With 92 and 72 Squadrons now heading for home, 603 Squadron joined the attack, followed by 253 and 501. Meanwhile, six more squadrons had been scrambled, including 249 Squadron from North Weald. As Tom Neil headed to join the battle, he found himself flying in and out of cloud before bursting through at around 15,000 feet over the east of London, condensation dripping from the canopy. While they were being vectored up to 17,000 feet, 66 and 41 Squadrons had continued the attack, pecking away at the German formation, and then, as the bombers approached London, 257 and 504 joined in. This was Pete Brothers’ first serious engagement since joining the squadron and in the ensuing mayhem he managed to shoot down first a Dornier and then a Ju 88. Like Tony twenty minutes before him, however, he was also hit himself, a bullet causing an aileron wire to snap. He was preparing to bail out but found he could still just about fly the Hurricane, even with the aileron now hanging down, so ducking out of the fight headed for his old base, Biggin Hill. Opening his hood as he came in to land, he was horrified to find his lucky navy blue polka-dot scarf had come loose and was now whistled out of the cockpit, seemingly gone for ever. Having made it safely back down, he jumped out and was inspecting the damage when, to his delight, he saw his scarf fluttering from the elevator. A good omen, it seemed.
It was now 249 and 46 Squadrons’ turn. Tom Neil spotted the bombers, feeling a flutter of exultation and raw fear, and then moments later they were in amongst them. A Dornier filled his gunsights and he opened fire, feeling horribly exposed as he did so and wondering where the 109s were. There were aircraft everywhere, including Spitfires, but still no Me 109s. He saw one struggling Dornier being attacked by a pack of Hurricanes, ‘wolves worrying a flagging deer’, then turned to see a Spitfire attacking him. Turning out of the way, and with ack-ack bursting in the distance, he headed for home.
Both Pete and Tom had been surprised by the small number of enemy fighters, but it had been at this point that the so-called Duxford Wing of five squadrons had entered the battle, some fifty Spitfires and Hurricanes attacking the 109s. Amongst these was I/JG 52, with its yellow-nose Messerschmitts that seemed to be making such an impression on the Fighter Command pilots. Ulrich Steinhilper had just turned twenty-two and as an unintended present had been allotted one of the new Me 109E4s to have reached the Staffel, already christened Yellow 2. He was flying it now, with its new improved cannons, and hoped that with this increased hitting power he would finally open his score and start shooting down some enemy aircraft. Ulrich was sure the RAF must now be in its death throes so had been taken aback by the number of Tommy fighters that now met them. ‘Over there we met amazingly strong fighter opposition,’ he wrote to his mother. ‘I believe that the British are concentrating everything they have left around the capital.’
While Ulrich was fending off the Duxford Wing, more squadrons were engaging the bombers, including 303 Kociuszko Squadron. Jan Zumbach had hit a Dornier before coming under fire from some of the 109s. Dodging in and out of cloud, he felt disorientated and frightened by this game of hide-and-seek but managing to eventually get on the tail of one of his pursuers he opened fire, shooting it down, and then ran out of ammunition and saw he was dangerously low on fuel, so landed at Kenley, where he was refuelled and rearmed within minutes.
Meanwhile the bombers had finally dropped their loads, most falling ineffectively over south-eastern suburbs, although bombs did hit bridges between Victoria and Clapham and a further one landed in Buckingham Palace gardens. Even so, the damage was slight compared with the raids of the past week. The retiring bombers now met the latest squadrons on their tortuous route.
David Crook was away on leave, but twelve pilots of 609 Squadron were waiting for the scattered remnants of the formation. John Dundas was now one of the squadron’s leading aces, his marksmanship improving with every sortie. So too was his tactical nous, for although he had received no orders to dive down on the bombers, he decided to lead his section into attack before the enemy fighters could intervene. He did so in the nick of time, for the 109s were quick to follow, and having shot down one of the bombers, he found himself being attacked by two Messerschmitts. Shaking them off, he then managed to open fire on another Dornier, raking its belly from underneath before being pounced on by a further three 109s. Fortunately for him, they gave themselves away by opening up at too great a range – clearly they were new, inexperienced pilots. Easily escaping, John headed back to Middle Wallop.
