Dogfight

by Adam Claasen

  Defiant Redux

  Up until this point, the turret-fighters had been deployed in night-flying duties due to the savage mauling of 141 Squadron in July. Its sister Squadron, 264, had been engaged in nocturnal sorties in the interim but now found itself transferred to Hornchurch, and engaged the enemy for the first time in daylight operations. It was the beginning of a four-day period of intensive and costly action. It was felt that the Defiant squadrons had been given enough time to re-group and, with a collection of veteran pilots and gunners, were once again ready for battle. However, the optimism was misplaced, and the danger to the Defiants and their aircrews was compounded by the ill-considered decision to have them operate on a daily basis from the most vulnerable of bases: ‘Hell’s Corner’ at Manston. The base was exposed to lightning raids that offered the aircrew less warning than was afforded any other airfield in the battle. Overweight, and slow in a climb, the Defiants were at a serious disadvantage at such a forward airfield; intruders had often emptied their bomb-bays and were turning for home while the Defiants were still climbing to intercept.

  The squadron was heavily populated with Anzacs, most notably the recently arrived New Zealanders Clifford Emeny and Robert Young. Both were air-gunners. Emeny had a knack for breaching protocol and rubbing officers up the wrong way, usually with good reason. Shortly after arriving he discovered that all four New Zealanders, who were all ranked as leading aircraftmen, had been denied entry to the sergeants’ mess, and were being assigned cleaning duties.[5] The New Zealander’s attitude regarding the former was ‘no food, no fight’ and regarding the latter declared that he had not ‘come half way around the world’ to tidy and clean up after other airmen. The commanding officer of the squadron agreed that it was inappropriate for them to play the ‘flunkey’ for the sergeants. Nevertheless, the ‘no food, no fight’ mantra smacked of mutiny to Squadron Leader Philip Hunter.

  Emeny’s elegant solution was that Hunter promote them on the spot, an argument Hunter parried by pointing out that the route to the sergeant rank was graduated and in the ordinary course of things took time. ‘Well, I can understand that,’ countered Emeny, ‘but doesn’t wartime change all pre-war regulations and all air crew become sergeants?’ In the face of this onslaught the commanding officer spluttered that such provisions did not apply to New Zealanders, something he could not change. The New Zealander made an audacious and inspired lunge and suggested that Hunter phone the New Zealand High Commissioner, William Jordan, and ‘explain our situation to him’. The commanding officer made the tactical mistake of agreeing to put a call through. A few moments with the Commissioner was the end of the matter and after putting the phone down, Hunter told Emeny, to ‘go and get the other New Zealanders ... and go over to the stores and collect your sergeant’s stripes’. The plucky Kiwi was henceforth never denied entry into the sergeants’ mess. He had won his bureaucratic battle but sterner tests in the air were to follow.

  Their very first scramble was nearly the squadron’s complete undoing. A short time after midday the freshly refuelled Defiants had barely made it into the air when the first bombs rained down on Manston. The turret-fighters clawed for altitude and eventually caught up with some of the raiding Ju 88s. Against the bombers the two-man machines were able to score some kills and even managed to knock out an Me 109. Within moments the battle was over. Tragically, three Defiants were lost including Hunter’s. Only the intervention of Hurricanes from 501 Squadron with New Zealander John Gibson at the helm prevented further losses.

  Meanwhile, Manston was a mess, forcing the Defiants to land at Hornchurch. In a second raid, German bomber pilots saturated the airfield, kicking up so much chalk and dust that bomb aimers had trouble accurately picking out targets. By the time the raid was over the Manston living quarters had been reduced to matchwood and unexploded munitions planted malevolently among the administrative buildings had forced their evacuation. In all, seventeen people were wounded and the airfield was out of contact with 11 Group thanks to severed communications.

  Still reeling from its losses, 264 was directed to intercept a German bomber formation heading towards the Thames Estuary. The formation was part of the day’s biggest offensive, which developed into attacks on Manston and Ramsgate to the south, and Hornchurch and North Weald to the north. Stepping into the leader’s role was Flight Lieutenant George Gavin, hastily elevated from a supernumerary acting squadron leader to the unit’s commanding officer. The fact that prior to his temporary posting with 264 he had never flown a fighter was not an impediment in the pilot-strapped Fighter Command of late August 1940.[6] For once the situation favoured the Defiants.

