The Second World War

by Antony Beevor

  The difference in British attitudes, manners and food had been a shock to the Poles. Few got over the memory of the fish-paste sandwiches offered them on arrival in England, and they were made even more homesick by the horrors of British cuisine, from over-cooked mutton and cabbage to the ubiquitous custard (which also appalled the Free French). But the warmth of their reception by most Britons, greeting them with cries of ‘Long live Poland!’, astonished them. Polish pilots, seen as dashing and heroic, found themselves mobbed and propositioned to an extraordinary degree by young British women achieving a degree of freedom for the first time. Language proved less of a problem on the dance-floor than in the air.

  The Polish pilots’ reputation for reckless bravery was misleading. In fact their casualty rates were lower than those of RAF pilots, partly because of their experience, but also because they were better at constantly searching the sky for ambushes by German fighters. They were certainly individualistic and showed contempt for the RAF’s outdated tactics of flying in tight formations of V-shaped ‘vics’ of three. It took time, and many unnecessary casualties, before the RAF began to copy the German system learned in the Spanish Civil War of flying in double pairs, known as ‘finger four’.

  By 10 July, there were forty Polish pilots in RAF Fighter Command squadrons, and the number mounted steadily as more and more of their men from France became qualified. By the time the Battle of Britain reached its climax, over 10 per cent of the fighter pilots in the south-east were Polish. On 13 July, the first Polish squadron was formed. Within a month, the British government relented, and agreed to Sikorski’s request for a Polish air force, with its own fighter and bomber squadrons, but under RAF command.

  On 31 July, Hitler summoned his generals to the Berghof above Berchtesgaden. He was still perplexed by Britain’s refusal to come to terms. Since there was little prospect of the United States entering the war for the foreseeable future, he sensed that Churchill was counting on the Soviet Union. This played a major part in his decision to go ahead with his greatest project of all, the destruction of ‘Jewish Bolshevism’ in the east. Only the defeat of Soviet power by a massive invasion would force Britain to concede, he reasoned. Thus Churchill’s determination in late May to fight on alone had far wider consequences than just deciding the fate of the British Isles.

  ‘With Russia smashed,’ Hitler told his commanders-in-chief, ‘Britain’s last hope would be shattered. Germany will then be master of Europe and the Balkans.’ This time, unlike the nervousness shown before the invasion of France, his generals showed remarkable resolution when faced with the prospect of attacking the Soviet Union. Without even a direct order from Hitler, Halder had ordered staff officers to examine outline plans.

  In the euphoria of victory over France and the total reversal of the humiliation of Versailles, the Wehrmacht commanders-in-chief hailed the Führer as ‘the first soldier of the Reich’, who would secure Germany’s future for all time. Two weeks later Hitler, privately cynical about the ease with which he could bribe his leading commanders with honours, medals and money, made a presentation of twelve field marshals’ batons to the conquerors of France. But before turning against the Soviet Union, which Hitler had said would be ‘child’s play’ after the defeat of France, he still felt obliged to deal with Britain to avoid war on two fronts. The OKW directive had instructed the Luftwaffe to concentrate on the destruction of the RAF, ‘its ground-support organization, and the British armaments industry’, as well ports and warships. Göring predicted that it would take less than a month. His pilots’ morale was high due to the victory over France and their numerical superiority. The Luftwaffe in France had 656 Messerschmitt 109 fighters, 168 Me 110 twin-engined fighters, 769 Dornier, Heinkel and Junkers 88 bombers, and 316 Ju 87 Stuka dive-bombers. Dowding had only 504 Hurricanes and Spitfires for the defence of the British Isles.

  Before the main onslaught took place in early August, the two Fliegerkorps in northern France concentrated on reconnaissance of RAF airfields. They mounted probing raids to provoke the British fighters into the sky and wear them down before the battle started, and attacked the coastal radar stations. The radar stations, combined with the Observer Corps and good communications from command centres, meant that the RAF did not have to waste flying time on air patrols over the Channel. At least in theory, squadrons could be scrambled with enough time to achieve altitude, yet late enough to save fuel and keep them in the air for the maximum amount of time. Fortunately for the British, the radar towers proved hard to hit, and even when damaged they were soon back in service.

