Eagles Over Britain (The After Dunkirk Series Book 2)

by Lee Jackson

  “I’m much obliged, I’m sure,” Lance said wryly. Then he added, “Until you told me about my brother a few minutes ago, I hadn’t known that he and I were both on the Lancastria when it went down. I’m grateful.”

  Roger clapped his shoulder and stood up. “Nonsense. Let’s get you a bunk.”

  Later, Lance asked to speak with Roger privately. He told the squadron leader about the scrap of paper the interrogator had shown him with the three words. “Those two names belonged to my mates, and ‘Lancas’ must refer to the Lancastria. I think they tried to send a message to let me know they’re trying to track me.”

  Roger regarded him thoughtfully. “I’m glad you told only me,” he said slowly. “You’re catching on to security vulnerabilities. Those families who helped you might not do anything more than what they’ve already done, but your two friends actively participated in sabotage, so you have contact directly into the Resistance. If your interrogator had thought that was the case, you’d probably be dealing with the Gestapo right now. I’ll have a word with the wing commander about this.”

  29

  August 18, 1940

  Bentley Priory, England

  Paul entered Fighter Command’s bunker. A captain met him at the door.

  “My name is Joel Peters,” he said by way of greeting. “I’m your escort for the day. We’ve had some activity early this morning, so we’ll hurry along.”

  He moved at a quick pace through a long hall and gestured for Paul to walk alongside. “Enemy reconnaissance and weather aircraft have been probing our southeastern coast since early this morning. Conditions over their targets are not ideal for them at the moment but might clear as the day wears on, so it could get very busy.

  “From this bunker, we see what’s happening across the whole country, but we direct very little. Orders sending our fighters into the fray originate at the Group HQ bunkers, and just a reminder: the fact that those facilities and this one exist is top secret.

  “While we’re heading in, I’ll cover what took place in the last three days. Yesterday seemed to have been a rest and recover day for the Luftwaffe, because they were dormant for our purposes.

  “The day before, on Friday, was almost a repeat of Thursday, so I’ll cover it briefly, and doing so will give you an idea of what took place on both of those days. On Friday, the Luftwaffe executed a massive attack with three assaults over Kent, Sussex, and Hampshire, the Thames Estuary, and at four different points between Harwich and the Isle of Wight. As I said, the pattern was similar to what they did on Thursday with the strongest German activity directed against our airfields, but for some reason, only three of the eight targets they attacked were fighter bases at Manston, West Malling, and Tangmere. If I were to guess, they had bad intel. They struck our coastal aviation instead of our RAF airfields; the latter, of course, being where our Hurricanes and Spitfires are based. We feel all losses, but from a strategic view, fewer of them among our fighters is a good thing, even at the expense of the others.

  “Our pilots are truly amazing. One of them, Flight Lieutenant James Nicolson from 249 Squadron, was wounded two days ago, on Friday. An ME 110 attacked his Hurricane with cannon fire that tore his canopy apart, he was wounded in his left leg by machine gun bullets, and he was partially blinded. His cockpit caught fire, but he still went after his attacker and shot it down. He suffered serious burns before he bailed out. I think he might receive the Victoria Cross. That would be fitting.”

  Joel walked as quickly as he talked, leaving Paul without much chance to react. “I didn’t know about that one,” he replied. “Such courage and tenacity. And you probably heard about Billy Fiske. He was shot down over Tangmere on the same day. He died early yesterday morning. It was widely reported. I met him briefly a few weeks back. He was a good friend to my brother.”

  “Both of those dogfights occurred over Tangmere,” Joel said without breaking stride. “Such sad affairs. We lost over a thousand aircraft over Dunkirk and northern France. It’s difficult to think all that happened just over two months ago, which hasn’t left us much time to recover and replenish, so as you’ll see, we’re operating on very thin margins, and the Germans aren’t waiting around.

  “Intel tells us that Hitler ordered planning for a ground invasion of our island. But first, he needs air superiority, and that drives the plan for his attacks.” He paused and peered at Paul. “I forgot that you’re from MI-6. If I cover what you already know, tell me to shut up and move on.”

  “That’s not a problem,” Paul said. “I need your full insight. Your perspective is as important as the factual material.”

  “You’re writing some sort of top-level report,” Joel said, “is that right?”

  “I don’t know how top level it is, but that’s the task I’ve been handed.”

  They started walking again. “My instructions are to be thorough and hold back nothing. That sounds high level to me.”

  They entered a gallery overlooking the filter room. Through the plexiglass, Joel pointed out the large table-mounted map of England and the western part of France. The part showing Great Britain was divided by black lines into four sections.

