All Hell Let Loose (16 page)

Air combat, unlike any other form of warfare, engaged exclusively very young men, who alone had the reflexes for duels at closing speeds up to 600mph; by thirty, they were past it. Commanders, confined to headquarters, issued orders. But outcomes hinged upon the prowess of pilots just in or just out of their teens. Almost everything they said and did in the air and on the ground reflected their extreme youth; on 17 August Lieutenant Hans-Otto Lessing, a Bf109 pilot, wrote exultantly to his parents, describing his unit’s hundredth alleged ‘victory’ like a schoolboy reporting the success of his football team: ‘We are in the Geschwader of Major Molders, the most successful … During the last few days the British have been getting weaker, though individuals continue to fight well … The Hurricanes are tired old “puffers” … I am having the time of my life. I would not swap places with a king. Peacetime is going to be very boring after this!’ One of the despised ‘puffers’ killed him the following afternoon.

The RAF’s Paddy Barthrop said afterwards: ‘It was just beer, women and Spitfires, a bunch of little John Waynes running about the place. When you were nineteen, you couldn’t give a monkey’s.’ British pilots partied relentlessly at night, youth overcoming exhaustion. Pete Brothers said, ‘We used to booze dreadfully.’ One day when his squadron was stood down in bad weather, the airmen adjourned to the bar, only to find themselves scrambled when the sky cleared. ‘I shall never forget taking off and thinking, “That button … turn it that way … switch on gunsights …” We were all absolutely tanked. Mind you, when we saw black crosses, you were instantly sober.’

They cherished their aircraft as magic carpets into the sky. Bob Stanford-Tuck said: ‘Some men fall in love with yachts or some women, strangely enough, or motor cars, but I think every Spitfire pilot fell in love with it as soon as he sat in that nice tight cosy office with everything to hand.’ Similarly, Bob Doe on his first sight of his new plane: ‘Our hearts leapt! We walked round it, sat in it, and stroked it. It was so beautiful I think we all fell a bit in love with it.’ Fighter Command’s British pilots fought alongside contingents of New Zealanders, Canadians, Czechs, South Africans and a handful of Americans. The 146 Poles who participated in the Battle of Britain formed the largest foreign element, 5 per cent of overall RAF pilot strength. Their combat reputation was superb, rooted in experience and reckless courage. ‘When you seen [sic] the swastika or black cross on the aircraft,’ said one of them, Bolesław Drobi
ski, ‘your heart beat much quicker, and you decided that you must get him or you get shot yourself. It’s a feeling of absolute … vengeance.’ This was not bombast. When Poles later attacked Germany, they chalked messages on their bombs – ‘This is for Warsaw’, ‘This is for Lwów’ – and meant it.

Popular adulation was heaped on the aerial defenders of Britain, expressed everywhere airmen met civilians – as they often did, in evenings after fighting in the sky above towns and villages. The applause of ordinary people meant much to the pilots amid their exhaustion and losses. ‘There was tremendous kindness,’ said one young man afterwards. ‘It was a lovely feeling. I’ve never felt that Britain was like that again.’ Soldiers muttered jealously about the RAF’s ‘Brylcreem boys’; the Wehrmacht had a similar phrase of its own for the Luftwaffe – ‘
Schlipssoldaten
’, ‘neck-tie soldiers’. For the rest of the war, fliers of all nations retained a glamour denied those who fought on the ground.

Fighter Command was acutely sensitive to the loss of its experienced pilots: ten Hurricane aces – men who had shot down five or more enemy planes – were lost between 8 and 19 August, then a further twelve between 20 August and 6 September. Novice replacements were killed at more than five times this rate; casualties were especially high in squadrons that continued to use the rigid formations RAF official doctrine prescribed for ‘Fighting Area Attacks’. Units fared better whose commanding officers promoted flexibility and initiative. Pilots who flew steady courses died; those who stayed alive dodged and weaved constantly, to render themselves elusive targets. Three-quarters of downed British fighters fell to Bf109s, rather than to bomber gunners or twin-engined Bf110s. Surprise was all: four out of five victims never saw their attackers; many were hit from behind, while themselves attacking a plane ahead.

