Her student days over, Margarete had decided to do something useful and joined the Red Cross at their office on the Berlinerstrasse, near where she was now living with her mother in Charlottenburg. Her own father had died when she was ten and her stepfather, an officer in the navy, was away at war, as was her younger brother, Dieter, now in the army and serving on the Eastern Front. Her mother was also helping out as a railway station nurse, so the two of them had taken to cycling through the ruins to their work.
The days took on a regular pattern. Up early after little sleep. Quickly dress. Feel hungry – rationing in Berlin was severe – and eat some Muckefuck, as it was known – rough, almost ersatz bread – with ‘IG Farben’ jam. As they cycled to work they would see what had been destroyed the previous night. At the main railway station she, her mother and other Red Cross nurses would meet the trains and do what they could to help the wounded, the frightened and the displaced. Often, the best they could offer was comfort and a hot drink. Berlin had become a miserable place – a city where everyone was living on the front line.
Certainly, the accumulative carnage in Berlin was on an incredible scale and already far out of all proportion to anything that had befallen London. The raid on 16/17 December alone caused considerable damage to the Reichsbahn, the German railway system, and to rolling stock. Large numbers of Berliners were deserting the city, so the strain on the railway was proving increasingly debilitating, as Margarete and her mother were witnessing first hand. Because of the shortage of oil and because Germany had never had the motor transport to rival Britain or the USA, they were heavily over-reliant on their railway. This attack alone caused a hold-up of six days to a thousand wagons headed for the Eastern Front. Successful military operations depended on knowing what supplies were arriving and when. The troops at the front were increasingly finding themselves hampered by shortage of vital supplies.
On the other hand, Berlin accounted for only 8 per cent of Germany’s total industrial output. While some 40 per cent of the country’s electronic industry was based in the capital, it was well dispersed. And unlike an older city such as Hamburg, Berlin generally had wider streets and far fewer wooden buildings. There had been no firestorm in Berlin.
Harris was doggedly staying on the course he had set for his force, but it was becoming ever more apparent that the Battle of Berlin, as Harris called it, was falling some way short of his initial aims. Germany was not about to collapse and, despite the streets of Berlin steadily filling with rubble, the returns on this huge bombing offensive against the German capital were diminishing, while more and more crews were being lost in the effort. The defences all across the Reich, but especially over Berlin, were stiffening. The number of anti-aircraft guns had doubled since the start of 1943. By December, 3,463 flak batteries were operating in the defence of the Reich, most of them around the key centres. Since the start of the year, heavy gun batteries – 88mm, 105mm and 128mm guns – had risen from 1,578 to 2,236, and medium and light batteries from 1,253 to 1,586. There were also a number of Gerät 50s – 149.1mm guns. The number of guns per battery was also rising: from four to six in a heavy battery, then increased to eight and sometimes more. As many as 15,000 heavy flak guns now defended Germany, with as many as 1,000 in and around Berlin. On top of the flak towers were twin 128mm guns that could fire a 26kg shell 34,000 feet vertically into the air at a velocity of just under 3,000 feet per second and at a rate of up to 14 rounds per minute. German night-fighters circled about as well: Hajo Herrmann’s Wilde Sau and those of the Zahme Sau, the ordinary units like those of Wim Johnen. It was no wonder Bomber Command’s casualties were mounting. In ten raids on Berlin from November up to the night of 2/3 January, Bomber Command had lost 239 aircraft. That amounted to more than 25 per cent of the daily availability.
By the end of the first week of January 1944, Harris’s earlier claim that the cross-Channel invasion would not be needed was starting to look hollow, which was all the more reason why POINTBLANK, aimed at defeating the Luftwaffe, was so increasingly, pressingly, important. Time, that most precious commodity, was running short.
CHAPTER 14
Spaatz and Doolittle Take Charge
ON 27 DECEMBER, General Hap Arnold had sent a missive from Washington DC to the commanding generals of the Eighth and Fifteenth Air Forces. It was brief and to the point and made five key points:
a) Aircraft factories in this country are turning out large quantities of airplanes, engines and accessories.1
b) Our training establishments are operating twenty-four hours per day, seven days per week, training crews.
c) We are now furnishing fully all the aircraft and crews to take care of your attrition.
d) It is a conceded fact that OVERLORD and ANVIL [the planned invasion of southern France] will not be possible unless the German Air Force is destroyed.
e) Therefore, my personal message to you – this is a MUST – is to, “Destroy the Enemy Air Force wherever you find them, in the air, on the ground and in the factories.”