Jan Zumbach had meanwhile taken off again and instead of flying off home to Northolt decided to chase after more enemy aircraft as they retreated back towards the coast. He soon spotted a solitary Dornier and homed in for the kill. Watching it fill his sights, he was about to press the gun button, when suddenly there was an ear-splitting crash and a shattering explosion and most of his cockpit was blown away. Bailing out of the shattered remains of his aircraft, he remembered the rumours of Germans opening fire on parachutes so, with remarkable coolness, waited until he was passing through some cloud to pull the ripcord. Expecting to land in the Channel, he quickly inflated his Mae West, but then was whisked along by the wind, carrying him spinning until he glimpsed the coast. But was it England or France? Landing safely on a beach, he began folding his parachute, by now convinced that he would shortly be in the hands of the Germans.
Some men appeared, firing every time Jan made a slight movement. Eventually, they came to a halt except for one man who approached him with an odd weaving walk. Jan thought he must be drunk but then saw the man was British.
‘Allied fighter!’ shouted Jan. ‘Polish pilot!’
The man kept coming towards him until Jan could see his Coast Guard’s badge. ‘Sorry I fired,’ said the man. ‘I had to stop you moving. You’re standing in the middle of a minefield.’
‘I zigzagged out on the sergeant’s heel,’ wrote Jan, ‘and recovered my composure with the assistance of a large Scotch.’
The morning raid had barely died down when the next one began massing. In fact, the first raid had primarily been a means of wearing down the defenders. More than double the size of the previous effort, there were over a hundred in this formation, although Kesselring had been forced to put two Gruppen together to achieve the normal strength of one. There were also more fighters as well, some 350 in all, including Dolfo Galland and his Geschwader and all of JG 53.
At Uxbridge, Churchill was still intently watching the unfolding events. Just after 2 p.m., the spotter, sent up to patrol the coast at 26,000 feet, reported in. This was Allan Wright. ‘The idea,’ noted Allan, ‘is to get up really early and plot the position of the blitz as it comes in. Lonely job.’ It was an idea of the Controller’s at 11 Group HQ, and 92 Squadron had been chosen to provide the pilot since it was a Spitfire squadron, and Allan had volunteered. Unfortunately, he had not been scrambled early enough for the first raid and had missed it, but this time he had made it in time, although only just, because the raiders were passing almost as he was sending in his report. He had also been spotted in turn by two Me 109s. After firing a good burst at one, he dived vertically, dropping from 28,000 to 7,000 feet and blacking out in the process. Recovering from the dive in time, he recovered his wits and headed back to Hawkinge.
Squadrons were once again scrambled, although this time Park aimed to have most of his forces attacking the bombers as they turned back for home. They were also scrambled in pairings of one Spitfire and one Hurricane squadron. By 2 p.m., both Pete Brothers and Tom Neil were once again taking off. Five minutes later, so too was 92 Squadron. At 2.15 p.m., 238 Squadron from 10 Group was asked to take over 609’s earlier role, and 12 Group was asked to bring its big wing in to cover Hornchurch.
Once again, the Prime Minister watched the plots moving on the table and the lights moving to ‘engaged’. Conscious of Park’s growing anxiety, he asked, ‘What reserves have we got?’
‘There are none,’ Park replied. All his available squadrons were now airborne.
An enormous aerial battle was now taking place. The bom
bers were doing their best to reach their targets but the number of Tommy fighters was putting them off, just as it had Peter Stahl a few days earlier. Plenty of bombs were scattered over Kent and Sussex, but most fell on southeast and east London. The fighters were having their own private battles. Tony Bartley was caught up in a dizzying swirl of aircraft over east London. Tom Neil attacked a vic of eight Dorniers, aiming for the last on the right of the formation. Somehow, everything fell into place and he found himself dead astern and just below, buffeted about in its slipstream. He opened fire at close range and bits of aircraft immediately fell off. He fired again, worried he was almost too close, and then two objects hurtled towards him too quickly for him to evade, and as they shot past his head he realized they were two of the crew bailing out. ‘I veered away,’ he noted, ‘shocked at what I had just achieved.’
