One of my now-departed friends who had been a navigator/bomb aimer on a full tour of ops with 159 Squadron in '43/'44 was an RAF officer, Denis Boissier, whose uniform and medals I now have in my possession. I also have his unpublished manuscript -- filled with fascinating stories, though many dates and flying details are hard to pin down or match up to ORB info. Still, here's one of his experiences in Peshawar, India following his stint on 159 Squadron. Because I know that he finished up on 159 Sqn at the end of April '44 and began another tour of ops on 99 Sqn Liberators in December '44, I can safely conclude that the incident described below dates between these months in 1944:
...So the time was coming when I was due for a rest [following the conclusion of his 159 Sqn tour of ops], which meant an office job at H.Q. somewhere. I had been on operational flying for thirteen months in the heat and discomfort of Bengal, so I submitted a 'persuasive' letter to Personnel at Delhi that I was aware of some work I really wanted -- the job was Group Navigation Officer to the whole of the Royal Indian Air Force with the rank of Squadron Leader (which sounded much more important that it really was), but the main point was the location, Peshawar on the North-West Frontier, one of the best situations anywhere in India. . .
. . .My only other recollection was the evening I was very nearly assassinated -- and I shall never forget that. It was about 8.30 p.m., and I had just had a bath and changed for dinner. The Mess was right next door to my bungalow, and I had to go out through the gate, on to the road and round a corner to get to the Mess -- a matter of not more than 50 yards altogether. I strolled over and went up to the bar to order a drink when two shots were heard very close by. We looked at each other for a second or two, and went outside in a group, about five of us.
Just round the corner and outside our fence, three officers were lying in the road bleeding profusely, their bicycles with them. Someone went to phone the M.O. [Medical Officer] , and none of us knew what to do, so we tried to prop the chaps up. The doctor was there very quickly, only to tell us that all three were dead.
As I had turned out of my gate, I could see these three chaps wheeling their bikes up the road from the Club, obviously coming back to the Mess for dinner -- they were well-known to all of us. Having got them to Sick Quarters, the M.O. had examined them, and he told us on his return that the two had been shot at point blank range with .303 bullets and the third was knifed through the heart.
Now, about the only industry up in that part of the world was making guns and ammunition -- they were very adept at this -- and their whole way of life revolved around raiding and stealing from each other. It was established that the weapon was a double-barrelled home-made pistol that fired the regular British Army .303 bullets -- it must have had a terrifying kick! The assailant, having used the two bullets, then had to use his knife to kill the third officer, so we only heard the two bangs.
The police caught their man some two months later, and we had a copy of the report. The man stated that his brother had been wrongly arrested, tried and hanged for a crime he did not do. The man said he only wanted revenge against the British, and he hid in the hedge past which two or three officers were seen to pass at about the same time every night. But he was frustrated when only officer went by (the officer was me!), so he waited for the group of three. He had only intended to kill two but thought the third might identify him and used his knife. He was found guilty and hanged. Whew!
441008 - Unaccounted Airmen - 8-10-1944
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Originally Posted by malcolm_raf
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