  “You’ll recognize by those lines how the country is organized for air defense,” he said. “10 Group, commanded by Air Vice-Marshal Christopher Brown, is there in the southwest.” He pointed to the corresponding area.

  “11 Group, commanded by Air Vice-Marshal Keith Park, is in the southeast,” he went on. “That’s where most of the fighting takes place because it’s the closest to France.

  “Air Vice-Marshal Trafford Mallory commands 12 Group in the midlands, and Air Vice-Marshal Richard Saul has 13 Group in the north, facing the Nordic countries.”

  “May I ask a question?”

  “Of course. Sorry, I’ve been speaking fast. Things can change so quickly that if we leave for even a few minutes, we can be lost when we come back.”

  “Something I haven’t seen explained anywhere, not even in MI-6 reports, is why is Hitler attacking? He never had his sights set on England and he’s met his military objectives, at least the ones we know about. He’s made overtures for a negotiated peace with stated assurances that England would remain sovereign. So, why attack. A better strategy would seem to be to consolidate what he’s gained.”

  Joel stood quietly in thought, and for the first time, Paul had a chance to observe that the RAF captain was about his own age.

  “That’s a good question. I can tell you what’s been bandied about in meetings I’ve attended, but I’m not sure there’s an official statement anywhere.

  “We declared war when Germany invaded Poland. We were obliged to do that under the Anglo-Polish Agreement we signed last year. France signed its own agreement a few days before the invasion. Our state of war continues despite French capitulation, and Mr. Churchill made plain that he does not intend to enter into any negotiated agreement. From Hitler’s perspective, Churchill is intent on driving him from the planet, and the only way for Germany to stop him is to seize possession of Great Britain. That’s probably simplistic, but it’s an explanation that fits the circumstances.”

  He looked through the plexiglass across the control room floor below. “If you get the chance,” he told Paul, changing the subject, “you should visit at least one of the Group HQ bunkers. 11 Group is where you’ll get the best grasp of how operations work because there’s so much more activity in their area owing to their proximity to France. The difference between this bunker and those at the Group HQs is that we’re tied in by phone directly to the huts at the bottom of the radar towers. Have you visited them?”

  “I spent the day at Poling on the 13th. That was Göring’s so-called ‘eagle day.’ I watched through the entire battle.”

  Joel chuckled. “You mean the day he was going to wipe out our RAF? That was a good time to be there. You saw the action before we did.” He gestured around the room. “Let me get you oriented. The plotters you see at the periphery of the table are speaking b
y phone directly to the operators in the radar huts. As aircraft appear on their scopes, our plotters get word and place markers on the map at their positions showing how many there are.”

  “Most of the radar operators, tellers, and plotters are women,” Paul observed. “Why is that?”

  “Chief Air Marshal Dowding’s prescience,” Joel said simply. “He foresaw that most men would be taken into our combat forces, so as he built his air defense system, he recruited women from the WAAFs for these tasks. They do an excellent job.” Seeing that Paul understood, he cocked his head and added, “If you think about it, they hold in their hands the balance between victory and defeat—our success depends on their accuracy and speed in getting information to where it’s most effective.”

  “Isn’t that exaggerating the situation a bit?”

  “You think so? Our fighters need thirteen minutes to get to attack altitude. A German bomber takes five minutes to cross the Channel. One of our radar operators, Avis Parsons—and she’s only nineteen years old—was alone at her post ten days ago when Göring decided to have a go at our radar stations. She spotted a formation of over a hundred aircraft, reported it, and stayed doing her job while those whistling Stukas dived on her and dropped their bombs. She kept on watching her scope and sending reports until her line went dead. Arguably, she saved the day. She’ll probably get a medal; I suspect the Military Medal awarded by the king, and well deserved.

  “All the radar towers were attacked that day, but only hers was knocked out. Apparently, Göring hasn’t discovered that the way to take down one of our stations is to bomb the huts. He hasn’t hit them again, so maybe he thinks them not worth the effort. That would be a big mistake for him. My point is that these WAAFs jobs are dangerous and require concentration and dedication. Without them, we’d lose the battle and maybe the war.”

  Another thought crossed Joel’s mind. “You must have heard about the German Graf Zeppelin flying along our shores for several weeks last year.”

  “I wondered what it was doing.”

  “We don’t know for sure, but we think it was probing our antennas, trying to figure out what they’re for. The Germans don’t seem to have arrived at the right conclusion, though. They haven’t tried knocking them out since that strike ten days ago.”

