Lords of the Sky: Fighter Pilots and Air Combat, From the Red Baron to the F-16 (33 page)

As July ended it was obvious that the RAF was in no way defeated. Following the Luftwaffe’s earlier victories in the war, this was somewhat of a shock to Hitler—and to Goering especially. Though both sides were relatively evenly matched, the Bf 109 was more heavily armed, was faster, and had a better engine than its opponents. The Luftwaffe was also on the offensive, which can be extremely important psychologically—depending on whom you’re attacking. However, as Hitler would see, what worked against France would not work against the British. Operationally, being on the offense should allow better planning, since you’re the one calling the shots. Rest and refitting can be scheduled, stores and spares stockpiled, and so on . . . it
should
make all the difference.

But the Germans were fighting over hostile territory and had the Channel to contend with. They could do nothing about a pilot who came down in England, but the Luftwaffe did have a highly developed air-sea rescue system and much better individual survival equipment—both of which the British lacked. However, when RAF pilots went down they often could get picked up, dry off, and climb back into another aircraft to fight again—and they frequently did just that.

AUGUST 1, 1940
, was a busy day for the Luftwaffe.

In preparation for Operation Sealion, Hermann Goering finally asked for formal plans from his air fleet commanders to defeat the RAF. Inconceivably, nothing had been formalized during the six weeks following the fall of France and the Channel battles. Hitler’s Directive 16 had been disseminated after July 6, but it provided only vague guidance for the destruction of the RAF and the economic strangulation of Britain through attacks on shipping and ports. Goering further complicated matters by forbidding any destruction of facilities and installations he felt Germany would need once England capitulated.

By August 6 a comprehensive strategy had been finalized, and Adlerangriff (Eagle Attack) was set to begin. The overall idea was to guarantee air superiority by destroying RAF Fighter Command. This would be done by attacking airfields, some industry and, above all, by luring the British pilots into the air and killing them. Goering’s three great
Luftflotten
in Norway, Normandy, and France had 2,422 combat aircraft, including 868 Me 109s and 268 Me 110 destroyers, ready for action. German planners were well aware that the weather over the Channel would soon make a crossing impossible, but Goering reasoned that there was plenty of time, given the strength of the Luftwaffe. So he allowed himself and his pilots four days to destroy the Royal Air Force—actually, three days, with one extra for bad weather, just in case.

A large part of this bewildering overconfidence arose from German intelligence failures. Unlike the British system, there was no real cooperation among the various, and fiercely competitive, German intelligence organs. Within Luftwaffe Operations, the 5th Abteilung was responsible for collating information relating to enemy air forces. Goering had appointed a political crony and member of his personal staff to head this crucial department. Oberst Josef Schmid, known as “Beppo,” spoke no foreign languages, had never visited England, and certainly was no pilot. As a Nazi party man, he delivered carefully sanitized information that portrayed the picture his superiors wished to see.

He’d reported over 350 RAF fighter aircraft destroyed and estimated that there were fewer than 500 of all types available to face the Luftwaffe. Not only that, but he projected that the monthly production of new fighters would not exceed 130 aircraft. In fact, Dowding had fifty-eight squadrons, with six more being formed, totaling about 700 fighters, with 350 new Spitfires and Hurricanes rolling off assembly lines every month. This didn’t count those returned to service by the CRO, so the available numbers were actually much higher. Schmid also had no understanding of Fighter Command organization, nor did he grasp the Chain Home system. His overall conclusion, delivered to Goering, was that the Luftwaffe was far superior in equipment, pilots, and command over the Royal Air Force. It was to prove a colossal and costly underestimation.

Adlertag (Eagle Day) launched on August 13, 1940. Once again, Oberst Fink of KG 52 was not a happy man. He’d gotten airborne at 0700 and flown to Cap Gris Nez to rendezvous with the rest of the strike package set to attack England. Irritated by repeated close passes by Me 110s, he’d pressed off to the northwest at the appointed time only to find himself alone in the sky. Unbeknownst to Fink, the mission had been postponed until the afternoon, and without a common radio frequency the Destroyers had buzzed him to get his attention. He flew the mission anyway.

