It would be a massive raid and Goering was confident of complete victory. If he could destroy this troublesome enemy in their own nest, then the battle for England would be won easily.
The attack was planned for 0800 British time, with the Me 262s running in for their attack at 0830, allowing the Stukas to escape to the east first.
However, like many events in wartime, providence played it's part.
At 0800, the base in Norfolk was deserted except for the three aircraft in the hangar.
And, as the German bombers swept over Lowestoft, the Tornados, Spitfires and Hurricanes were waiting for them.
The subsequent fighting was fierce, bloody and uncompromising.
***
As the German bombers took off from their airfields in France, there was no end of chatter from the pilots as they attempted to form up into squadrons or ‘geschwade’. They chatted brightly amongst themselves, all in high spirits at the likelihood of an easy sortie over the Wash, where fighters generally didn’t lie in wait for them. It was not geographically far south enough for the Channel defenders, and yet not far north enough for the forces defending the Humber and beyond.
However, they couldn’t have known that almost every word the Germans uttered was being monitored by the ECM Canberra, and as soon as they crossed the French coast, an horrendous barrage of white noise battered the eardrums of the Luftwaffe crews. They attempted to change frequencies, but within seconds the Canberra found them and jammed them again.
Consequently, the force of sixty Do-17s was so distracted that they had to turn down their radios. This meant that aircraft at the front of the formation had no warning from those being attacked at the rear.
And so it was – their fates were sealed.
The Tornados dived in at the back markers and took out as many as they could with guns and missiles. As they pulled up and away at very high speed, the Spits and Hurricanes were vectored in and they were able to pick off the stragglers at their leisure. There was no German fighter cover as the supposed ease of the mission precluded their use. It was also unusually early, so they had expected little resistance from the RAF.
Nevertheless, over thirty bombers made it through to Middle Fleckney by diverse and alternate routes and bombed the airfield, causing severe damage to the runway and admin buildings. It would have been much worse had not half the surviving Luftwaffe force not attacked RAF Marham by mistake, due to navigational error caused by the stress of combat.
Several Do-17s were shot down by anti-aircraft fire and many more were lost as they scampered back across the Channel, heading for home. Spitfires and Hurricanes had been scrambled by radar operators co-ordinating the defence.
The Stuka attack was more successful.
As Spitfires and Hurricanes recovered to their home bases, the dive bombers snuck in. A dozen got through to Middle Fleckney, avoiding the flak and were unseen by the Tornados, who were by now running desperately short of fuel. Even if they had intercepted the Stukas, they didn’t have sufficient gas to engage them.
The hangar at Middle Fleckney took a battering.
Stuka pilots scored direct hits on the eastern end, causing the roof to collapse inwards and catch fire. Although fire crews prevented the whole building from going up in flames, the VC10 tanker was gravely damaged.
It would certainly never fly again. In addition the Tornado acting as a ‘Hangar Queen’ was hit by debris and also severely damaged. The remains destined for Warton wouldn't amount to very much at all by 1992 standards – but by 1960s criteria it would still provide a much needed boost to British aircraft development.
The only piece of relatively good news was that the C-130 Hercules was parked at the western end of the building – nearly three hundred yards away, so it escaped unscathed except for a touch of smoke damage. However, parking the aircraft that were still airborne in the hangar was now going to be a challenge. An alternate landing strip and hangar space would need to be found – and quickly.
The Me 262s – the fighter/bomber variant – were just a few minutes behind the Stukas, and although the Tornados knew that they were there – they were helpless, and still frantically searching for a replacement landing ground.
However, the ECM Canberra had alerted the fighter controllers around the Thames Estuary to the threat, and a new wave of Spits sprang into the air. The jamming helped the British pilots, but it was an unequal contest. It was only the fact that twelve Spitfires challenged six Germans that prevented a massacre. The Brits took heavy damage but did enough to delay the German jets, thus preventing all but one getting through to Middle Fleckney. This was a solo Recce variant, which easily avoided the flak as it sped through the area at five hundred and fifty mph, took it's pictures and zoomed back across the Channel at ultra-low level to safety.
The photos it took back to Berlin were incredibly disappointing for the German High Command. They showed no aircraft destroyed on the ground, except for a huge unknown swept-wing aeroplane lying under the rubble in the damaged hangar.
The mission had been an abject failure.
Yes, the airfield was badly damaged, but within twenty-four hours craters would be filled in by repair teams and the runway made usable again. Luckily for Force 1992, the western end of the hangar remained usable and the remaining aircraft had been able to squeeze themselves in after landing.
