Once More the Hawks (18 page)

When Babington arrived he promptly insisted on his name being added to Fisher’s list.

‘Later,’ Dicken said. ‘I’m upping you to squadron leader. I want you to keep an eye on this place while I’m away.’

It didn’t take him long to find out how hard it was to find targets at night, even in good weather and without the distraction of enemy fire. At the conferences that were held, he made it clear that targets needed to be marked.

Harris had already thought of that one. ‘Targets
will
be marked,’ he said. ‘I’ve asked for marker bombs. In Iraq we improvised our own by fastening Very lights to 20lb practice bombs and I’ve been badgering the Air Staff for something similar.’

There were other innovations. Pilots had had nothing more to guide them in instrument flying than a bubble and an airspeed indicator and at night, with poor visibility and no horizon, it wasn’t enough, except for the most experienced crews, so that Harris was already having stabilised instrument panels with artificial horizons fitted and car headlamps mounted as landing lights. Listening to Dicken’s description of the Americans’ electrically-lit flare paths, he demanded the same for his aerodromes to replace the out-of-date gooseneck flares.

‘Well,’ he said as the conference broke up. ‘We’re making progress. But it’s only just starting and it looks as though we’re going to be fighting a major battle every night and making major decisions every twenty-four hours, on weather, conditions and where to go. I just hope to God we can measure up to it.’

Within a fortnight, Dicken found himself flying on a raid on Stuttgart. He had three times taken new crews on short operations. Their attitude to him and the rows of medal ribbons he wore was less one of awe than of sheer terror, but he briefed them carefully, explaining that he was there merely to show them how it was done. By this stage in the war, the standards of education, lowered when the war had started, had been lowered still further and there were all kinds of men in command of the huge machines. They were a mixed bunch and they ranged from eighteen – some Dicken suspected were even less – to the middle thirties, all enthusiastic but all slightly nervous of their responsibilities.

As each new crew arrived, he took them flying on a course round England, watching everything the pilot did, with Fisher somewhere behind him watching the wireless operator and an experienced navigator watching the navigation. Some of them had their skills at their fingertips but some had been trained far too rapidly, pushed through to keep up the numbers, and as he watched them bombing the targets in the sea off North Wales, he found he had to send several back for extra training. A few who were overconfident were cautioned, though he tried to be gentle with high spirits, knowing they were born all too often of nerves.

Making a point of visiting the squadrons as often as possible, he found he was beginning to receive grins of greeting and was startled to discover that for the first time in his life he had a nickname.

‘They call me “Daddy,”’ he said to Hatto.

Hatto grinned. ‘You’re lucky,’ he said. ‘They call me “Old Bum and Eyeglass”.’

The group contained a nucleus of experienced crews but the new men had a lot to learn. In addition to a sea crossing of around 100 miles, they had to cover another 120 miles of German-occupied air space before entering Germany itself, and an unbroken line of radar zones stretched from north to south right across their route. In these zones night fighters were waiting to pounce and behind them were the searchlights and the flak – so thick, one youngster claimed, he had to fly through it on instruments. Their job done, they then had to do the whole thing in reverse and do it thirty times before they were entitled to a rest. Like all aircrews they were deeply attached to each other but they managed to remain unemotional, and when one of them died it was understood that his friends should help themselves from his kit before waiting with only mild curiosity for the new arrival who was to take his place.

By April, the group was taking its full share of the raids. Occasionally Dicken accompanied them but most nights he waited in the Ops Room of one of the stations – usually half-dozing in a chair until the aeroplanes returned. He had learned to live a completely different kind of life because no commander who needed his sleep was much use in Bomber Command. As the hours passed, he found himself staring at the attractive Waaf behind the telephone and the large blackboard on the wall on which were written the names of the captains taking part in that night’s operations, their bomb load, the time off, and the names of their crew. The most important space was left unfilled until they returned – ‘Time landed.’ As they appeared one by one the girl, Diplock’s fiancée, Section Officer Paget, rose, mounted the ladder and filled in the final space –
X-X-Ray, 0520. S-Sugar 0522, M-Mother 0525
– while Dicken and Howarth sat smoking cigarette after cigarette until it grew daylight and an orderly came in to draw the blackout curtains.