  Single-man fighter squadrons were on the scene first and diverted the Me 109s, embroiling them in a series of dogfights. At 3.50p.m. the Defiants, unhindered by German fighters, waded into the formation of Ju 88s. Young swung the turret around to fire several bursts on a bomber from the port side. In 1939, Young, from Palmerston North, had missed out on a short service commission, so turned his attention to aircrew opportunities and, by March of the following year, had completed training as an air observer and gunner with the RNZAF and was on his way to Britain. The fire from the four Brownings tore open the fuselage of one of Göring’s Junkers. Young’s pilot, Harold Goodall, wrote up the combat report that evening: ‘The enemy aircraft started to dive, issuing forth white to black smoke. I followed him through the cloud and found him underneath. I attacked him from the front and saw bursts enter the cockpit. The enemy aircraft dived away very steeply.’[7] The Ju 88 became one of the nine enemy machines claimed by the Defiants, but at the cost of four more of their own machines.

  The Defiants were only one small part of a massive defensive operation desperately fending off the aggressive German attacks. Elsewhere in the blue-draped battlefield, Kiwis Smith and Gray were involved in operations designed to protect North Weald and Manston. The Australian Gordon Olive would intercept intruders flying up the Thames.

  Smith, who had been slightly wounded during combat with Me 109s, shot down an He 111 in the late afternoon. Although Gray had dispatched an Me 110 earlier that morning, his afternoon sortie was uncharacteristically fruitless.[8] Olive on the other hand, at 3.35p.m., led nine Spitfires from 65 Squadron in an attack on over 100 enemy aircraft in the Thames Estuary area. As an old hand in battle, Olive led his pilots up to 28,000 feet before delivering an attack on the formation, directly out of the sun. He hit an Me 110 but was unable to follow the descending fighter to its apparent demise due to the weight of enemy machines in the vicinity. He found himself with five Me 109s on his tail and although he managed to get a few rounds off he was only too happy to return to base in one piece.[9]

  Thirty minutes later the fighting reached its height and Park, with all his available Squadrons in action, called on 12 Group to provide fighter cover for the exposed bases north of the Thames. Only a single squadron appeared and even these were less than successful. The six Spitfires of 19 Squadron were armed with experimental cannon and due to firing problems only a couple were able to exhaust their full complement of shells. The frugality of 12 Group’s effort was due to its commander Air Vice Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory’s attempt to combine a number of squadrons into a single Wing over the Group’s southernmost sector airfield, Duxford. In the end, the squadrons arrived too late to play a role in the fighting but as highflying spectators they saw the grim consequences of their tardiness: palls of smoke spiralling heavenward from the Hornchurch and North Weald airfields. Park was livid. The poor turnout from 12 Group was the catalyst for a war of words that would last a lot longer than the war itself.

  Big Wings

  Aside from fighting the Luftwaffe, Park was now engaged in a rearguard action within Fighter Command. At issue was his deployment of single squadrons to meet large formations of German intruders. Leigh-Mallory argued that it would be better to combine three to five squadrons together, then attack en masse. In this he was supported by one of the Second World War’s best-known fighter
pilots, Acting Squadron Leader Douglas Bader, 242 Squadron. An above-average fighter pilot, Bader had lost his legs showboating in a biplane in the early 1930s. Tenacious and talented, he had incredibly re-entered the RAF’s flying arena. Like his boss, Leigh-Mallory, Bader chafed at the handmaiden role assigned to 12 Group. In response to incoming attacks he wanted to form up some sixty fighters over 12 Group’s Duxford headquarters, and then head south to intercept the German aircraft.

  In principle, Park was not against the use of the so-called ‘Big Wings’, especially since he had deployed them in sweeps over Dunkirk a few months earlier, but he felt that the situation over England was of an altogether different nature. The proximity of 11 Group to the enemy precluded the luxury of being able to form up large formations, something even the more distant 12 Group was not immune to, as demonstrated by its 24 August failure. Assembling a Big Wing could take all of 45 minutes, by which time the enemy formation had arrived, bombed the target and was France-bound again. Park also considered radio technology inadequate to the task and that controlling such large numbers of fighters at any one time would prove difficult and increase collisions or incidences of friendly fire.