As a message, it was unequivocal: he had given them the tools and now they should attack with ruthless determination, no matter the cost, because there were more crews and aircraft on their way and the stakes couldn’t possibly be higher.
On Wednesday, 29 December, General Tooey Spaatz arrived in London, a place with which he was now very familiar, to take up his new command at a pivotal moment in the fortunes of the US Army Air Forces. From the date of the Eighth’s first mission on 17 August 1942 to the end of 1943, they had lost 1,013 aircraft and around 10,000 aircrew. A further 174 aircraft had been so badly shot to pieces they had been scrapped and 1,008 on top of that had been sufficiently damaged to be withdrawn from the battle for repair. Another 5,932 had suffered damage of varying lesser severity. On the other hand, the flow of aircraft was now reaching England uninterrupted. The U-boat menace had been largely eradicated, ensuring the smooth passage of shipping across the Atlantic. American factories, only just starting to get into gear in 1942, were now operating at full steam, while the once tiny Army Air Corps had now grown into the vast Army Air Forces, with huge numbers of training schools and airfields across the USA. At the end of November, Eaker had been able to dispatch 633 bombers; by 13 December – when Jimmy Stewart and Robbie Robinson had flown their first missions – 710 bombers had been taking off. There were now 26 bomb groups and 12 fighter groups operating from England alone. That amounted to 4,242 combat aircraft, a vast total and more than the Luftwaffe had ever been able to concentrate into one theatre. Within another six weeks, Spaatz would have a further 12 heavy bomber and 4 fighter groups in Italy as well.
One of Portal’s and General Marshall’s concerns over the establishment of USSTAF was that it would absorb extra layers of staff and become too unwieldy, but Spaatz simply moved into Eighth Air Force’s HQ at Bushy Park in south-west London, the same headquarters he had first established in 1942, promptly abolished it, then absorbed most of the personnel into his new headquarters and sent what was left to VIII Bomber Command HQ at Wycombe Abbey. This then became Doolittle’s new HQ for Eighth Air Force. VIII Bomber Command simply stayed where it was, working under and alongside Doolittle’s staff. A major new headquarters had thus been neatly and cannily established without any extra buildings or staff whatsoever. At the same time, Spaatz and Walter Bedell Smith, Eisenhower’s Chief of Staff, agreed to locate the new Supreme Headquarters at Bushy Park too, which would not only ensure close collaboration between air and land operations, but give Spaatz unbridled access to the new Supreme Allied Commander.
There was a palpable feeling of the new year heralding a new dawn and a fresh sense of purpose, one that Spaatz was determined to put into practice. Eaker might have had fewer aircraft to play with, and for much of the time no H2X – which was a development of the British H2S, but used a different band frequency – or many long-range fighters, but Spaatz wanted to inject a far more aggressive approach into the strategic air campaign. Prescribed doctrine dictated tha
t in the Eighth the main role of fighters was to escort the bombers. Spaatz wanted that defensive mindset thrown out. ‘It is my belief that we do not get sufficient attrition by hitting fighter factories,’ he told staff at the Eighth’s War Room, ‘therefore we must place emphasis on airdromes and knocking them down in the air.2 Our mission is destroying the German Air Force.’