Harris was still seeking his ‘something big’ to shock the authorities into giving his command the support it needed, but time seemed to be growing short because, with the war still going against the allies, the cry from the other services was always for bombers and more bombers, and there was always the danger of squadrons being taken for other theatres.

There was still fierce criticism of the control and direction of the RAF. Both the army and the navy were convinced that it was the province of the Chiefs of Staff to advise on the allocation of aircraft and that it was quite unacceptable for the RAF to decide these allocations itself. The argument even reached Parliament where it was being debated whether the continued devotion of a considerable part of the war effort to the building up of the bomber force was the best use of resources. The chances of Bomber Command surviving in its present form were beginning to look very slight.

Then in May Dicken was called to a conference at Harris’ headquarters. That it was important was obvious from the fact that all station commanders and group commanders were present, together with Harris’ Radar Officer, his chief research scientist, his meteorological and intelligence officers and the Group Captain, Operations. Flanked by his Chief Staff Officer, Harris arrived with his peaked cap pulled down over his ginger-grey hair. Unlike the others who all wore battledress, he was dressed in his best blue, his shoulders in their characteristic hunch. Taking off his cap, he handed it to an aide. Around them, as he sat silently in his chair, with his Chief Staff Officer on his right, were the wallboards of station, squadron and aircraft figures.

‘We have our “something big”,’ he announced at once. ‘I’ve got you here to explain what it is and to ask what you can contribute.’ He paused for a moment, took a packet of American Camels from his side pocket, tapped it and drew out a cigarette, then, lighting it with a lighter from his other side pocket, pressed it into a stubby cigarette holder. Flattening a chart that lay before him, he looked up.

‘We’re going to put a thousand bombers in the air over Germany,’ he said. ‘In one raid. On one city. We’re going to obliterate it.’

There was a murmur as the message sank in, then Harris continued. ‘I must be the first commander in history to commit the whole of his first-line strength, his reserves and training back-up in one battle. Failure will mean the end of Bomber Command but, since they’re talking of taking it apart, anyway, we don’t seem to have much to lose. I propose to make use of conversion and training machines, instructors and if necessary pupils. That way we can double our front-line strength to seven hundred plus. The Prime Minister has been informed and, with his support, we shall have transferred back to us all bomber aircraft and crews which have been transferred in the past twelve months to Coastal Command. That adds another 250 machines and brings us within reach of a thousand. The remaining fifty we can raise by using the machines which every squadron already maintains as replacements and by demanding more replacements for machines which have not yet been lost. Any questions?’

There was a moment’s silence as they all absorbed the incredible news. They all knew what it meant and to a man they supported Harris’ action.

‘One, sir.’ It was Howarth. ‘What’s the target?’

Harris looked up over his spectacles. ‘At the moment it rests between Hamburg and Cologne, both of which are easily recognisable. The final decision will be made when we see what the weather does.’

‘When’s it to be, sir.

‘It’ll take three or four days to get the force together, carry out the plan – hopefully, with a back-up raid to follow – and disperse the machines back to their aerodromes. A full moon’s desirable – perhaps even essential – which makes it between May 26 and 30. That would be just about right. We can’t afford too long a delay because of security.’

Nobody spoke and Harris continued. The problems of using so large a force would be greatly simplified by the use of Gee, the radar guide to the target, and Gee-equipped aircraft would drop markers.

‘We expect to have four hundred aircraft so equipped.’ Harris said. ‘Including Lancasters, Halifaxes and Stirlings of the conversion units.’

He took off his half-spectacles and began polishing them. Howarth spoke again.

‘One thousand aircraft are lot of aircraft, sir. The collision risk will be considerable.’

