Enemy planes are coming in at 25,000 feet. At least 76 of them, 36 medium bombers, ten dive-bombers, 30 Zeros.

Their objective is shipping in New Guinea's Milne Bay.

A young Australian Kittyhawk squadron has spiralled to 28,000 feet. They have been waiting impatiently, eyes and minds working swiftly as their motors.

Down below in the still mirror of the sea, shipping is getting under way ready to manoeuvre, to fight back. Ground gunners have shot home their first clip of shells, sit tensed, waiting.

The noonday sun is harsh and hot. There is not a breeze to stir the fronds of the coconut palms. They stand as though petrified; they sweep away in ordered lines to the tangle of jungle at the foothills.

Around the bay hearts are beating faster.

"There they are!"

They are coming in in tight formation. Zeros are weaving above like wicked spirits over mechanical hounds of hell. On ground you can pick up the heavy drone of massed motors.

Squadron-Leader Wilfred Arthur calls his flights into line abreast. He is only 23; but he's been in many scraps before. He served in the Middle East with No.3 Australia's most famous fighter squadron. There he shot down seven enemy planes-four of them in one battle, two German Junkers and two Italian fighters. For that he was awarded the D.F.C. Before that he had been mentioned in despatches. He had also been shot down in action.

The Japanese are heading across the bay.

"Tally-ho".

The Kittyhawks roar down for a head-on attack.

The squadron-leader presses the button that will send six streams of bullets at the leading V of bombers . . . nothing happens. He presses again.

His guns won't function. They are out!

Sensitive lips in a good-looking young face press into a straight, thin line. No matter. He must go on. To head out would break up his plan of attack. That is unthinkable. Blue eyes fire quickly, turn to steel, with the light of the killer.

So he leads them in, head-on. Each of them takes his mark. Swift bursts of fire. They break away according to plan. They wheel. His guns are still out. He leads them in again. This time against the second V of bombers. The enemy do not break formation, but they waver. Their pattern-bombing is inaccurate.

No time now for a third attack. The Zero top cover dives down. It's every man for himself in the dog-fights that follow.

The squadron-leader, guns still dead, dives alone across the bay. He sees six dive-bombers, with fighter escort, flying east. He turns nose down and darts toward them. He sham attacks one bomber, trying to cut it out. Just as they used to cut the steers from the mob in the west of Queensland. But the bomber sticks close.

The squadron-leader turns to starboard. He sees two dive-bombers low over the water. They are outside the further ships. He gives chase. He tries to "fish-tail" one into the sea. It flies too low for him. He gives up and returns to base …

Heavily outnumbered that day, two Australian squadrons brought down at least 22 enemy aircraft. With U.S. Lightnings also in the fight, they shot out of action a total of 30.

This was the third swoop by the Japs in four days. On April 12 they mass-raided shipping at Oro Bay, losing 23 of the 45 bombers and fighters engaged. On April 13, 100 of them attacked Moresby and 37 were destroyed or badly crippled.

Back at Land Headquarters, General Sir Thomas Blamey told war correspondents that the Japanese were making a bid to regain air supremacy. "The next few weeks in New Guinea," he said, "will be important to all of us."

But the Japs didn't come on. After Milne Bay, on April 15, they licked their wounds and remained on the defensive. General Kenney, Allied Air Chief in the South-west Pacific, sought them out with bombers and fighters and began the sweeps that led to Lae, Finschhafen, Gloucester, Arawe, Gasmata, the Admiralties, Madang, Wewak, Hollandia, and opened the perimeter to the Philippines.

For his part in the Milne Bay battle, the 23-year-old Australian squadron-leader won an immediate award of the D.S.O. He was promoted wing-commander and given control of a fighter wing when squadrons were pushed out to Goodenough Island and the Trobriands.

"The gallantry, matchless leadership, and devotion to duty displayed by this squadron-leader," said the official announcements of the Governor-General, ^"were the chief factors in the success of the day's air fighting."

The official operational comment said: "This squadron commander's guns were inoperative, yet he led his squadron in two attacks against the enemy bombers, and later carried out ‘dummy' attacks on dive-bombers attacking our shipping.

"The action of this commanding officer is highly commendable. It should be an inspiration to all fighter pilots."

Son of a Queensland stock inspector, Wilfred Arthur, like many other renowned Australian airmen, has the strength of the land in his soul. Tall, slim, and wide-shouldered, he went to the R.A.A.F. aged 19, just before war broke out in Europe. Into battle he always wore a long-barrelled revolver, souvenir of the Middle East. He wore it in an extended holster, strapped low. Like the famed shooters of the Wild West, he would be quick on the draw.

In the Middle East they called him ^"Woof."

In New Guinea they called him "Wolf." There, his A.I.F. brother was killed by the Japs.