Gus Daymond shot down a Do 17Z attacking a convoy off Ordfordness. Daymond wrote of this combat:
 
"He dived to near sea level when I attacked. I opened fire at 250 yards, and had to use emergency boost to keep up with him. I fired a three-second burst. The rear gunner fired back. His aim was inaccurate, and his fire was high and to starboard. The return fire ceased after my second burst. I saw bullets strike below the aircraft, and raised my aim and fired all my remaining ammunition high. The port motor started smoking. The aircraft hit the water, bounced 50 to 75 feet into the air, and plunged into the seas leaving a spot of oil on the surface. I saw no survivors."
 
On 9 August No. 71 flew escort on Circus 68. Bill Dunn's engine quit and whilst looking to put down in France remarkably managed to down another 109. Dunn recalled:
 
"At 4,500 feet, just above a scattered cloud deck I saw an Me 109E some 2,000 feet above me and coming after me fast. The Kraut pilot tried to shoot me down from his higher position, but he missed. I pulled my gliding Spit's nose up sharply and fired my guns from 100 yards range, hitting the 109 squarely in the cockpit hood as it passed by me, a lucky shot. Practically on a stall, I half rolled and, following the Hun in his dive, fired three more bursts at him from a range of about 300 yards. Luckily, my engine started up again after the half roll, but it was running very rough without much power.
 
We both went down through the clouds, then just as we broke clear, a second Me 109, flew between the first 109 and my Spitfire. Firing at the second enemy aircraft from 75 yards, I shot some pieces off its starboard wing. This 109 had already been shot up by someone else, since I observed that it was trailing white glycol with back smoke pouring from its engine. The second 109 went down on its back, but I did not see it crash.
 
I continued to follow the first 109 down to about 900 feet, from where I saw it smash into the ground and explode in a fiery sheet of flame. With my engine giving me at least enough power to stay airborne, I decided that this wasn't going to be the day the Huns captured me. So I headed westward towards Gravelines at 800 feet."
 
In August the squadron received Spitfire IIa's. Bill Dunn said of the Spitfire:
 
"It is the only aircraft that I've flown that had absolutely no bad habits. You can't even scare yourself in it. You can do a high speed stall, and it will do about a half flick and you can kick it out of a spin. You can do a low speed stall, and about the same thing will happen. You can bring it up on a stall, and then flutter down in a falling leaf without ever getting into a spin. It's got a very high rate of climb, it's very manoeuvrable, very fast--so fast that you could close the throttle and you'd feel yourself sliding through the air.
 
If you wanted to slow up, you had to put the propeller in fine pitch, which acted sort of like a brake. There were just no bad habits in that airplane at all. If you were coming in on a precautionary landing, for example, you could dump the gear and flaps and make your final approach at about 75 miles an hour. Over the fence was about 70, drop in at 65 miles per hour, and you'd stop rolling in a few hundred feet. Yet you could pour the coal to it on takeoff--a high boost, which would be about equal to 108 inches in an American aircraft--and by the time you crossed over the perimeter of the airfield you'd be doing well over 200 miles an hour. Then you could stick the nose up and climb so steeply that the leading edge of your wing blanked out the horizon. A lot of guys climbed right over onto their back."
 
On 27 August 1941, Bill Dunn put his new Spitfire to good use by shooting down 2 Me 109Fs near Lille. Bill Geiger wrote of the summer's actions: "We were probably the top close escort squadron in the RAF. We certainly did more than anyone else. I think we had something of a record in that we never lost a bomber due to fighter action in the summer of 1941." Early in September No 71 began transitioning to the Spitfire Vb and by month's end Gus Daymond & Chesley Peterson each destroyed 2 and Carrol McColpin got 1. Of his first kill, a Me 109 shot down near Le Touquet on 7 Sept 1941, Peterson commented:
 
"Well, I'd seen this Jerry and I wanted like hell to go after him. But one of the first laws you learn in the air is to stay in formation where you can protect your pals and they protect you. The guys who get into trouble are those that go off alone, trying to do something brilliant on their own. Impulsive and dumb fellows like that, more often than not stick their heads into the Hun bobby traps--and get their heads shot off. You see, Jerry will send a single plane stooging along like a sitting target, just hoping that some emotionally unstable guy won't be able to stand the temptation and will break formation and attack. Usually before the sucker gets really started, three or four Huns drop out of the sky faster than he can see and they shoot him down. I'd seen this Hun and, stooge or no stooge, I wanted to go after him; but I wouldn't have dared until I got the order. But the C.O, had seen that this was honestly a lone Hun and he sent me down. When I went for him, the Hun flew along like a new boy, like some dumb kid just out of training who didn't know what it was all about. He was sort of floating along there without even taking evasive action and I doubt if he knew I was anywhere near him before I gave him a squirt, and he was on fire and going down."
 
The following is Dunn's account of the battle: "I dived on one of two Me 109Fs, fired from a distance of 150 yards, and fired again to within 50 yards. Pieces of the aircraft flew off, and engine oil spattered my windscreen. The plane looked like a blow torch with a bluish white flame as it went down. Tracers from another 109F behind me flashed past my cockpit. I pulled back the throttle, jammed down the flaps, and skidded my plane sharply out of this gunsight. The German overshot me by about 10 feet, and as he crossed overhead I could see the black insignia, unit markings, and a red rooster painted on the side of the cockpit. The 109 was now in my range. With a burst of only three seconds I had him out of commission. A wisp of smoke from the engine turned into a sheet of flame. The plane rolled over on its back. As it started down the tailsection broke off. I had claimed my second victim of the day. I fired at another Me 109 and saw smoke come from it. Just as I started to press the gun button again my plane lurched sharply. I heard explosions. A ball of fire streamed through the cockpit, smashing into the instrument panel. There were two heavy blows against my right leg, and as my head snapped foward, I began to lose consciousness. My mind cleared again, and I realized that the earth was spinning up toward me. I tugged back on the control column and pulled into a gradual dive toward the English Channel, 50 miles away. I checked the plane for damage. The tip of the right wing was gone. The rudder had been badly damaged. The instruments on the right side of the panel were shattered. There was blood on the cockpit floor. When I looked at my right leg I saw that the toe of the boot had been shot off. My trouser leg was drenched with blood; I could feel the warm sticky fluid seeping from under my helmet to my neck and cheek. I gulped oxygen to fight off nausea. Releasing my shoulder harness, I started to climb out of the cockpit. For some reason, I paused. The engine was still running all right, and the plane seemed to be flyable. I slid back into my seat; I would try to make it home. Crossing the Channel, the engine began to lose power. I switched on the radio telephone and called May Day. Within a few moments I had an escort of two Spitfires. They led me across the coastal cliffs to the grass airfield at Hawkinge, near Folkestone. The escorting pilot signalled to me that my landing gear had extended. I dropped smoothly onto the newly mowed turf, and taxied to a waiting ambulance. An airman climbed up on the wing and shouted that I was in the wrong area and must taxi over to a dispersal hut if I wanted fuel and ammunition. Then he saw my bloody face and helmet and called the medical officer. I awoke 30 hours later in a bed in the Royal Victoria hospital in Folkestone and learned that the front part of my foot had been shot away, that there were two machine gun bullets in my right leg and that another had creased the back of my head. I spent three months recuperating there and at the RAF hospital at Torquay".
 
The mission of 27 August 1941 was Bill Dunn's last as an Eagle. During his time as an Eagle he was credited with shooting down 5 1/2 enemy planes. After recovering from his wounds he returned to the States as a trainer but was back in England by D-Day flying with the 406th FG and shot down 3 more enemy planes.