Big Week

by James Holland

  Only at the start of 1943, however, was much thought given to creating a proper, fully coordinated defence system. The German way of war was to attack with overwhelming and concentrated force and to win the battle – and war – in a very short time. This had evolved over the centuries and stemmed from Germany’s – and, before it, Prussia’s – geographical location in the heart of Europe and its lack of natural resources. Wars needed to be quick out of necessity. This meant front-loading the war effort into all-out attack. Fighting a war defensively had not even been considered, and during the early victories the Luftwaffe had been the spearhead of that offensive mindset. It had simply not occurred to anyone to create an air defence system. Nor had the Luftwaffe begun the war with any kind of ground control such as had been developed by the RAF. Individual squadrons – Staffeln – could communicate with one another once airborne, but otherwise, when in the air, bombers and fighters were on their own.

  By early 1943 the situation was very different, and what air defence system there was had been developed piecemeal and initially in response to the night raids by the RAF. Oberst Josef Kammhuber had established a night-fighter group in 1940. By the following summer, this had become an air corps, XII Fliegerkorps, and Kammhuber had been promoted to general and made Inspector General of Night-fighters. He had then developed a defensive line in which a system of controlled sectors, equipped with radar and searchlights, were each linked to a night-fighter unit. Each sector was known as a Himmelbett zone, an area of around 20 miles by 15 that included a Freya and later two Würzburg radars. Both of these were highly sophisticated, 360-degree rotating sets that put early British radar into the pale. Also in each Himmelbett zone were a ‘master’ radar-guided searchlight, a number of manually controlled searchlights and two night-fighters, one primary and one back-up. If an enemy bomber crossed into the range of the radars, one set tracked it while the other followed the movement of the night-fighter patrolling that particular zone. The zone’s controller then radioed interception vectors to the night-fighter and, once the attacker was close, his target was lit up by searchlights.

  The RAF’s Thousand Bomber Raids in the summer of 1942, however, had highlighted how inadequate the fledgling air defence measures were. The Himmelbett system and the so-called Kammhuber Line had worked because a night-fighter could be vectored – directed – to a lone enemy bomber in any one zone at a time. However, the British had realized that if bombers crossed over into enemy-held Europe using the same route and in quick succession – in a ‘stream’ – then the Himmelbett system would be overwhelmed. So it had proved, and the bomber stream had become the preferred method of British night-time bombing. Nor had the increase in anti-aircraft guns been enough to stop the British bombers. More was needed: more night-fighters, more day-fighters, more guns, better and more sophisticated radar, plus a fully coordinated system that brought these various cogs of defence together.

  This had been gradually implemented throughout 1943, with Milch, Galland, Kammhuber and another pioneer, Generaloberst Hubert Weise, overseeing much of the development and doing so without much support from General Hans Jeschonnek, the Luftwaffe Chief of Staff – who, like Hitler, was obsessed with offensive action – and with little or no input from Göring. Jeschonnek’s management of air defence was ‘dragging’ and suggestions for streamlining and coordinating air defence ‘remained a mystery to him.’16 Ultimately, this attitude cost him his life, even though for much of the time it had chimed with that of the Führer; such were the contradictions of the Nazi regime. It was easy for Göring to blame his Chief of Staff for the catastrophe of Hamburg – after all, it couldn’t possibly have been the Reichsmarschall’s fault – and the subsequent raids on Schweinfurt, Regensburg and Peenemünde sealed his fate. The day after those latter raids, 18 August 1943, Jeschonnek shot himself.

  Kammhuber, too, fell from favour after Hamburg – his night-fighters had failed to stop the enemy. His solution was to demand more night-fighter boxes in his Himmelbett system. In fact, he planned on creating a further 102 of them in north-eastern, central and southern Germany, as well as in Italy, Austria and along the Channel coast. That, though, required more radar, more radar stations, more operations rooms and more staff, at a time when manpower was in as short supply as any other asset. Just to keep one night-fighter in the air required 116 support personnel.