On Wednesday, 5 January, General Jimmy Doolittle flew from North Africa to England and two days later took command of the Eighth, moving himself into Wycombe Abbey. Among his first duties was to pay his respects to some of the senior British figures alongside whom he would be working. An appointment was made to see King George VI at Buckingham Palace. At the allocated hour, Doolittle arrived and was given a protocol briefing. Never, he was told, speak to the King first – he was to wait to be spoken to. On entering, the King silently motioned to him to sit, but then stony silence followed. Eventually, thinking he had to say something, Doolittle cleared his throat and mentioned how glad he was to be in England and how he intended to ensure that the excellent relationship between both nations would continue under his command. The King eyed him and then said, ‘We’re certainly sorry to lose Eaker.’3
He didn’t get much further with Air Marshal Harris. After presenting himself at Bomber Command HQ, he was ushered into Harris’s office, where he saluted smartly. Harris motioned to him to sit down, then, without looking up, continued shuffling some papers. Eventually, they exchanged some brief pleasantries and Doolittle left. ‘The British,’ he noted, ‘probably since the Middle Ages, have been suspicious of outsiders until they prove themselves loyal to the Crown.’4 He soon discovered British intelligence had planted an officer at his headquarters who was to report anything that might be worthy of putting into a dossier, so Doolittle started making generally positive and encouraging remarks in a voluble way. He also sent one of his own intelligence men to try to get a copy of the dossier and then report back, which he duly did. Fortunately, it contained nothing to worry him.
As Doolittle wrote in a letter to his old friend General George Patton, he was keenly aware that ‘miracles are confidently expected.’5 His first task was to learn the mood and thoughts of those carrying the war to Germany and so he made a point of visiting every wing and group in his command, and of holding meetings with his commanders in which he asked them for their thoughts and suggestions. These he then brought back for discussion with his own staff. It was clear to him, just as Spaatz had intimated, that new tactics were needed. He was also aware, as was Spaatz, that the fighters, rather than the bombers, held the key to destroying the Luftwaffe. In many ways, he was fortunate. He was taking over at a time when a lot of the shortcomings facing Eaker had been resolved. Still only one group of Mustangs was available, but there was another of twin-engine P-38s and more and bigger drop tanks. Thunderbolts now had a theoretical range of over 400 miles; P-38s could manage 850; Mustangs, with fuselage tanks and 150-gallon ‘torpedo’ drop tanks, could, theoretically fly up to 1,400 miles. As Spaatz made crystal clear in his operational directive to Doolittle, the key was to destroy German fighter aircraft in the air and on the ground.
Doolittle thought the best strategy was not to hug protectively close to the bombers but to go after the enemy aggressively. ‘Fighter aircraft are designed to go after enemy fighters,’ he noted.6 ‘Fighter pilots are usually pugnacious individuals by nature and trained to be aggressive in the air. Their machines are specifically designed for offensive action.’ He believed his fighters should be told to hunt out and attack the enemy before they reached the bombers.
In this he was unquestionably right. Hugging the bombers had been catastrophic to the Luftwaffe during the Battle of Britain because it had deprived them of the twin advantages of speed and choice of angle of attack. By actively hunting for the enemy, American fighters would be able to climb high, spot them, then, after manoeuvring so that the sun was behind them, dive down at full speed and with the chance of surprise.
When Doolittle visited Major-General Bill Kepner, the commander of VIII Fighter Command, he spotted a sign on the wall of his office that said, ‘The first duty of the Eighth Air Force fighter is to bring the bombers back alive.’7
‘Bill, who dreamed that up?’ Doolittle asked him.
‘The sign was here when we arrived,’ he replied.
‘That statement is no longer in effect,’ Doolittle told him. ‘Take that sign down. Put up another one that says: THE FIRST DUTY OF THE EIGHTH AIR FORCE FIGHTERS IS TO DESTROY GERMAN FIGHTERS.’
‘You mean you’re authorizing me to take the offensive?’ Kepner asked him.
‘I’m directing you to.’
Kepner could not have been more delighted. For over two months he had been urging Eaker to allow his boys to go after the enemy, but had been repeatedly turned down. Together, he and Doolittle eagerly discussed how this might work. Some fighters would still be assigned to escort work, but the bulk would go directly after the enemy. ‘Flush them out in the air,’ Doolittle told him, ‘and beat them up on the ground on the way home. Your first priority is to take the offensive.’
Kepner soon reported that his fighter boys were delighted at this new instruction. The same was not so true of the bomber crews, whose commanders swiftly wrote and visited in person to tell him he was, in effect, a murderer. Their bomber formations would now be slaughtered. ‘There was no compromise as far as I was concerned,’ wrote Doolittle, ‘and many bomber crew remained unhappy.’8 Genial he might have been, but Doolittle was also tough. He was also absolutely right.