  While Park agreed in theory that it would be good to meet the large German formations with similar-sized defensive units, it was just not possible to do so in a timely manner. In spite of the smoke over Hornchurch and North Weald, the latter having lost its messes, married quarters and some of its stores buildings, both remained open for business, more by good fortune than any effort by 12 Group. More willing to aid Park was the commander to his south-west, where Sperrle was launching an attack.

  At the end of the day, 10 Group was called into action to intercept a southbound raid. Unfortunately the newly repaired Ventnor radar station was experiencing teething problems, the size and structure of the enemy intrusion was increasingly unclear, and the plots erratic. In the resulting chaos the pilots from Middle Wallop’s 609 Squadron ‘found themselves 5000 feet below a large formation of bombers and fighters, right in the middle of ... [their] own AA fire.’[10] The controllers had been operating under the mistaken impression that the raiders were low-flying Stukas and had thus vectored the fighters over Portsmouth into a maelstrom of their own anti-aircraft fire and leaving them vulnerable to enemy fighters.[11]

  At the fringe of the débâcle was 234 Squadron and New Zealander Keith Lawrence, who spotted seventy enemy aircraft heading out to sea. He overtook the departing twin-engine fighter and fired a lengthy burst.[12] The starboard engine sprouted tar-coloured smoke, but Lawrence was unable to confirm its destruction in his after-action report. In the meantime, 609 had extricated itself from an almost impossible position, and although they did not have a single claim to add to their score sheet, they had survived with the loss of only one pilot. On the ground, however, the German bombers had cut a deep scar across the face of Portsmouth. Over 100 people were killed and a further 300 badly injured. It was the most destructive raid of the entire battle to date.

  For the Germans, 24 August demonstrated the worth of dropping the slow and protection-hungry Stukas, and the strategy of running along the Sussex coast and making false jabs inland which had stretched Park’s resources. Luftwaffe commanders were pleased with the day’s effort and their ability to break through to the inner airfields at speed. The first day of the new phase was a stand-off, with Fighter Command losses numbering just over thirty destroyed or damaged aircraft against the Luftwaffe’s forty-eight. The greater losses for the Germans were somewhat made up for by the fires burning at Hornchurch and North Weald.

  Although the fighting for the day appeared to have drawn to a close, in fact the Germans were planning a late-night visit. An hour before midnight some 200 bombers breached Channel airspace and raced for their targets in Kent, Sussex and Surrey. In a turn of events that would set in motion a series of reprisals ultimately changing the course of the battle, bombs destined for an aircraft factory in Rochester and the Thames Haven oil storage facilities in fact fell on London. Göring was livid—Hitler had expressly ordered that the city remain off-limits to Luftwaffe bombs. Nevertheless, the die was cast and in less than twenty-four hours Berlin felt the ire of British bombs for the first time.

  Toe-to-Toe

  Two days later, after continuous intense fighting, a large number of Anzacs were once again in the thick of it. Kesselring directed his morning assaults against the southern fields of Biggin Hill and Kenley, and his early afternoon attacks on Hornchurch and Debden. In a replay of 24 August, Sperrle launched a strong foray against Portsmouth before the evening was over. At 11.00a.m., fifty-two bombers escorted by twelve Me 110s and eighty Me 109s made landfall over Dover. Among the seventy-odd machines scrambled to meet this force was Flight Lieutenant John Hewson, 616 Squadron.[13] The Australian had responded to the call for Bomber Command volunteers to make up the falling numbers in Fighter Command. His brief familiarisation with his Spitfire did little to prepare him for 26 August. Vastly outnumbered, the squadron climbed to gain a modicum of advantage over a formation of fifty Me 109s, only to be bounced by another formation of Messerschmitts numbering no fewer than thirty. A deep swath of destruction was cut through the squadron, and of the twelve machines half were lost, with the death of two pilots and three wounded. Given his inexperience, Hewson was fortunate to scrape through the combat unscathed.

  As the German bombers pushed further inland, Park was left with no alternative but to thrust the Defiants and their handful of Anzacs into the centre of the battle. The squadron was scrambled from Manston to face an incoming force of He 111s and Do 17s and an ominous escort of eighty Me 109s. It was just after midday when the forces clashed. Young was once again surveying the sky for intruders just after midday when they entered the storm. His pilot described in detail their ensuing engagement.