Over the Thames Estuary, east of London, he had the great misfortune to meet up with Sailor Malan’s 74 Squadron. The South African ace picked out a three-ship “Vic” and opened fire 100 yards behind the leader. Raking all of them, he settled in on the last Do 17 and put four bursts into it, which sent it spinning down in pieces. Then one of his flight commanders took a hit in the engine’s glycol coolant tank and couldn’t see a thing in his vapor-filled cockpit. Leading him down for a formation approach, Malan didn’t witness the results of his squadron’s attack.

But Fink did. Having lost four of his aircraft, with four more heavily damaged, the colonel was apoplectic with fury when he landed. Eagle Day had gotten off to an inglorious start: the Luftwaffe would fly 1,485 sorties at a cost of forty German aircraft versus fourteen RAF fighters lost. The next two weeks were marked by some of the heaviest fighting in what became known as the Battle of Britain.

With no real targeting lists, or even firm priorities established, the Luftwaffe had not been able to accomplish much. Airfields, shipping, and nine manufacturing cities were attacked, with several Chain Home stations assessed as destroyed. In reality, though damaged and unable to receive signals, the British radar sites continued to transmit. This practice would eventually convince Goering that continued assaults against such targets were a waste of resources. Even though they were flying anywhere from 1,400 to 2,000 sorties per day, the Luftwaffe frittered away any real chance of victory by its lack of a coordinated, logical plan—that, and Beppo Schmid’s useless, erroneous intelligence reports.

On August 18 Schmid reported that 770 RAF aircraft had been destroyed and less than 300 operational fighters remained. In reality, 214 had been lost, and Dowding still had 600 combat-ready Spitfires and Hurricanes. During the same period the Luftwaffe lost 400 aircraft, of which 181 were Bf 109 and Bf 110 fighters. Losses among the vaunted Stukas were heavy enough to necessitate a change of tactics. Much to the disgust of Adolf Galland and Werner Mölders, fighters were now to fly close escort for the vulnerable dive-bombers. A flawed idea from the beginning, this only handicapped them by having them close and slow instead of sweeping ahead to clear the skies. In a face-saving gesture the Stukas were eventually withdrawn from the battle, ostensibly to conserve them for the assault on England. The Luftwaffe High Command was finally learning what German fighter pilots already knew: that the British would not collapse like the Norwegians or surrender like the French.

Thanks to Beaverbrook’s highly efficient organization, 300 new fighters had been built and 260 repaired and put back in the air over the same two weeks. In fact, during the Battle of Britain the RAF soon possessed more aircraft than it had at the beginning. But the Luftwaffe was also learning and fighting back hard. After a few days off for bad weather, the Germans were back with a vengeance and the attacks were beginning to make sense. Fighter Group airfields, particularly 11 Group in southeastern England, were the primary targets.

On August 24 alone, more than a thousand sorties were flown against Manston and Hornchurch. By month’s end the Luftwaffe was hitting all the main airfields several times a day—nearly 1,500 sorties on August 31 alone—and it was working. Bombers, protected by swarms of fighters, were overwhelming the RAF, and because the Germans were constantly hitting the same targets the British rarely had time to repair the damage. Usually one
Gruppe
of fifty fighters would sweep ahead of the bombers and engage the RAF. If a Hurricane or Spitfire managed to get through, it would be short of fuel and ammo and then would have to contend with another
Gruppe
flying close escort. The strategy was also forcing the Spitfires and Hurricanes into combat with German fighters, and the RAF lost 273 aircraft from August 24 to September 6.

Flight Lt. James Nicholson came close to being a casualty on August 16, 1940, over Southampton. Scrambled with the rest of 249 (Gold Coast) Squadron to intercept a gaggle of bombers heading for Gosport, he ran straight into the escorting Emils and destroyers. As he tried to wriggle out of the way, 20 mm cannon shells from a Bf 110 shattered the Hurricane’s cockpit, with fragments hitting him in the eye and foot. More hit his engine and the reserve fuel tank, which started a fire. Pulling his feet out of the flames, Nicholson yanked the burning fighter around and attacked another destroyer, sending it cartwheeling down in pieces. Badly burned, he finally managed to bail out, only to be shot in the buttocks by an excited Home Guardsman who thought he was German. Nicholson was the only member of Fighter Command to receive the Victoria Cross during the Battle of Britain.