At the same time that Doolittle was tearing up the rules of fighter escorts, he was inheriting a bomber force that was not only starting to grow dramatically in size, but also in capability. Few of the pre-war planners had envisaged quite so much miserable weather as had been experienced that winter, which had made something of a mockery of plans for precision bombing. However, bombing techniques were improving further, with the Americans now convinced about the benefits of using H2X, or what they termed ‘radar bombing’, which meant, in theory, that they would be no longer quite so dependent on having clear skies over the target.
There were currently only twenty sets, enough for a dozen special training aircraft and a few other sets for spares. The first mission had come on 3 November, when just eleven H2X-equipped B-17s and trained crews had led 539 bombers on Wilhelmshaven. Some 1,400 tons of bombs had been dropped through thick ten-tenths cloud, and although the attack lacked the accuracy of a normal raid with clear vision over the target, it had been an encouraging first effort. With considerably more H2X-equipped Pathfinders evenly spread among the bomb groups, accuracy levels looked likely to rise dramatically.
The problem was that, rather like the Merlin-powered Mustang, H2X was arriving just a bit late; only on 10 December had Eaker urgently asked for more and suggested each bomb group be equipped with six H2X-carrying Pathfinders. ‘The most critical need of the Strategic Air Forces,’ Spaatz cabled Arnold in the second week of January, ‘is for more Pathfinder aircraft.9 A few H2X planes now will profit our cause more than several hundred in six months.’ The first production models of H2X would not be reaching Spaatz’s forces until February, however. Until then, it was left to the same overworked crews.
Thus in January 1944 little that was especially ‘precision’ marked the way the Eighth was attacking targets, and nor had the targets chosen since Schweinfurt II been particularly high priority on the POINTBLANK list – something that needed to change. Hovering in the minds of both Spaatz and Doolittle, however, was Operation ARGUMENT, which was in effect a sub-plan of POINTBLANK and which was meant to be a week-long, concentrated assault on the industrial backbone of the Luftwaffe. It had been drawn up by the Combined Operational Planning Committee (COPC), which in turn had been set up in June 1943 when the POINTBLANK directive had been issued. The COPC consisted of representatives of both RAF Bomber and Fighter Commands, as well as Eighth Air Force, including Headquarters and VIII Bomber and Fighter Commands. The idea wa
s for this new body to come up with coordinated tactical plans for new, specific operations. ARGUMENT was one of these plans, and envisaged using primarily the Eighth and Fifteenth Air Forces to pound key industrial targets while at the same time drawing up enemy fighters. The aim was nothing less than a decisive hammer blow on the Luftwaffe – a blow from which the German Air Force would never recover.
ARGUMENT had been drafted at the beginning of November and approved on the 29th. Key to any possible success, however, was a week of half-decent weather, and so far that had simply not come about. In many ways, that had proved a blessing in disguise, because with every passing week both US air forces were getting stronger and better equipped. None the less, with the clock now ticking inexorably towards D-Day, Spaatz, especially, was chomping at the bit to get on with it. That made Doolittle equally determined to get ARGUMENT under way as soon as he could.
On Tuesday, 4 January a small force of just sixty-eight B-17s from two bomb groups was sent to Münster, while nearly five hundred hit Kiel. Although the diversionary raid on Münster was much smaller, the bombers heading there were escorted by a swarm of fighters – some 430 in all, including three squadrons of the 56th.
Among those heading to Münster was Larry Goldstein and the crew of Worry Wart. Goldstein and his mates had been woken at 2 a.m. – the earliest start ever, which made them all worry that the target might be Berlin, so it was something of a relief to learn they would be penetrating only western Germany after all. By 7 a.m. they were airborne and heading up through the early-morning gloom on their ninth mission.
The fighter escort saved them from the worst of the enemy fighters, but the flak was heavy. Over the target and with the bomb bays open, their bombardier, Lieutenant Kent Keith, was looking down through the Plexiglas waiting to signal ‘Bombs away’ when the nose was hit by flak and the Perspex shattered. A splinter hit him just above the left eye; while it bled a bit he was otherwise all right, but it underlined just how thin the line could be between getting a small nick and being killed. ‘No other damage,’ noted Goldstein in his diary, ‘and I consider ourselves very lucky.10 It was not exactly a “milk run.”’
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