Dolfo Galland suffered no such feelings of remorse as he led his Geschwader down on to Bader’s big wing. It was a perfect bounce, an attack with the benefit of height and sun, and Dolfo set the tone by tearing down upon the Czechs of 310 Squadron, hitting one Hurricane so hard huge pieces of metal were torn from it. At the last moment, he leapt over the stricken machine and straight through the formation, hitting a second Hurricane. By the time Bader’s force realized what was happening, Dolfo and his 109s had sped on past. Dive, attack and run – it was the most effective way of taking on fighters. Glancing back, he saw two parachutes drifting downwards – his thirty-third and thirty-fourth victims. Climbing again, he made for the stream of bombers heading back from London, which were being mercilessly snapped at by Park’s fighters.
Meanwhile, Hans-Ekkehard Bob, recently promoted Staffelkapitän of the 7th Staffel, had been hit in the cooling system and, quickly disengaging, turned for home. With his engine temperature rising alarmingly, he switched off, knowing that his engine would otherwise seize. Refusing to even consider ditching in England, he now attempted to glide home. But having put his 109 into a gentle glide, he saw that his propeller was still turning – or ‘windmilling’ – because of the wind. This, he realized, would be cooling his engine, so after a while, he restarted the engine, climbed a little bit, then switched off again. ‘I was determined not to ditch in the Channel,’ he says. ‘It was all about timing. The trick was to turn off the engine before everything seized.’ Fortunately for Hans, his timing was spot on. All too many pilots had failed to make it back across the sea, but by carefully nursing his machine Hans was able to land back safely at Guines and lived to fight another day.
Churchill was still watching as the enemy returned home. One by one, the confused tangle of counters were moved clear from the map table. On the tote board, the lights showed the squadrons had landed back down, refuelling and rearming once more. He waited for a few minutes but no new plot appeared, so the Prime Minister and his wife climbed the stairways to the surface and stepped out into a beautiful late-summer evening. All was calm, all was clear. Puffs of white cloud hung seemingly motionless against the blue, betraying not a sign of the enormous air battles that had taken place that day.
* Auxiliary Fire Service.
46
Wolfpack
AS IT HAPPENED, the fading plots Churchill had witnessed had not been – Zi.the last of the day. Around 6 p.m., twenty Zerstörers from Erpro 210 attacked the Supermarine works at Woolston in Southampton, accompanied by fighters from Jafü 3, including Siegfried Bethke and 2/JG 2. Siegfried heard on the radio about the large-scale attacks on London. ‘Sixty kills, twenty losses. Submarines have again sunk a good number of ships.’ He was still sure the invasion must go ahead soon, aware, as they all were, of the massive build-up of shipping around the Channel ports. They were speculating among themselves as much as the British were across the sea, with the rumour mill working overtime. ‘I also “heard” yesterday’ he scribbled, ‘that we will go over a few days after the first landing. How everything will develop, and if everything will go according to plan, no-one can say.’
That same day, Monday, 16 September, Göring summoned his commanders once more to his train headquarters near Beauvais. He was not pleased, and blamed the fighters once again for the lack of a more decisive day’s fighting. It was true that many fighters had left the bombers to take on the British fighters – Dolfo Galland for one – and so left them exposed, but what was the point of the attack? To bomb London into submission or destroy Fighter Command? Dolfo was a highly competitive person and his victory score counted a great deal to him. Even so, the Luftwaffe High Command was still agreed that attaining air superiority was the prime objective and that could only be achieved by destroying the British fighters. As it happened, Dolfo’s two victories were effectively worthless, since one of the Czech pilots bailed out unhurt and the other only slightly hurt his foot. Killing and badly injuring RAF pilots was the only way now the Luftwaffe had any hope of clearing the skies.
It was Generalmajor Osterkamp, commander of Jafü 2, who spoke out, complaining once more about the faulty tactics and shortage of replacement aircraft. ‘The English have adopted new tactics,’ he said. ‘They are now using powerful fighter formations to attack in force. From our radio-intercept service we know that their orders are strictly to attack our bombers. Yesterday, these tactics took us by surprise.’
‘That’s just what we want,’ Göring replied. ‘If they come at us in droves, we can shoot them down in droves!’