  However, since Hamburg a new band of night-fighters had come very much to the fore. The Wilde Sau – ‘Wild Boar’ – were three brand-new Geschwader of fighter aircraft under the command of 30-year-old Major Hans-Joachim ‘Hajo’ Herrmann. An extremely bright, single-minded Luftwaffe officer, with stern Aryan good looks and piercing pale blue eyes, Herrmann had been one of the first to join the fledgling Luftwaffe in the 1930s and had become a bomber pilot. Since then, he had served with the Condor Legion in Spain, over Poland, during the campaign in the west against France and the Low Countries, and then throughout the Battle of Britain. By mid-October 1940, when he had won the Knight’s Cross, he had already flown nearly a hundred bomber sorties. Later, he had served in the Mediterranean against Malta and Greece, and managed to blow up a British ammunition ship in harbour in Piraeus. In turn, it had destroyed ten other ships, which had taken with them 41,000 tons of supplies and, in so doing, had effectively sealed Britain’s fate in Greece. He had flown over the Eastern Front and within the Arctic Circle. Few men had flown as many bomber missions in as many different theatres as Hajo Herrmann.

  However, since July 1942 Herrmann had been serving as a staff officer with Gruppe T of the Luftwaffe General Staff, based in Berlin. Gruppe T was the tactical and technical section and Herrmann was placed on the Bomber desk. He had soon realized what Galland and Milch had also understood: that the Luftwaffe was no longer really capable of sustained offensive action and the sheer numbers of aircraft being produced in Britain alone, never mind the USA, were such that the Luftwaffe had no realistic means of competing. And rather than continue to make lots of different types of aircraft, Herrmann had recognized that it made more sense to build just fighters – fighters that could be used day or night and could perform a variety of roles.

  The suggestions he had put forward to this effect had got him nowhere, but he was determined that at the very least single-engine fighters could be used both day and night. One of the problems was that day-fighter pilots were not taught night flying – that is, to fly blind using only instruments. However, he reckoned a cadre could be brought in and others trained up – it would be easier, for example, to train bomber pilots to become fighters as they already knew about blind flying. These Wilde Sau night-fighters would be given information about the likely course of enemy bombers and the target to which they were headed. They would then take off and, without ground guidance or on-board radar, would use searchlights to light up their target and hit the bombers over it.

  Kammhuber had been against Herrmann’s plan, but Galland had been all for giving it a try and had supported him by providing the aircraft from his precious day-fighter force. On the night of 3/4 July 1943, Herrmann had led twelve fighters against a large raid on Cologne and Mülheim. Blind flying initially, they then used the fires and flares caused by the bombers and the searchlights from the flak units below, and shot down sixteen of the thirty bombers destroyed that night. It had been a resounding success. It was estimated that it took 2,000 anti-aircraft shells to bring down one bomber, so Herrmann’s Wilde Sau were certainly an improvement in terms of efficiency.

  The following morning, while sleeping off his night’s antics, Herrmann had been woken with the words, ‘The Reichsmarschall is on the line.’17 He was to fly to Berchtesgaden to see Göring and Jeschonnek right away. When he had eventually got to Hitler’s favourite Alpine part of the Reich, Jeschonnek had told him to form a new special single-engine night-fighter Geschwader, JG300. They were to be known as the ‘Wild Boars’. Fired with enthusiasm, Herrmann had got on with training up and creating his new special night-fighter group right away. It was Galland
, however, who had helped him lick his Wilde Sau into shape, ordering staff officers like Edu Neumann, a legendary ace and fighter leader, to teach them the principles of fighter tactics.

  After the first attack on Hamburg, Göring had rung Herrmann personally. ‘How near to being operational are you?’18 he had asked. Mid-September at the earliest, Herrmann had replied. In a calm but insistent voice, Göring told him he would be ready that night with as strong a force as possible. As a result, Herrmann and his fledgling force had found themselves flying over the burning city and had shot down some twenty RAF bombers.