  During this climb and before we were in range of the Do[17]’s I was attacked by an Me 109 from behind and above. My gunner got in two short bursts and appeared to hit the Me 109, which dived away and was not seen again. Immediately after this I attacked a Do 17 with an overtaking beam attack at 250 yards, and got in two fairly long bursts; the Do 17 immediately lost speed and came towards me when my gunner got in two ... long bursts at point blank range. Pieces fell from the starboard engine which burst into flames. Just as the machine went into a dive one of the crew baled out ... I immediately attacked another Do 17 which had broken formation and my gunner got in a short burst which appeared to hit. I saw the Do 17 dive into cloud and lost it as I was being attacked by Me 109s. I landed with three guns jammed and damage to my machine.[14]

  For the loss of three Defiants, 264 had accounted for six Do 17s and an Me 109. Not a bad effort considering the one Hurricane squadron that did take on the bombers unhindered had failed to bring down a single aircraft but had lost three members. Nevertheless, it was only a matter of time before the Defiants were again tragically exposed.

  Two hours later, radar picked up signs of enemy preparations west of Belgium. It looked like it would be the day’s big raid, so Park put up ten squadrons. Then, when it became apparent that Hornchurch, North Weald and possibly London were the targets, he sent the remainder of his force into action and once again called on 12 Group to cover his northern fields, as his fighters went to intercept the raiders. The enemy split into a northern and southern fork. The former hit Debden, scattering buildings, destroying an aircraft and killing three airmen. Once again Leigh-Mallory failed to provide timely cover and 19 Squadron arrived only after the bombers had departed. This was in spite of the fact that Duxford was barely ten miles from Debden. The southern fork felt the weight of Park’s fighters and when the Me 109s were forced to abandon the bombers due to low fuel, the attack was turned aside. Bombers scattered their load over the English countryside to lighten their aircraft for the dash home.

  Amongst the fighting of the early afternoon, Olive managed to panic a flock of Me 110s. Patrolling near Manston, Olive’s B Flight of 65 Squadron corralled the machines into a �
��defensive circle’ of about thirty aircraft:

  I remained approximately 3000 feet above this mass, awaiting a chance to attack at the first opportunity. It then occurred to me that by remaining in a threatening position I could keep this formation circling indefinitely, thus detaching them from their escort duties. I remained ... [here] for some 20 minutes and when the fighters tried to break up and fly East, I immediately attacked the rear and shot one Me 110 down in flames...[15]

  Chastened, the enemy pilots re-circled their wagons and the Queenslander resumed his position above. Each time one of the heavy fighters attempted to disengage, the Australian chased it back into position. The cat-and-mouse game only concluded when the fuel gauge forced him to break off the torment and return to base.

  In a repeat of events two days earlier, Sperrle attacked Portsmouth around 4p.m. with a force of some fifty He 111s attended by a fighter escort of over 100 machines. New Zealanders Harold North and Patrick Horton, natives of Dunedin, who had been clerks in, respectively, a law firm and the Mines Department only two years before, were there to meet them. North was flying a Hurricane as part of the Tangmere-based 43 Squadron and Horton a Spitfire in the Anzac-dominated 234 Squadron at Middle Wallop.

  North, who sported Douglas Fairbanks-style combed-backed hair and pencil-thin moustache, was the first into action. The Squadron attacked six bombers near Portsmouth. As North passed through the enemy formation, he was nearly struck by hastily jettisoned bombs from panicked He 111s. After damaging one Heinkel, he in turn was badly hit by cannon fire. The shells shattered the Hurricane’s Perspex canopy; shards were embedded in his arm and shoulder and cut his forehead. A curtain of blood threatened to obscure his vision. North stripped off his helmet and attempted to staunch the flow with his free hand.[16] Tenaciously, he attacked another bomber only to be struck himself again, this time from the rear. He baled out east of Portsmouth, breaking his finger on impact. He was duly picked up and dispatched to Royal Sussex Hospital, Chichester. These new injuries, combined with a series of health issues, most notably kidney troubles, aged him prematurely.