Harris had the answer to that. ‘We propose to have more than one aiming point, and will route the groups on parallel tracks. Heights will also be staggered. By this means we can get the whole force over the target in a matter of ninety minutes with a collision risk over the target of one per hour, which I think we can accept. If we’re successful, and I think we shall be, we shall overwhelm the defences and the lessons we can learn will be of enormous value. A successful operation will not only raise morale throughout the whole force but will finish for ever the demands for our aircraft.’ He paused. ‘Doubtless the target can be patched up afterwards but the impact of a raid of this magnitude and the inherent threat of further raids is bound to have a profound effect on Germany’s entire strategic thought. They’ll have to retain fighters for the defence of their homeland and that will have the effect of reducing the dangers in other theatres – which is what the advocates of dispersing the force are trying to do, anyway. I want to know now what you can raise in the way of machines and crews. Go back. Think about it and let me know the absolute limit to which you can go.’

As he headed for his car with Dicken, Howarth’s face was grim. ‘You know what the world’s going to say of us, don’t you. Dick?’ he said. ‘We’ll be accused of mass murder. There are plenty of people who’ll say that all Germans aren’t bad and that under Hitler they had no say in the bombing of Warsaw and Rotterdam and London.’

Dicken shrugged. ‘Doubtless there
are
such Germans,’ he agreed. ‘And there’ll be a lot more after this raid. But, you know, Tom, I’ve never heard of any of them while Hitler’s been winning everywhere. If Germany starts getting hurt, they’ll come out from under the stones as they always do in such circumstances, and say we’re a lot of dirty dogs. But whatever’s said about this war being a crusade against an evil regime, it’s more than just that. It’s first and foremost a battle for survival and, because we’ve got to win it, anything goes.’

The task of assembling the bombers was expected to take all of 48 hours. In addition to the operational bomber groups, approximately 200 aircraft from Flying Training, Army Co-operation, Coastal Command and Bomber Training Groups were involved and it was essential for security that nobody should notice what was happening. Meanwhile plans had been laid for diversionary attacks on German fighter airfields along the route and in the target area, while air/sea rescue patrols were to be set up from daylight onwards.

The final operation order was issued on May 26. The raid was to take place the following night or any night afterwards when the moon was on the wane. The order was simple. It was estimated that a force of 1081 bombers would be employed, led by Gee-equipped Wellingtons and Stirlings which were to set the centre of the target alight, to be followed in the next hour by the entire force except the new four-engined Lancasters and Halifaxes, which were to drop their bombs in the last fifteen minutes. Zero hour was fifty-five minutes after midnight, all aircraft turning for home by 0225 whether they had bombed or not. There were to be no bomber operations for a full forty-eight hours beforehand to enable ground crews and aircrews to prepare.

From his own group, Dicken had raised over 100 machines when at the last moment he heard that Diplock, leaned on by the Admiralty, had withdrawn Coastal Command’s 250 Wellingtons, Whitleys and Hampdens. Called to the Admiralty at the last moment when it was too late to make changes, he had given way.

Harris was furious. ‘We’ll plan without them,’ he snapped.

The problem was not so much aircraft as crews, and the order went out that pupils, men on rest, and scratch crews from station, squadron and group staffs were to be asked to volunteer. By May 26th, the number of machines available had been pushed up again to 940 but several untried crews, hampered by the need for wireless silence, had come to grief even as they flew to their advanced bases. Reading the figures, Dicken frowned. If they couldn’t fly across England, it would be God help them when they came to fly across Germany.

Doubts that he hadn’t had before came to him. Harris had made his view of the Admiralty and Coastal Command – and of Diplock in particular – forcefully clear, and it was known that he was determined to have Diplock’s scalp. But now, though he was behind Harris on the need for the raid, Dicken found himself wondering how much sense there was in using untried crews. It seemed to be pushing the case almost into the realms of political necessity. It had already been made clear that personnel under training were to be used only at the discretion of their senior officers, the idea behind it that insufficiently trained men would not be thrown into the raid. Once they had heard what was happening, however, it was going to be hard to remove them from the order of battle.