  At the time, Herrmann had still been a major. At a conference immediately after the Hamburg raids, however, and at which General Kammhuber was present, the Reichsmarschall had humiliated the Inspector General of Night-fighters by giving Herrmann command of XII Jagdkorps. ‘Seldom in the history of the war,’ noted Herrmann, ‘can a soldier have received an order such as that: a major was to give orders to the General in Command.’19

  Such was the unpredictable nature of Göring’s command. However, Herrmann, like Galland, was young, dynamic, full of energy and fire, and had the intelligence and determination to match. He had thrown himself into this new role and his Wilde Sau continued to do well. By the end of September, Göring had ordered two more Wild Boar wings, JG301 and JG302; by the time they were all fully operational, they would amount to around a hundred. Because they were using single-engine day-fighters, with greater speed and manoeuvrability than twin-engine night-fighters, if intelligence was able to pick up a likely target early enough, Herrmann’s Wilde Sau could be swirling over it, no matter where it was in the Reich, by the time the British bombers reached it.

  Ironically, the introduction of Window had forced the Luftwaffe to break out of the rather rigid Himmelbett system. New formations of more traditional twin-engine night-fighters were now starting to attack retreating bomber streams in packs rather than singly and strictly in their own box as before. These were called Zahme Sau – ‘Tame Boars’. The day-fighters were also better organized for defence; Galland had brought his fighters into newly created Jagddivisionen – fighter divisions – and these had then been formed into two new Jagdkorps: I Fighter Corps was created on 15 October, the day after Schweinfurt II, under the command of Generalleutnant Josef ‘Beppo’ Schmid, absorbing Kammhuber’s old XII Fliegerkorps in the process. Meanwhile, II Fighter Corps was also formed in France.

  By October, then, and despite the innumerable obstacles thrown in the way, increasing numbers of day- and night-fighters were operating in a highly coordinated manner over a wide area, and now supported by an early-warning system that was the most sophisticated in the world – none of which augured well for the Allies at this moment of crisis in their strategic bombing campaign.

  As with the British, several features of the German early-warning system, when brought together, added up to more than the sum of their individual parts. The Horchdienst – the Radar and Radio Listening Service – more often than not picked up radio chatter from bombers forming up and gave the first indication of an impending raid. The Flugmeldedienst – the Aircraft Warning Service – used radar stations of dramatically increased sophistication. By the autumn of 1943, the Germans were using a ‘giant’ Würzburg as well as an improved version of Freya, known as ‘Mammut’. Both had larger reflectors that enabled substantially increased range. A further new radar, the Wassermann, was the finest early-warning radar yet designed and was fully rotational with a range of 150 miles in any direction. The only area where the Germans lagged was with on-board radars. While the British had developed the cavity magnetron, which enabled them to build radar sets small enough to put on board an aircraft or ship, the best on-board radar the Germans had developed was the Lichtenstein, which had a maximum range of 2 miles and a minimum of 200 yards, but which required huge aerials and reflectors to be added on to the nose of the aircraft, acting like an air brake and badly affected handling.

  In addition to the Horchdienst and the radar network, the Flugwache – the Ground Observer Service – covered every inch of the sky and its members reported their visual assessments of numbers and height with an accuracy that could not be matched by any radar reading. On top of these purely Luftwaffe systems were four further watch groups: the Civilian Aircraft Warning Service, the Railway Aircraft Warning Service, the Aircraft Warning Service of the army anti-aircraft artillery, and the Navy Warning Service, which used shipborne and coastal radars.