  Dowding had held back the Spitfire squadrons during the fighting over France, except during the evacuation from Dunkirk. He now husbanded his forces, guessing what the German tactics signified. Dowding may have appeared aloof and sad after the death of his wife in 1920, but he was quietly passionate about his ‘dear fighter boys’ and inspired great loyalty in return. He had a good idea of what they were about to face. He also made sure that he had the right man commanding 11 Group, which defended London and the south-east of England. Air Marshal Keith Park was a New Zealander who had shot down twenty German aeroplanes in the previous war. Like Dowding, he was prepared to listen to his pilots and allow them to ignore the hide-bound tactics of pre-war doctrine and develop their own.

  In that momentous summer, Fighter Command took on the character of an international air force. Out of the 2,917 aircrew who served during the Battle of Britain, just 2,334 were British. The rest included 145 Poles, 126 New Zealanders, 98 Canadians, 88 Czechs, 33 Australians, 29 Belgians, 25 South Africans, 13 Frenchmen, 11 Americans, 10 Irishmen and several other nationalities.

  The first major clash took place before the official start of the German air offensive. On 24 July, Adolf Galland led a force of forty Me 109s and eighteen Dornier 17 bombers to attack a convoy in the Thames estuary. Spitfires from three squadrons rose to attack them. And although they shot down only two German aircraft, instead of the sixteen claimed, Galland was shaken by the determination of the outnumbered British pilots. He berated his own pilots after they returned for their reluctance to attack the Spitfires, and began to suspect that the battle ahead would not be as easy as the Reichsmarschall had supposed.

  With typical Nazi bombast, the German offensive was codenamed Adlerangriff (Eagle Attack), and Adlertag (Eagle Day) was set, after several postponements, for 13 August. After some confusion over weather forecasts, formations of German bombers and fighters took off. The largest group was to attack the naval base of Portsmouth, while others raided RAF airfields. Despite all their reconnaissance, Luftwaffe intelligence was faulty. They mostly attacked satellite fields or bases which did not belong to Fighter Command. As the sky cleared in the afternoon, radar posts on the south coast picked out a force of some 300 aircraft heading towards Southampton. Eighty fighters were scrambled, an unimaginable number in previous weeks. 609 Squadron managed to get in among a group of Stukas and shot down six of them.

  In total, the RAF fighters had shot down forty-seven aircraft, losing thirteen themselves and three pilots killed. But the German loss of aircrew was far greater, with eighty-nine killed or taken prisoner. The Channel now worked in the RAF’s favour. During the Battle for France, the pilots of damaged aircraft returning home had dreaded having to ditch, or crash-land, in the sea. Now the Germans faced this greater danger, as well as the certainty of being taken prisoner if they had to bale out over England.

  Göring, smarting from the disappointing result of Adlertag, launched an even bigger onslaught on 15 August, with 1,790 fighters and bombers attacking from Norway and Denmark as well as from northern France. The formations from the Fifth Luftflotte in Scandinavia lost nearly 20 per cent of their number, and they were not sent back into the battle because they had suffered such heavy losses. The Luftwaffe referred to that day as ‘Black Thursday’, but the RAF could hardly afford to be jubilant. Its own losses had not been light, and through sheer numerical superiority the Luftwaffe would continue to smash thro
ugh. The constant attacks on airfields also killed and wounded fitters, riggers, orderlies and even the drivers and plotters of the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force. On 18 August, 43 Squadron achieved a satisfactory revenge when its fighters swooped on to a force of Stukas dive-bombing a radar station. They accounted for eighteen of these vulnerable predators before their escorting Me 109s joined the fray.

  Fresh pilot officers arriving as reinforcements eagerly questioned those who had been in action. They were thrown into the routine. Woken before dawn with a cup of tea by their batman, they were driven out to dispersal where they had breakfast, and then they waited around as the sun came up. Unfortunately for Fighter Command, the weather during most of that August and September was perfect for the Luftwaffe, with clear blue skies.