‘People who stayed in a burning cockpit for ten seconds were overcome by the flames and heat,’ said Sgt. Jack Perkin. ‘Nine seconds and you ended up in Queen Victoria Hospital in East Grinstead in Dr Archie McIndoe’s burns surgery for the rest of the war. If you got out in eight seconds you never flew again, but you went back about twelve times for plastic surgery.’ Hurricane pilot Billy Drake described the experience of being shot down: ‘It was rather like having a motor-car accident. You can’t remember what the hell happened.’ Both sides suffered heavily from non-combat mishaps, born of momentary carelessness or recklessness by tired and often inexperienced young men: between 10 July and 31 October, 463 Hurricanes suffered such damage, sometimes total and fatal. As many as one-third of both Dowding’s and Goering’s overall losses were accidental.

Few pilots who bailed out offshore were recovered: a man in a dinghy looked pathetically small to rescue-launch crews scouring the Channel and North Sea. Ulrich Steinhilper gazed below as he flew back over the Channel from a September mission: ‘Our track across those wild waters became dotted with parachutes, pilots floating in their lifejackets, and greasy oil slicks on the cold water showing where another Me109 had ended its last dive. All along the coast near Boulogne we had seen 109s down in the fields and on the grass, some still standing on their noses.’ Nineteen German aircrew drowned that day, while just two were picked up by floatplanes.

The chivalrous spirit with which the British, at least, began the battle faded fast. David Crook returned from a sortie in which his roommate had been killed, and found it strange to see the man’s possessions just where he had left them, towel hanging on the window. ‘I could not get out of my head the thought of Peter, with whom we had been talking and laughing that day. Now he was lying in the cockpit of his wrecked Spitfire at the bottom of the English Channel.’ That afternoon, the dead pilot’s wife telephoned to arrange his leave, only to hear the flight commander break news of his death. Crook wrote: ‘It all seemed so awful. I was seeing at very close quarters all the distress that casualties cause.’ After Pete Brothers’ squadron was engaged a few times and he had lost friends, he abandoned his earlier notions that they were playing a game between sporting rivals. ‘I then said, “Right, these are a bunch of bastards. I don’t like them any more. I am going to be beastly.”’ Very early in the struggle, pilot Denis Wissler wrote in his diary: ‘Oh God I do wish this war would end.’ But few of the young men who fought for either side in the Battle of Britain stayed alive through the five-year struggle that followed it. To fly was wonderful fun, but a profound and premature seriousness overtook most aerial warriors in the face of the stress and horror that were their lot almost every day they were exposed to operations.

Through August the Luftwaffe progressively increased the intensity of its assaults, attacking Fighter Command airfields – though only briefly radar stations. Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Dowding, C-in-C of Fighter Command, began the battle with an average of six hundred aircraft available for action, while the Germans deployed a daily average of around 750 serviceable bombers, 250 dive-bombers, over six hundred single-engined and 150 twin-engined fighters, organised in three air fleets. South-east England was the main battleground, but Dowding was also obliged to defend the north-east and south-west from long-range attacks.

The first concerted bombings of airfields and installations took place on 12 August, when Ventnor radar station on the Isle of Wight was put out of action. The Luftwaffe intended ‘Eagle Day’ on 13 August to be decisive, but in thick weather this degenerated into a series of poorly coordinated attacks. The Germans mounted their heaviest effort two days later on the 15th, dispatching 2,000 sorties over England, losing seventy-five aircraft for thirty-four British, two of those on the ground. Raiders flying from Scandinavian airfields – too remote for single-engined fighters – suffered especially heavy losses, and the day became known to German aircrew as ‘Black Thursday’. The two sides’ combined casualties were even higher three days later on the 18th, when the Luftwaffe lost sixty-nine planes against Fighter Command’s thirty-four in the air and a further twenty-nine on the ground.

