JET LAG! (26 page)

              However, the Prime Minister had other ideas. He was so impressed with the results of the last mission that he was determined to try his luck again. If it worked once – it should work again. The 1940s RAF were under huge amounts of stress, and they needed more victories to keep national morale as high as possible. Churchill knew that the Luftwaffe were softening Britain up in preparation for an invasion, so he was determined to give the Germans such a bloody nose that they might alter, delay or even cancel their plans.

              A great deal of discussion took place that day – but in the end, as was often the case during the war, the Prime Minister ran out the winner. Purple Force 1992 would fly a similar mission on the eleventh of August and then every three days subsequently. In addition the Canberra PR9 would continue its night-time sorties to search out and find the home base of the Me 262s. The two remaining ADV Tornados were now serviceable and so the crews would be rotated as required. The three day rule was instigated because Churchill did not want to play all his cards at once. The Tornados would be used selectively even though they had already caused severe damage to the German jet force. It was possible that the German jet would not venture out again – fearing the total destruction of the ‘Blaue-Tod’. If that was the case, then Force 1992 had served its purpose, and could further assist and back-up the Spitfires and Hurricanes as required until September the eighth arrived. If the Me 262s ventured forth once again, the Tornados would be ready for them.

42

German Luftwaffe HQ

9 August 1940

             
Goring was at a complete loss. He could get no answers from his staff, intelligence or even his aircrews. Eight so-called ‘invincible’ Me 262s had been lost on one mission.

Disappeared!

Vanished into thin air – and no-one knew what the hell had happened to them. They had undoubtedly been shot down – but by what?

He wanted answers and he wanted them quickly. The Fuhrer had planned an invasion for the fifteenth of August but that was now looking doubtful. The RAF had not been destroyed, as Goering had promised. In addition, to compound his woes, eleven of the precious jet fighters were gone. Hitler was also demanding answers – but unfortunately Goering had none.

              Consequently, the conventional attacks continued – without jet support – but German losses were beginning to mount. The RAF pilots seemed inspired and the Spitfire was making short work of everything the Germans threw at it. They always seemed to know where and when an attack was coming. The Luftwaffe continued to attack radar sites, but had failed to put any out of action. Hitler was putting so much pressure on Goering that he was starting to panic. Tactics changed almost daily in an attempt to catch the British out – but all to no avail.

              Therefore, he turned his attention back to the Me 262. Although this wonder jet clearly had an Achilles heel, he now had a crucial decision to make. Should he hold back the ‘Blaue-Tod’ until he was certain of victory, or should he throw them once more into the fight. In the end the decision was made for him.

43

Middle Fleckney

9 August 1940

The PR9 Recce Canberra descended from its operating height of nearly fifty-thousand feet, where it had been patrolling over the English Channel. The crew had been observing the battles far below for several hours, safe in the knowledge that all of the aircraft involved in the dog-fighting and bombing could only reach an altitude half that of their own operating ceiling.

They were completely safe from attack, were unseen and were free to take photography of anything they liked. They patrolled up and down the Dutch/French coastline snapping away with their vertical cameras until they ran out of film. In 1992 there was no digital capability – in fact, the cameras they used were developed during WWII.

At about 1500 hours the crew decided to return to Middle Fleckney to discover whether they had filmed anything of special or specific interest.

The headed back in the direction of Peterborough, descending gradually as they went and at about thirty miles from Middle Fleckney commenced an emergency powered descent, landing unnoticed in the summer sunshine.

Well, they assumed they were unnoticed, but hostile interested parties were now beginning to comb the East Anglian countryside for unusual activity, which they could report back to Berlin. Two suspicious characters had already been apprehended within five miles of the airfield and more would be coming.

The PR9 was safely back in the hangar within three minutes of landing and the ‘photogs’ had removed the wet film and sent it for processing and analysis. The crew spoke with the engineers, declaring that everything was serviceable with the Canberra, and then strolled over to the Photographic Interpretation tables to look at the film.

To the 1940’s PIs the results were nothing short of miraculous. They had more film from one sortie than over a hundred by conventional methods could produce. The airmen and analysts pored over the negatives, calling for prints of the more interesting frames.

They picked up Nazi airfields as potential targets from northern Holland all the way south to Brittany, and when they studied the prints more closely later that evening, one of the PIs struck pure gold! At an airfield called Gilze-Rijen, which lay about thirty kilometres north-west of Eindhoven, the Canberra’s vertical camera picked up a fortuitous piece of vital data.

Clearly shown on the taxiway, lining up for take-off, were eight Me 262s!

They had found one of the Forward Operating Bases for the ‘Blaue-Tod’.

AVM Morrissey and Sir Peter Andrews were promptly summoned and a message containing the information relayed to HQ Bomber Command. A sortie for sixty Hampdens and Halifaxes due to bomb western Germany was immediately cancelled, re-planned and diverted, and at midnight a mission was launched to annihilate Gilze-Rijen airfield.

At approximately 0200, bombs rained down on the unfortunate aerodrome like confetti, and when the subsequent post attack Recce Tornado landed at 0300, the PI’s examined the infra-red imagery of the damage.