  The waiting was the worst part. That was when pilots suffered from dry mouths and the metallic taste of fear. Then they would hear the dreaded sound of the field telephone’s cranking ring, and the cry of ‘Squadron scramble!’ They would run out to their aircraft, their parachutes thumping against their back. The ground crew would help them clamber into the cockpit, where they ran through the safety checks. When their Merlin engines had roared into life, chocks were hauled away and the pilots taxied their fighters into position for take-off; they had too much to think about to be scared, at least for the moment.

  Once airborne, with the engines straining as they gained altitude, the newcomers had to remember to keep looking all around. They soon realized that the more experienced pilots did not wear silk scarves just for affectation. With a constantly swivelling head, necks were rubbed raw by regulation collars and ties. It had been drummed into them to keep their ‘eyes skinned at all times’. Assuming they survived their first action, and a number did not, they returned to base to wait once more, eating corned-beef sandwiches washed down with mugs of tea while their planes were refuelled and rearmed. Most fell asleep immediately from exhaustion on the ground or in deckchairs.

  When back in the air again, the sector controllers would direct them towards a formation of ‘bandits’. A cry of ‘Tally ho!’ over the radio signified that a formation of black dots had been spotted by another member of the squadron. The pilot would switch on the reflector sight, and the tension mounted. The vital discipline was to keep fear under control, otherwise it would lead rapidly to your death.

  The priority was to break up the bombers before the umbrella of Me 109s could intervene. If several squadrons had been ‘vectored’ on to the enemy force, the faster Spitfires would take on the enemy fighters, while the Hurricanes tried to deal with the bombers. Within seconds the sky was a scene of chaos, with twisting, diving aircraft jockeying for position to ‘squeeze off’ a rapid burst of gunfire, while trying to remember to watch out behind. Obsessive concentration on your target gave an enemy fighter the chance to come in behind you without being spotted. Some new pilots, when fired on for the first time, felt paralysed. If they did not break out of their frozen state, they were done for.

  If the engine was hit, glycol or oil streamed back and covered the wind-screen. The greatest fear was of fire spreading back. The heat might make the cockpit hood jam, but once the pilot had forced it open and released his harness straps, he needed to roll his machine upside down so that he fell clear. Many were so dazed by the disorientating experience that they had to make a conscious effort to remember to pull the ripcord. If they had a chance to look around on the way down, they often found that the sky, which had been seemed so full of aircraft, was now suddenly deserted and they were all alone.

  Providing that they were not out over the Channel, RAF pilots at least knew that they were dropping on to home territory. The Poles and Czechs understood that, despite their uniforms, they might be mistaken for Germans by over-enthusiastic locals or members of the Home Guard. The parachute of one Polish pilot, Czesaw Tarkowski, caught in an oak tree. ‘People with pitchforks and staves ran up,’ he recorded. ‘One of them, armed with a shotgun, was screaming “Hände hoch!” “Fuck off,” I answered in my very best English. The lowering faces immediately brightened up. “He’s one of ours!” they shouted in unison.’ Another Pole landed one afternoon in the grounds of a very respectable lawn tennis club. He was signed in as a guest, given a racket, lent some white flannels and invited to take part in a match. His opponents were thrashed and left totally exhausted by the time an RAF vehicle came to collect him.

  The honest pilot would admit to ‘a savage, primitive exaltation’ when he saw the enemy plane he had hit going down. Polish pilots, told by the British that it was not done to shoot German pilots who baled out, resorted in some cases to flying over their parachute canopy instead so that it collapsed in the slipstream and their enemy plummeted to his death. Others felt a moment of compassion when reminded that they were killing or maiming a human being, rather than just destroying an aeroplane.

  The combination of exhaustion and fear built up dangerous levels of stress. Many suffered from terrible dreams each night. Inevitably some cracked under the strain. Almost everyone had ‘an attack of the jitters’ at some stage, but pushed themselves to continue. A number, however, turned away from combat, pretending they had engine trouble. After a couple of occurrences, this was noted. In official RAF parlance it was attributed to ‘lack of moral fibre’, and the pilot concerned transferred to menial duties.