Both air forces wildly overestimated the damage they inflicted on each other, but the Germans’ intelligence failure was more serious, because it sustained their delusion that they were winning. Fighter Command’s stations were targeted by forty Luftwaffe raids during August and early September, yet only two – Manston and Lympne on the Kent coast – were put out of action for more than a few hours, and the radar receivers were largely spared from attention. By late August the Luftwaffe believed Fighter Command’s first-line strength had been halved, to three hundred aircraft. In reality, however, Dowding still deployed around twice that number: attrition was working to the advantage of the British. Between 8 and 23 August, the RAF lost 204 aircraft, but during that month 476 new fighters were built, and many more repaired. The Luftwaffe lost 397, of which 181 were fighters, while only 313 Bf109s and Bf110s were produced by German factories. Fighter Command lost 104 pilots killed in the middle fortnight of August, against 623 Luftwaffe aircrew dead or captured.

The RAF’s Bomber Command has received less than due credit for its part in the campaign: between July and September it lost twice as many men as Fighter Command, during attacks on concentrations of invasion barges in the Channel ports, and conducting harassing missions against German airfields. The latter inflicted little damage, but increased the strain on Luftwaffe men desperate for rest. ‘The British are slowly getting on our nerves at night,’ wrote pilot Ulrich Steinhilper. ‘Because of their persistent activity our AA guns are in virtually continuous use and so we can hardly close our eyes.’

Goering now changed tactics, launching a series of relatively small bomber attacks with massive fighter escorts. These were explicitly designed to force the RAF to fight, especially in defence of airfields, and for the German planes to destroy it in the air. Dowding’s losses were indeed high, but Luftwaffe commanders were dismayed to find that each day, Fighter Command’s squadrons still rose to meet their attacks. Increasing tensions developed between 11 Group, whose fighters defended the south-east, and 12 Group beyond, whose planes were supposed meanwhile to protect 11’s airfields from German bombers. In late August and early September, several stations were badly damaged. Why were 12 Group’s fighters absent when this happened? The answer was that some of their squadron commanders, Douglas Bader notable among them, favoured massing aircraft into ‘big wings’ – powerful formations – before engaging the enemy. This took precious time, but in arguments on the ground the ‘big wing’ exponents shouted loudest. They were eventually given their heads, and made grossly inflated claims for their achievements. The outcome was that the reputation of Keith Park, commanding 11 Group, suffered severely from RAF in-fighting that in September became endemic, while 12 Group’s Trafford Leigh-Mallory – more impressive as an intriguer than as an operational commander – gained influence. Posterity is confident that Park was an outstanding airman, who shared with Dowding the laurels for winning the Battle of Britain.

Many of the RAF’s young fliers, knowing the rate of attrition Fighter Command was suffering, accounted themselves dead men, though this did not diminish their commitment. Hurricane pilot George Barclay’s 249 Squadron was posted to one of the most embattled stations, North Weald in Essex, on 1 September. A comrade said bleakly as they packed for the move, ‘I suppose some of us here will never return to Boscombe.’ Barclay himself took a slightly more optimistic view, writing in his diary: ‘I think everyone is quite sure he will survive for at least seven days!’

At the end of August, the Germans made their worst strategic mistake of the campaign: they shifted their objectives from airfields first to London, then to other major cities. Hitler’s air commanders believed this would force Dowding to commit his last reserves, but Britain’s leaders, from Churchill downwards, were vastly relieved. They knew the capital could absorb enormous punishment, while Fighter Command’s installations were vulnerable. The men in the air saw only relentless combat, relentless losses. George Barclay wrote to his sister on 3 September in the breathless, adolescent style characteristic of his tribe: ‘We have been up four times today and twice had terrific battles with hundreds of Messerschmitts. It is all perfectly amazing, quite unlike anything else … One forgets entirely what attitude one’s aeroplane is in, in an effort to keep the sights on the enemy. And all this milling around of hundreds of aeroplanes, mostly with black crosses on, goes on at say 20,000ft with the Thames estuary and surrounding country as far as Clacton displayed like a map below.’