  Their collected information was fed to the control part of the system, which was managed by Aircraft Warning Regiments and Air Communications and Control Regiments, with three battalions each, which were placed throughout the Reich and the occupied territories. Initially, Kammhuber’s XII Fliegerkorps HQ at Deelen in Holland had housed the principal operations and control room, but by October 1943 each fighter division set up by Galland had its own. Each contained large vertical plotting screens, some even on frosted glass and with lights illuminating progress, with details of position, course and number of enemy aircraft. To the right of the glass screen was a board on which were listed the various crews, aircraft numbers and take-off and landing times. There were plotters, meteorologists, people to collate information from the Horchdienst and radar stations, as well as ground controllers and an overall commander. Observers fed reports to First Order Radar Stations, which would then combine their visual and radar data before forwarding it on to the fighter division control centres. All other component information would be sent directly to the control rooms, where this collected information would be synthesized and given to the ground controllers. It would be updated constantly and the movement of aircraft mapped on the plotting screens.

  Ground controllers would then speak directly to the fighter units, warning them of the nature of the threat, what weather to expect, and helping them vector towards the enemy. Updates on what was happening during the course of an air battle were also channelled to the pilots. In addition, there was a system for distinguishing friendly and enemy aircraft from one another.

  Despite the ad hoc nature with which it had evolved, this newly developed air defence system meant that, for the most part, the Luftwaffe always knew when, where and in what numbers the Allies were likely to attack. What’s more, the defenders had the home advantage, just as the RAF had had over southern England during the Battle of Britain. Allied aircrew who bailed out over Nazi-occupied Europe usually remained prisoners of the Germans for the rest of the war, while every time Heinz Knoke was shot down, for example, assuming he was fit and well, he could take to the skies again almost immediately.

  By October 1943, there was no doubt that the Luftwaffe was in serious trouble, but despite the interference of Hitler and the vacillations of Göring, the Reich was being defended by increasing numbers of fighters, both day and night, organized by a highly efficient air defence system. It remained, over home soil, an incredibly tough nut to crack.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Nub of the Matter

  DESPITE THE SUCCESSES of Hamburg and Kassel, and the continued almost nightly pounding of German cities, crisis was looming for the British as well as for the American strategic bombing campaign against Germany. The difference was that, while the Americans recognized that they were failing in their aims, the man in charge of RAF Bomber Command remained utterly convinced that his strategy was the right one.

  Air Marshal Sir Arthur Harris was not known for suffering fools. Although quite jovial and good company out of hours, once he arrived at Bomber Command HQ at High Wycombe he became focused, gruff and altogether more taciturn. Bull-faced, with piercing pale eyes, greying, gingery hair and a trim moustache, he was prepared to be utterly ruthless in his pursuit of strategic bombing: ruthless with other commands or other parts of the RAF that challenged his own command for resources; ruthless with anyone who crossed him; and ruthless most of all with the Germans, whether they be servicemen, civilians, factory workers, women or children. As far as Harris was concerned, any resources being use
d to further the German war effort – factories, supplies or manpower – were legitimate targets for attack. That meant all cities in Germany, as every one was involved in war work of some kind, whether it be the major industrial centres such as Essen, home to the Krupp works, which made tanks and many other weapons, or Dresden, known throughout Europe for the production of fine porcelain, but also an urban centre with no fewer than 127 separate factories and businesses conducting war work. All were fair game.

  The trouble was, by the autumn of 1943, smashing cities was not enough in itself. Harris was still wedded to the belief that area bombing alone could foreshorten the war, but even with improved accuracy and with increasingly sophisticated navigational aids and other scientific instruments, area bombing was still not accurate enough. The morale of the German people was certainly on the wane; most German citizens wanted the war to end and feared deeply for the future. No one wanted their home to be destroyed. But bombing in itself, even the destruction of Hamburg, had not brought the German population to the point of collapse. Rather, if anything, the grip of the Nazi leadership was even tighter than it had been before. As had been spelled out in February by Josef Goebbels, the Propaganda Minister, Germany was now embroiled in ‘total’ war; the choice for Germans after the recent reverses was clear: keep fighting or face Armageddon. It was negative propaganda, but very effective propaganda all the same.