  The vast majority of British fighter pilots were aged under twenty-two. They had no option but to grow up rapidly, even while the nicknames and public school boisterousness in the mess continued, to the astonishment of fellow pilots from other countries. But as Luftwaffe attacks on Britain mounted, with increasing civilian casualties, a mood of angry indignation developed.

  German fighter pilots were also suffering from stress and exhaustion. Operating from improvised and uneven airfields in the Pas de Calais, they suffered many accidents. The Me 109 was an excellent aircraft for experienced pilots, but for those rushed forward from flying school, it proved a tough beast to master. Unlike Dowding, who circulated his squadrons to make sure that they had a rest in a quiet area, Göring was pitiless towards his aircrews, whose morale began to suffer from mounting losses. The bomber squadrons complained that the Me 109s were turning back, leaving them exposed, but this was because the fighters simply did not have the fuel reserves to remain over England for more than thirty minutes, and even less if involved in heavy dogfights.

  Pilots of the Me 110 twin-engined fighters were meanwhile depressed by their losses and wanted Me 109s to escort them. British pilots with steel nerves had discovered that a head-on attack was the best way to deal with them. And even a furious Göring was forced to withdraw the Stuka dive-bombers from major operations after the massacre on 18 August. Yet the Reichsmarschall, spurred on by hopelessly optimistic assessments from his chief intelligence officer, was certain that the RAF was about to collapse. He ordered an intensification of attacks on airfields. His own pilots, however, became dejected at being told constantly that the RAF was at its last gasp when they met as furious a response on every sortie.

  Dowding had foreseen this battle of attrition, and the mounting damage to airfields was a major concern. Although the RAF downed more German planes than it lost on almost every single day, it was operating from a much smaller base. An impressive increase in fighter production had removed one worry, but pilot losses remained Dowding’s greatest anxiety. His men were so tired that they were falling asleep at meals and even in the middle of a conversation. To reduce casualties, fighter squadrons were ordered not to pursue German raiders over the Channel and not to react to strafing attacks by small groups of Messerschmitts.

  Fighter Command was also affected by a dispute over tactics. Air Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory, the commander of 10 Group, north of London, favoured the ‘big wing’ approach, concentrating numerous squadrons. This had first been advocated by Wing Commander Douglas Bader, a courageous but obstinate officer, famous for having made his way back as a fighter pilot after losing both his legs in a pre-war cras
h. But both Keith Park and Dowding were deeply unhappy about the ‘big wing’ innovation. By the time 10 Group had assembled one of these formations in the air, the German raiders had usually left.

  On the night of 24 August, a force of more than a hundred German bombers overflew their targets and bombed eastern and central London by mistake. This provoked Churchill into ordering a string of retaliatory bombing raids on Germany. The consequences were to be grave for Londoners, but they also contributed to Göring’s fatal decision later to switch targets away from airfields. This saved RAF Fighter Command at a crucial stage of the battle.

  Under pressure from Göring, German attacks intensified even more at the end of August and during the first week of September. On one day alone, Fighter Command lost forty aircraft, with nine pilots dead and eighteen seriously wounded. Everyone was under intense strain, but the knowledge that the battle was literally a fight to the finish and that Fighter Command was inflicting heavier losses on the Luftwaffe steeled the pilots’ resolve.

  On the afternoon of 7 September, with Göring watching from the cliffs of the Pas de Calais, the Luftwaffe sent over a thousand aircraft in a massive attack. Fighter Command scrambled eleven squadrons of fighters. All over Kent, farmworkers, Land Girls and villagers strained their eyes watching the vapour trails as the battle developed. It was impossible to distinguish which side fighters belonged to, but every time a bomber came down belching smoke, there was a cheer. Most of the bomber squadrons were headed for the docks in London. This was Hitler’s retaliation for Bomber Command’s attacks on Germany. The smoke from the fierce fires caused by incendiaries guided the following waves of bombers to the target area. London, with over 300 civilians dead and 1,300 injured, suffered the first of many heavy blows. But Göring’s belief that Fighter Command was spent, and the decision to attack cities instead, mostly at night, meant that the Luftwaffe had failed to win the battle.