Once again, German intelligence was faulty. The arrival on the scene of the Duxford Wing was certainly something new, but Fighter Command was by no means purely attacking the bombers. The latest assessment of enemy strength was another piece of fiction from Oberst Schmid. He reported that the RAF had begun the previous day with 288 fighters, and that morning with just 177. In fact, Fighter Command began the day with 659 serviceable aircraft ready to take to the skies. ‘Göring believes the English are gathering their last forces,’ noted Milch. It was the same story the Luftwaffe High Command had been peddling all month: all that was needed was one last push; victory, they felt sure, was tantalizingly within reach. The fighters, it was agreed, were to be reinforced with eight Staffeln from other areas and VIII Fliegerkorps was to transfer to Luftflotte 2; new instructions were issued. From now on, Luftflotte 2 was to attack British fighters during the day and London at night; Luftflotte 3 was to assault Southampton during the day and London by night. Meanwhile, 9th Fliegerdivision, which included Hajo Herrmann and KG 4, was to continue nuisance raids on London, and to begin dropping aerial mines on the capital.
It showed just how woolly Luftwaffe thinking had become. What had been the point of attacking London two times the day before? Just what were they trying to achieve? The subjugation of the British people or the destruction of the RAF? Why had Jafü 3 been sent back to Normandy when it would have been better to concentrate forces against England in the south-east, where the distance across the Channel was smaller? How could they have recognized this at the end of August and forgotten it two weeks later? And why Southampton? It seems that no-one was really sure. Operationally, the Luftwaffe was in a mess, short of aircraft and lacking the infrastructure needed to continue a battle of this intensity. Tactically, the thinking was faulty, as the High Command failed to use either bombers or fighters to their best capabilities. Operationally, it was struggling. And strategically, it had lost sight of what it was supposed to be achieving. Believing the German air force was within sight of victory was a fool’s dream. The Luftwaffe was not on the verge of triumph; rather, it was further away than ever.
Across the Channel, the pilots had celebrated and so had the media, with radio news bulletins quick to gleefully announce record numbers of downed German aircraft. A photograph of a Dornier plunging vertically near Victoria Station, its fuselage severed, was printed in many papers. ‘175 SHOT DOWN’ ran the headline in the following morning’s Daily Express. Later the official figure was given as 185 destroyed for the loss of only twenty-five aircraft and eleven pilots. In fact, the RAF lost thirty-one aircraft and sixteen pil
ots.
Out in the Channel, HMT Darthema and the 29th Minesweeping Flotilla had been clearing the German flank minefield near Eastbourne and continuing their invasion watch at night. That evening, after the fighting died down, they picked up a downed German pilot and told him that 185 Luftwaffe aircraft had been shot down that day. ‘This fellow spoke good English,’ says Joe Steele, ‘and he looked at me and said, “Half that!”’ In fact, it was a third of the claimed figure – just sixty-one, and ninety-three pilots and aircrew and a further sixty-three taken prisoner. It was still a lot for the Luftwaffe to lose, the worst day’s tally over England since 18 August, and the second-highest losses they had suffered since 11 May. In addition, there were another twenty aircraft that made it back but were either badly damaged or had to be written off. Unlike the RAF, the Luftwaffe could not make good these losses.
Not everyone was pleased with Fighter Command’s effort, however. Park had admitted to Churchill that his men had not intercepted as many raiders as he would have liked, and knew perfectly well that the high claims were nonsense. The following day, he had made the most of yet another lull in Luftwaffe attacks by issuing another set of instructions to his controllers. Park was not being an over-zealous taskmaster; he was quite rightly trying to hone and improve a system that was proving not as effective as it might be. He was annoyed that squadrons were not rendezvousing correctly, and were being patrolled too far forward, at too low a height, and too late. From now on, he wanted the Spitfires from Hornchurch and Biggin to be sent as high as 25,000–30,000 feet to attack the highest enemy fighter screen. He also wanted to improve controllers’ ability to make the correct response to the size and make-up of an incoming raid, by sending up squadrons on shorter patrol lines at higher altitudes. Getting squadrons operating higher was, he believed, key. It meant they could maintain the height advantage and see more clearly. Furthermore, by holding back and waiting until the enemy drew inland, his fighters would have more time to get to these heights while at the same time making the German fighters operate to the limit of their fuel. He increasingly wanted to attack the enemy as they turned back for home, a very sensible policy. Unlike the Luftwaffe High Command, Park had a very clear picture both operationally and tactically and was using his available resources to make the most of their potential.
The Battle of Britain Page 70