JET LAG!

by Ryan Clifford

  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 commit
ted 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.

  The Admiral should have immediately reported his findings to the appropriate authorities, but instead he sat on it!

  The intelligence supremo had never wanted this war, and had always predicted defeat if Germany involved the other major powers in Europe. He wanted the invasion of Britain to fail, so that Germany could consolidate its power instead of stretching it's resources too thinly, and condemning itself to inevitable failure.

  So, he ‘sat on the report’ – for another week. It was a risk – but he was taking enough of those already.

  44

  Middle Fleckney

  10 August 1940

  There was more bad news for Goering as a result of the Canberra sortie which found the Me262 base in Holland. Further analysis of the excellent quality photography picked out eleven site locations for the German ‘Freya’ early-warning radar. This excellent equipment worked out to two hundred kilometres and was primarily deployed to defend the western borders of the ‘Fatherland’. However, it was so good that additional units were set up on the Atlantic coast.

  The ECM Canberra had had some success jamming the radar with electronic noise. This overwhelmed the radar equipment and prevented the detection of British aircraft. Additionally, 1940s conventional British aircraft flying with other specialised apparatus could mimic large numbers of aircraft, and were able to divert the Luftwaffe crews to the wrong targets.

  However, it would be far more advantageous in the longer term to destroy the radars, which were consistently and accurately steering Nazi fighters onto Spitfires and Hurricanes taking off to meet the bombers heading towards their airfields.

  So a raid was set up to put Freya out of operation on the Atlantic coast. This would give the 1940s RAF precious breathing space – at least until the Germans replaced the damaged equipment.

  It would be a night sortie flown at around 0300 hours to elicit as much surprise as possible. All four of the Interdictor Strike Tornados would be involved, taking responsibility for four Freya units each, allowing for overlap and providing additional opportunities to destroy the targets. A Recce jet would sweep down the entire line five minutes behind the first attack, running from south to north. The ECM Canberra would patrol at high level and the two ADV fighters would provide top cover against potential Nazi night-fighters.

  The aircrews and groundcrews spent all day preparing the Tornados, loading them with bombs, missiles and rounds for their two Oerlikon guns. Even the Recce jet was armed with air-to-ground missiles – why not?

  It was a good plan and should send another shockwave to Berlin and inevitably delay any invasion schedule – which was the primary aim.

  They took off at 0230 and sped to their targets which lay near to Ault in France in the south, all the way to Vlieland in Holland in the north. The ECM listened out at thirty-thousand feet, jamming any German frequencies in use. The two ADV fighters sat at ten-thousand feet on Combat Air Patrol, waiting for any night-fighters to get airborne. This should allow them ample time to descend and intercept any threat.

  The ground attack bombers had excellent Terrain Following Radar (TFR), which allowed them to hug the surface of the earth as low as one hundred feet above ground level, although two hundred and fifty feet was low enough for this mission.

  The Freya steel lattice stood out like ‘dogs balls’ on the internal Tornado radar and at 3am in the morning, there was little resistance from the ground defences – most, except for the conscripted sentries, were fast asleep, and many of them were tired and apathetic.

  The bombers swept in, strafed, bombed and rocketed each target, leaving behind a string of mangled steel and burning buildings. Five of the radars received double doses and by 0320, all four aircraft were climbing away and back to Middle Fleckney.

  The Recce Tornado’s task was a little stiffer. It had to complete the entire run at four hundred and eighty knots, over two hundred and seventy miles, which took just over thirty-four minutes. So, after pooping off their last air-to-ground missile, they turned to port and started the climb for home, trailing their colleagues in the bombers by twenty minutes. The ECM was still on station, as was one of the ADVs. The first one had followed the bombers home – just in case.

  As the Recce jet climbed through twenty-thousand feet, the ECM picked up some unusual chatter and the ADV used its look-down radar to pick up two bogies closing on the Recce Tornado.

  ‘Purple Five to Purple Nine – Buster! You have two fast moving contacts closing in your six-o’clock.’

  ‘Buster’ was the codeword instructing the Recce pilot to go to maximum throttle.

  ‘Roger, Purple Five – buster acknowledged, Can you assist?’

  The pilot of Purple Nine was relying on his Air Defence colleague to save his arse.

  ‘I’ll do my best, Nine. Suggest you climb to above thirty thousand, where you should be above their capabilities.’

  ‘Roger Five – wilco.’

  The Recce jet zoomed to thirty plus thousand as the ADV switched its concentration to the two bandits, which now lay thirty miles ahead and five thousand feet below. The Me 262s could go no higher, but would still be a threat as the Recce crew descended towards Middle Fleckney – so they would have to try and destroy them.

  Although they had no radar missiles – only the Infra-red Aim-9, in the end it was another turkey-shoot.

  The ADV slipped in behind the Me 262s and after closing to about four kilometres, unseen and unheard, fired its infra-red AIM-9 missiles in turn. The flash of the two explosions told their own story and the two ‘Blaue-Tod’ fell burning into the North Sea.

  ‘Fox-Two,’ called the ADV pilot. ‘See you on the ground.’

  A much relieved Recce navigator replied:

  ‘Thanks mate, the beers are on us!’

  All aircraft were safely tucked away in the hangar by 0500 and the entire team spent the next hour quaffing beers and back-slapping whilst the ‘photogs’ and PIs examined the film.

  Eleven Freya radars had been destroyed and two Me 262s shot down.

  It was their best raid yet and when Churchill was informed at 0730, he dispatched DFCs, DSOs, MBEs, BEMs and a CBE for the AVM. Every member of the 1992 force received a decoration for their contribution and valour – as did many of the attached 1940s team.

  It was a very good day at Middle Fleckney.

  However, it was also the highpoint of the detachment. Things would not go so well in the future.

  The Luftwaffe had some surprises in store.

  45

  Middle Fleckney

  11 August 1940

  Jim Charles sat in the office of Air Vice Marshal Morrissey, nervously fingering the British Empire Medal recently awarded by Winston Churchill. The Meteorological expert had not only been advising his colleagues from 1940 in some of the more advanced methods of predicting the weather, but had also been advising 1940s aircrew on how to avoid producing condensation trails when at high level.

  Contrails - short for ‘condensation trails’ or ‘vapour trails’ are long, thin artificial (man-made) clouds that sometimes form behind aircraft. Their formation is most often triggered by the water vapour in the exhaust of aircraft engines, but can also be triggered by the changes in air pressure in wingtip vortices or in the air over the entire wing surface. Like all clouds, contrails are made of water, in the form of a cloud of billions of liquid droplets or ice crystals.

  Depending on the temperature and humidity at the altitude the contrail forms, they may be visible for only a few seconds or minutes, or may pe
rsist for hours and spread to be several miles wide. The resulting clouds may resemble cirrus, cirrocumulus, or cirrostratus, and are sometimes called cirrus aviaticus. The particles in the aircraft's exhaust act as this trigger, causing the trapped vapour to rapidly condense. Exhaust contrails rarely occur below twenty-six thousand feet, and only if the temperature there is below minus forty degrees centigrade, and if the relative humidity is over sixty percent. Military aircraft usually take precautions to avoid contrails which greatly enhance visual detection ranges, and will choose their altitude very carefully if in a combat zone.

  Jim Charles advised fighter pilots on this subject and on the benefits of flying below the condensation layer – it didn’t matter for the Canberras and modern ADV fighters as they could usually get well above forty thousand feet, where contrails usually didn’t occur. Met men in 1940 didn’t fully understand the science regarding the Troposphere and Tropopause, so Jim gave detailed instruction.