In fact they had been lucky to get back to Middle Fleckney at all. The Canberras and the Tornados which had been out on early morning sorties had to land on the taxiway at Marham - a few miles to the north
of Middle Fleckney. Having made approaches to their home base, it was clear that they couldn’t yet land on the pockmarked runway. Consequently, they diverted to Marham, which was also damaged, but it's taxiway wasn’t. The eight jets landed and immediately shut down, hoping that the dregs of fuel remaining would permit them to make the five minute hop home. All they could do was wait helplessly, until the runway at Middle Fleckney had been sufficiently repaired to allow them to land without incurring too much engine damage. So, they waited tensely at RAF Marham, praying that they wouldn't be caught out in the open by another pre-emptive German attack.
As luck would have it, they survived long enough to receive a phone call at 1930 hours which confirmed that it was safe to return. They took off immediately and were back in their battered old airship hangar by 2000.
When Todd reached his father’s office in the undamaged part of the giant hangar, he learned the cost in human terms of the German raid. Thirty-one of the 1992 team had been killed and eleven wounded – three seriously.
Todd was stunned.
The casualties were mounting unacceptably. For one thing, how would they explain these losses when and if they returned to 1992 on the eighth of September? He put this question to his father, who was guarded and attempted to avoid the issue.
‘I'm working on that, Todd. I think I may have a solution which will satisfy everybody in 1992. Please trust me on that one.’
Todd wasn’t at all satisfied.
‘This whole God-forsaken mission has been a cock-up from start to finish. If we ever do get back home – you’ll have to answer for your actions, father – your crimes, actually. You can be certain that I will make sure that you pay the price in full!’
He stormed out of the office and joined the ever decreasing group of airman from 1992. They were a forlorn lot. The fight had just gone out of them. Many had lost close friends in the raid and had had just about enough of this bloody war - which many now considered was none of their damned business.
Todd tried his best to calm and placate his men and women, but in truth, he totally agreed with them, and found it extremely hard not to fully sympathise with their anger and frustration.
Yet another series of funerals and a service of remembrance was held the next day, and as Todd looked round at their pale and drawn faces, he counted the human cost of this reckless expedition.
He had started with fifteen aircraft – and what did
he have left?
One C-130 Hercules and five crew.
One ECM Canberra and three crew.
One Recce Canberra and two crew.
Two ADV Tornados and six crew.
One Recce Tornado and two crew.
Two IDS Tornados and six crew.
Eight aircraft remaining – nine if you included the badly damaged Tornado hangar queen. As for personnel, it was horrifying to count the losses.
Nine aircrew dead.
Thirty eight groundcrew and officers killed.
There were only twenty-four aircrew and twenty six ground personnel alive and fit for work. Eleven more were wounded.
It was a nightmare of appalling proportions.
When he tried to think of the consequences for the time-lines, his brain just frazzled. He just couldn’t grasp the complexities involved.
So, he stopped thinking about them. His main and only priority now was to get ALL of the remaining 1992 personel home safely. There would be no more sorties against the Luftwaffe, and certainly no more co-operation with Churchill and his bunch of parasites.
He’d had enough – and he would be telling his father at the first opportunity.
Nonetheless, that didn’t mean that the 1992 detachment were safe at their present location. If the Germans now knew that they were at Middle Fleckney – then they would have to move to a new base if they were to avoid another air attack – which may be even more disastrous next time. As it was the VC10 was a write-off and the groundcrews were decanting the last of its aviation fuel before starting the procedure of breaking it up for scrap, and destroying all trace of it forever. The Tornado being used for spares was to be stripped, broken up and sent to Warton as agreed.
It was not an easy task to find a suitable alternate airfield to house the 1992 personnel until the eighth of September. It would need to offer appropriate accommodation and complete seclusion. Sir Peter Andrews and the AVM set about the job immediately.
***
Hermann Goering was also not so happy.
His mission to destroy the British jets had been a failure. Hitler was incandescent with rage and declared that with immediate effect, London was to be bombed – by day and night. He made one concession, however – and that was to allow the 262s to continue attacks on RAF airfields in the bomber role. He had fifty bright new jets for the task and he intended to use them. He was not prepared, however, to waste them on another fruitless attack on Middle Fleckney.
It would have been a waste of time anyway – because by the twenty-fourth of August, there wasn’t a trace of Force 1992 left in Norfolk.
The search for an alternate base didn’t take very long as the only suitable RAF station was Cardington, near Bedford. It had two 812 foot hangars which had been used to construct and house the R100 and the ill-fated R101 airships in the nineteen–thirties. It was now being used as a Barrage Balloon Operators training unit. It was a simple enough task to send the trainees and staff home on two weeks leave – there were certainly no objections from them on that score.
The next step was to transfer the military guard force and Middle Fleckney 1940’s personnel across to Bedford. The aircraft and groundcrews would follow as soon as the new station was prepared for their use.