The real issue was pilots. RAF loss rates of 120 pilots per week were horrendous by any standard.
^*
A 30 percent loss rate was normal, and a few squadrons suffered 100 percent casualties in a single month. The intense concentration of flying is exhausting enough, but combat is on another level entirely. Stress, fear, and the sheer physical drain of flying three to five gut-wrenching missions per day added up quickly. Men aged perceptibly as close calls mounted and their friends died. Since Adlertag began some 385 pilots had been killed, were missing, or had been removed for severe injuries. Fewer than half the remaining 1,023 pilots were veterans, and the others often had less than 20 hours flying fighters. Some sources put the loss rate for fighter squadron commanders as high as 80 percent. The situation became so critical that one Hurricane commanding officer had no flying time in the plane—he managed a few overhead patterns, then led his squadron into combat.

Dowding had already shortened basic flight training by at least a week, and the operational training syllabus was cut from six months to mere weeks—many of the replacement pilots had never even fired their guns. By August more than 1,600 new pilots were in the pipeline, but this was part of the problem—there’s a tremendous difference between a pilot and a combat-ready fighter pilot, and yet more difference between a combat-ready pilot and a proven veteran. Like Nicholson, many veterans were wounded and put out of action for weeks or months. A one-for-one swap with a “sprog” or “newbie” wasn’t possible, as there was no replacement for experience except experience—and most young pilots didn’t live long enough to learn. Dowding was painfully, fearfully aware that under current conditions he had less than a one-month reserve of fighter pilots.

In early September Air Vice-Marshal Park had come up with a three-tier solution that would keep operational units effectively manned while giving inexperienced pilots a decent shot at survival. Class A squadrons had their full quota of aircraft and at least sixteen combat-ready pilots. This encompassed all 11 Group squadrons plus a few in 12 and 10 Groups. Class B units maintained between four and six combat-ready pilots, who usually were rotated out to form the nucleus of a new squadron. Class C units, usually part of 13 Group far to the north in Scotland, had about three combat-ready pilots. These men had usually been sent north to recover from prolonged combat, serious wounds, or both.

Park’s counterpart, AVM Trafford Leigh-Mallory, took a dim view of this, since it cast his 12th Group into a supporting role. He’d been promoting what he called the “Big Wing” theory and was offended at the cool reaction from Dowding and Park. His idea was to employ multiple squadrons to meet German raids and then overwhelm them through sheer numbers. One problem was that the Chain Home network gave a maximum detection range of 80 miles, so even if Spitfires were scrambled immediately, which they were not, it would take a fighter twenty minutes to reach 25,000 feet. By that time the German bombers were past the point of interception. Another problem was coordination. Radios were fairly rudimentary, so getting several squadrons into position was very difficult and ate up precious fuel.

Long a political foe of both Dowding and Park, Leigh-Mallory desperately wanted to be Britain’s savior during the battle, and he bitterly resented the geographical reality of his position. He even resorted to using Douglas Bader, the famous legless squadron commander, as his mouthpiece for the Big Wing. Bader, to his discredit, had a member of Parliament as his adjutant and frequently voiced his opinions through this man to the Air Ministry. So even in an incredibly desperate fight for survival, with the whole of Britain at stake, politics and jealousy reared their ugly heads. Park could’ve cared less; he was a warrior and fighter pilot engaged in the biggest air battle in history. As for Dowding, he had more important things to consider and was indifferent to the 12 Group commander’s wounded pride and hurt feelings.

In the end, salvation for the British came in the unlikely form of Hermann Goering. On September 7, the same day Park put his plan into effect, Goering assumed personal, tactical command of the air war. He immediately discontinued attacks on radar stations and airfields, convinced that they were having no effect. If that wasn’t bad enough, he switched priorities just when his assault was finally paying off. It was now the first duty of the fighters to protect bombers rather than killing Spitfires and Hurricanes. Flying at high altitude, moving at slower speeds, and being tied to a defensive role effectively negated the Luftwaffe’s fighter advantage.

Even though Chain Home radar coverage was limited above 20,000 feet, without a heavy bomber any German strategic campaign was a moot point. This shift occurred exactly when Goering should have moved in for the kill. Instead, he gave the RAF a respite as the terror bombing of London, the “Blitz,” began. London’s Surrey docks were the first target, and the warehouses full of rum, paint, timber, and paper burned easily. Spices—pepper worst of all—caught fire and blew into the eyes of Civil Defensemen trying to contain the blaze.