Читать книгу A Bloody Summer - Dan Harvey - Страница 8

PREFACE

The enemy Junkers 88s arrived in their standard V-shaped formation; their Messerschmitt fighter escort, 4,000 feet above and astern them, was ideally placed between the bombers and the sun. The formation’s height, bearing and numbers had, however, already been accurately detected and tracked by coastal radar stations. Their intended target anticipated, this was relayed from Fighter Command’s fighter control system, through Group Headquarters, to Sector Control, then on to the nearest appropriate airfields – those whose resident squadrons immediately ‘scrambled’ to intercept the incoming bombers. Scrambled, the Hurricane and Spitfire interceptors were up in the air in minutes, seeking to impede and obstruct; to take the fight to the heart of the enemy attack.

Radar and the Royal Air Force’s (RAF) Fighter Command and Control system gave the defenders a distinct advantage, providing an almost ‘real time’ picture of what was happening in the skies so the British fighters could be in the right place at the right time. This, in 1940, was new and sophisticated. Thereafter, it was height and speed that was important. The other crucial element for success in aerial combat was surprise: a sudden, unexpected attack by British fighters, preferably in numbers, to catch and cut off the main body of enemy bombers.

From early dawn, a large force from the Luftwaffe had launched a continuous series of determined day-time raids on southern English ports and the coastline. The RAF, Irishmen among them, had been involved in several intense aerial engagements, and now, once again, well into the afternoon, they were called into action.

On sighting the Junkers 88s, the Hurricanes, dived into the tight German bomber formation. The bombers broke formation and split in every direction, diving and jinking, some making for the nearest clouds, while their fighter escort entered combat in their defence.

The Spitfires now entered the fray, engaged the Messerschmitts, and a series of ferocious fighter-to-fighter dogfights erupted. The reality of aerial combat, with the high speeds of the fighter aircraft involved, meant that the majority of actual engagements lasted only seconds. It was important to get in close, fire in short bursts, then disengage, using speed to escape the scene. The enemy fighters had descended from above, having peeled off in ones and twos, and opened fire; they dived continuously, climbing up to regain position for a similar manoeuvre.

The RAF Spitfire pilots addressed the Messerschmitt threat while the Hurricane pilots concentrated on the destruction of the German bombers. The main objective was to knock them out of the skies.

One of these RAF pilots, newly qualified with less than ten hours flying time on Spitfires, found himself separated from his squadron leader. Acknowledging his lack of experience, the squadron leader had instructed the ‘novice’ to stay close; only in the midst of the heightened moment, he had not. Now alone, albeit in a crowded sky, the pilot wondered at the intensity and lightning speed of exchanges, and the manoeuvrings of the individual aircraft. Instinctive reaction was required, and to his horror he realised that he was way off tempo, completely out of sync and hopelessly out of his depth. Discouraged, mixed up, confused, too much was happening too fast; everything was too quick to take in, and by the time he had regained focus, what he was confronted with had changed, and then changed again.

He could not mentally process what was constantly changing in front of him. It was even difficult to tell friend from foe. His inexperience was likely, at any moment, to see him killed, and he was suddenly all too aware of this probability. Then, shockingly, he became conscious of an enemy fighter lining up to make a head-on attack at him, opening fire with his cannons at long range to knock him out of the sky. Wide of the mark with his opening salvo, the enemy fighter gave up his line of attack and broke off overhead. Alarmed and relieved all at once, the pilot’s respite was fleeting; in the next instant, he heard the sound of firing. From somewhere in his mind, he remembered his flight instructor once telling him that if he ever found himself in this situation, he was to turn the aircraft immediately – the sound almost certainly came from an enemy fighter attacking from astern. He had the wit to turn sharply and slightly downwards in the recommended evasive manoeuvre; the Spitfire had markedly responsive handling, and it was this instantaneous response that kept him alive as the Messerschmitt cannon shells tore past him. Nonetheless, the Messerschmitt followed, the experienced pilot applying patience in overcoming his aircraft’s marginally slower sharp turn to the right. Once executed, the Messerschmitt was on him again.

‘Do not fly straight,’ an inner voice screamed.

Resisting level flight now became his uppermost thought and he half rolled his Spitfire to the right. The mismatch in experience and skill was not long in telling, and try as he might, the youngster could neither outfly nor outmanoeuvre his pursuer; it seemed that nothing he tried could shake him. He decided his only hope was to outrun him, and even this was not proving successful. His anxiety mounted as his options more or less exhausted themselves. Strain had given way to angst, fretfulness to fear. Almost overwhelmed, he was consumed by an overpowering dread that these were his last moments. This dread reached its extreme when he again heard the sound of firing; he felt certain of the disintegration of his aircraft and him along with it. Instead it was the Messerschmitt that began emitting a trail of dark smoke, and then flames began bellowing from its engine. His squadron leader had picked up on what was happening and positioned himself to the rear of the pursuing Messerschmitt – he got in close behind him, kept his Spitfire’s nose on the enemy, and approached its blind spot; when the golden opportunity presented itself – a two to three second window – he fired all eight of his .303” machine guns, recording a further ‘kill’. The youngster was spared to live and fight another day. Thoroughly shaken but all the wiser for the experience, he all too readily realised that the day’s sortie nearly had a tragic end.