Churchill insisted on top-priority for the task and by the twenty- third of August, just two weeks before the time window re-opened, the 1992 team were packed and ready to go.
The C-130 would take all of the kit and ground personnel first, to allow them to familiarise themselves with one of the huge hangars at Cardington. They departed on the twenty-second, leaving only a skeleton force to see the remainder of the jets away from Middle Fleckney. The groundcrew would make the journey to Bedfordshire by truck when the aircraft were safely airborne.
All went as planned. The C-130 landed safely at Cardington on the twenty-second and the airmen prepared for their colleagues’ arrival the next morning.
The VC10 tanker had completely disappeared, as had the Tornado, from the hangar at Middle Fleckney. Nothing of the 1992 force remained as the seven aircraft taxied out for take-off. The two ADVs got airborne first and circled above as cover for the others in case of air attack. They were followed by the ECM, the Recce Tornado, and finally the two IDS Tornados. It was only about sixty miles or ten minutes flying time to their new base, and all should have gone without a hitch.
Unfortunately, a four-ship of interceptor Me 262s flew into the Middle Fleckney circuit just as the two IDS took off – and went in for the kill. However, the two ADVs above the airfield were doing their job and had spotted the German aircraft just in time, and swooped in to prevent them chasing and attacking the two IDS heading for safety.
One of the Tornados got in the first shot and splashed one of the German aircraft. The three surviving Me 262s split into a bomb-burst when the first exploded as an AIM-9 infra-red missile smacked into its jet pipe.
A furious two versus three dogfight ensued, giving the other five jets the time to get away. After judicious use of guns, hard-turns and years of practice, the Tornados shot down the three ME 262s, but not without suffering crippling damage themselves.
They both took guns hits to their fuselage and engines, causing an engine fire in Purple Seven, and a serious control failure in Purple Eight. There was little they could do to help each other, as they were both fully involved with sorting out their own particular emergency.
Purple Eight was heading north-east towards the Wash, and climbing in order to gain time to try and solve the flying control system failure. The pilot was struggling to keep the aircraft from flipping over whilst the navigator made some radio calls to report their position. However, whilst climbing through twenty-two thousand feet, the CSAS failed completely, the Tornado flicked onto it's back and entered an irrecoverable spin. At twenty thousand feet, the nav put out a Mayday call, pulled down his visor and ejected – this wasn’t the time for heroics or hesitation. The pilot followed shortly after and they both floated smoothly down towards the North Sea. The aircraft dove vertically into the water and disappeared for ever without trace.
The two aircrew were eventually picked up by a British patrol boat several hours later, but like many hundreds of other airmen who bailed out into the near freezing waters round the English east coast, they were already dead from exposure. The bodies were kept separate from regular aircrew and buried quietly in a small graveyard near Norwich. Their gravestones are still there today.
The crew of Purple Seven suffered a similar fate.
They had taken several shots to the port engine and this had caused a mechanical failure and fire. They dealt with the fire and planned to sneak home to Cardington on one engine. They turned west from just north of Norwich and planned to overfly Marham en-route to Bedford. Unfortunately for them, their luck was not in. They were flying at two thousand feet above ground level, when suddenly the starboard engine started to play up.
It stuttered and spluttered, wound down and then recovered, but the pilot knew that he needed to get onto the ground as soon as possible, before it failed altogether.
He begged his navigator for a heading to the nearest airstrip – any would do, even grass. The nav gave him a heading of 275 degrees – which put RAF Marham on the nose at six miles – just two or three minutes from safety.
It was sixty seconds too far.
At three miles finals, the starboard engine failed, the pilot lost all electrical and hydraulic control and Purple Seven spontaneously nosedived into a field with both men still on board. It was so quick that they didn’t even have time to eject.
Nobody saw it go down and their final resting place was an isolated boggy meadow. Within fifteen minutes all trace of the jet from 1992 was gone forever, sinking slowly down to about thirty feet under the muddy sludge.
Well, actually not forever, because in 1972, Elizabeth and Jake Reynolds, on one of their annual digs in East Anglia, discovered the watery grave. The aircraft was dug up after the Reynolds’ informed the authori
ties, who secured the site, making the entire archaeological team signed the Official Secrets Act. The bodies were removed and buried close to their colleagues, near Norwich.
MI6 masked the entire operation in secrecy and ensured that no publicity was given to the incident. They were privy to this possibility and had set in place contingencies to deal with any such situation. The Archaeological team were spun a ridiculous cock and bull story about ‘research and development’ and ‘secret aircraft prototypes’ and that it was vital in the ‘National Interest’ to keep the matter confidential.
MI6 had toyed with idea of passing the jet off as a remnant of the ‘Battle of Britain’ motion picture filmed in the late sixties – but it was decided that threats and blackmail to ensure silence would be more effective.
JET LAG! Page 23