The carnage was extensive. The bombers had met little resistance and were able to lay their bombs without the distraction of night-fighters or excessive ground fire. They had done a brilliant job, and the Tornado film confirmed the almost total destruction of the airfield infrastructure. The main hangars were demolished, as was the ATC tower, support buildings and the runway pockmarked with craters.

It was a startling success and Churchill was woken at 0400 with the news.

However, when Goering was awoken at the same time by a shrill telephone, he was less than pleased!

***

              ‘Mein Gott,!’ he exclaimed as his servant helped him on with his oversized silk dressing gown. ‘How in the devil’s name did they know about Gilze-Rijen? Were there any overflights yesterday?’

The intelligence Oberst on the other end of the line had few answers.

‘We are trying to determine that fact, Herr Reichsmarschall. However, it is very difficult as Gilze-Rijen is all but destroyed. We have lost all eight of the 262s based there.’

Goering was not a happy man.

‘What will I tell the Fuhrer? For God’s sake get the aircraft at Arnhem moved immediately. They must be at severe risk now. Get onto Galland and get him out of there. Now!’

‘Where to, Herr Reichsmarschall?’

Goering was by now apoplectic with rage.

‘I don’t know, you fool! You are the ‘verdamdt’ intelligence officer. Just find them an airfield and get them there immediately.’

Goering slammed down the phone and sat back on his bed. Something had to be done. He shouted for his aide, a young leutnant who slept in an adjoining room, but by now was standing in the corridor, having been woken by the Reichsmarshal’s ranting.

‘Schulz, get in here!’

‘Jawohl, Herr Reichsmarschall?’

‘Get that idiot Canaris out of bed – I want to see him at 9am. He and his idiot staff need a damn good kick up the arse – and I'm the man to do it!’

The aide scampered away to awaken the senior Nazi intelligence officer, Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, from his innocent slumbers, whilst Goering planned revenge on the British.

He had now only eleven ‘Blaue-Tod’ aircraft remaining until replacements were supplied by Messerschmitt. Without them, the battle would be lost, and Christmas in London but a distant dream.

The Fuhrer would have somebody’s head – but he would do everything necessary to ensure that it was not his!

***

Admiral Canaris appeared at Goering’s Headquarters as ordered, but was in no way intimidated by the ‘fat boy’. Canaris, a professional seaman, openly objected to the terrible injustices being dealt out to the Jewish population and disliked the Nazis intensely.

‘I have heard the news, Hermann. Not good for you and the Luftwaffe.’

He was baiting Goering – and Goering knew it.

‘What is the Abwehr doing about finding this Britisher jet station, Admiral? We cannot allow it to interfere with the Fuhrer’s plans for invading England next month.’

‘Invasion? I am not aware that an invasion would achieve very much. I do not believe that the Fuhrer is interested in invading England.’

Goering was growing even more angry.

‘I don’t really care what you think, Herr Admiral. Just find this fucking English airfield and my Luftwaffe will bomb it out of existence. After all, you do run the
intelligence
service, nicht wahr?’

Canaris realised that he was on a hiding to nothing. His agents in England had been searching for the secret base for several weeks and he now knew that it was somewhere in East Anglia – much further north than the Spitfire and Hurricane airfields defending the English Channel.

His spies were closing in and he should have some positive news very soon, but he was prepared to let Hitler’s chubby puppy dog sweat a little bit longer.

‘I will furnish you with the location of their base as soon as I know it for certain myself, Hermann.’

‘It had better be soon, Herr Admiral, or the consequences may surprise you.’

Canaris was immune to threats of this kind. He didn’t fear the strutting Goering – although the snake-like Himmler was a different matter. He took his leave of the Reichsmarschall.

‘Well, if that's all, I have work to do. Good day, Hermann.’

Canaris left the office and returned to his headquarters, where a report regarding Middle Fleckney lay on his desk.

***

Rosie Cartwright worked as a barmaid in the Red Bull public house in Swaffham, not far from Middle Fleckney. She was very attractive, personable and listened carefully to everything which fell within her earshot. All sorts of folk frequented the pub, including some of the military policemen guarding the airfield where the 1992 jets operated.

Of course, the ‘Snowdrops’, as they were affectionately known due to their white caps, were all sworn to secrecy, but like all soldiers who have had a couple of beers, their tongues loosened and Rosie picked up the odd snippet or two, and by the end of July had enough to report up the line.

Her contact was Eileen Kimberley, living and operating her radio set in Norwich, only twenty miles away. So one Sunday in early August, she caught the bus towards Norwich and the pair met at a small village halfway – near Dereham.

Rosie passed her information verbally – avoiding the need for written notes which could prove incriminating if stopped and searched.

Eileen committed the intelligence to memory and Rosie returned by bus to her pub. The radio operator and Nazi spy ring leader collated this latest report with others received in recent days, and transmitted the information to Canaris’ HQ on the fifth of August.

On the seventh, a Luftwaffe recce sortie was dispatched to the Marham area, and photos were taken of the airfield there and of several others in the local area. The film was analysed and it was this report that Canaris studied on the morning of the tenth of August.