  Paul watched the women in their blue uniforms. They had earphones on their heads and microphones strapped in front of them that curved up near their mouths, leaving their hands free. Then he glanced at the clock, a strange, multi-colored one that looked like someone’s bad idea of modern decoration. It marked the time at 0900 hours. The map was clear.

  “Not much going on right now,” he said.

  “Probably because of the weather,” Joel replied. “Look at those charts to the lower right of the opposite wall. They show weather information over the control airfields for each sector within a group’s area. Today’s weather isn’t terrible for flight operations, but it’s also not ideal either. Out over the Channel it must be quite hazy.”

  Minutes ticked by and turned into an hour. Paul and Joel discussed more aspects of the Dowding air defense system.

  “The Chief Air Marshal gets full credit for it,” Joel said. “He saw what Hitler’s air force did to cities and the civilian population in aid of Franco during the Spanish Civil War, and he thought that the Germans might do the same to us. He built a system to provide early warning and protection. It’s complex, thorough, and efficient at allocating resources where they are most needed. It’s the work of genius, and to get it funded and built, he had to battle Parliament, the RAF high command, and even local gentry who worried that the towers would interfere with their hunting.

  “Everyone else was looking to build bombers on the premise that bigger bombers would deter our enemies. Our big boys are hitting targets close to the French coast at night while the Dowding system does its job of protecting the country. Without it, the battle would be lost.”

  More time passed, and then at eleven o’clock, one of the plotters pushed a small, round plastic piece on the acrylic surface of the map over France.

  “We have activity,” Joel announced. “You see that marker the plotter put up?” He pointed to it. “She’ll move it across the map using a croupier stick as she receives position reports from the radar operator. Above her, in the operations gallery, the Fighter Command controller watches with his analysts. He monitors which information goes forward to the Groups, making sure it’s relevant.”

  He studied the marker and its position on the plotting board. “That’s a lone aircraft coming our way. I’d guess it to be on another reconnaissance or weather mission. If it reaches mid-Channel, a squadron will be assigned to send up several planes to greet it. We had a few such flights at sunrise this morning. Our chaps chased them away.

  “Our primary function here is to receive raw radar reports, analyze them, marry them up with what we know from RAF radio traffic, and send filtered information to the Group HQ bunkers that is pertinent to them. The idea is to give a visual representation on the map of what is actually going on in the skies.”

  Paul’s brow wrinkled. “How do you know what’s pertinent. Wouldn’t the Groups be better positioned to determine that?”

  Joel shook his head. “I’ll give you two examples. The first happens frequently. We see a formation heading our way reported by one radar station. Then an adjacent station reports one. Are they the same or different formations? Both plotters receiving the messages put those small round disks—they look like tiddlywinks—on the board representing what the operators saw. Radar scientists on the floor who understand the technology ascertain whether there are two formations or just one. If they are the same, they replace the disks with a rectangular marker. Further, they calibrate the data to get more accurate information on distance and altitude.

  “Meanwhile, one of our senior WAAFs listens to Fighter Command radio channels for our own deployments. From that, she discerns if the formation is friendly or hostile and shines a light on the marker to designate whichever it is for the plotter, who annotates it as friend or foe. Only filtered information gets relayed to the control rooms at the Group HQs. That way we avoid sending fighters after phantom enemy formations or sending more than are needed.”

  Amazed, Paul listened and watched. “That’s ingenious.”

  “Agreed. As you might see, things get so busy with multi-colored plastic disks, squares, triangles, arrows, and rectangles being annotated with numbers, which are placed and removed so quickly, it looks like a child’s game. We even call it Mad Lugo.

  “And here’s the second example of why we send only filtered information. The Luftwaffe made several attempts to draw out our fighters by sending slow-moving bomber formations. As soon as those aircraft reached our coast, they turned and flew back to France. They had feinted. Had our subordinate HQ bunkers received those sightings, they might have sent out fighters after them. Meanwhile, the lethal formations of Heinkels and Junkers 88s would have swooped into a cleared corridor and into our interior. Since the group controllers see only pertinent information, they make better tactical decisions, and they don’t waste time and other resources. Most importantly, they don’t create undefended gaps.”

  He pointed to the single disk that the plotter had pushed farther out onto the map. “That bandit is coming on in, and it’s in 11 Group’s area. That HQ will be informed, and within minutes, we’ll see another marker up there indicating our own forces sent out to take care of business.”

  They watched as the round disk representing the German plane continued across the map over the English Channel. “When it reaches our coast, our Royal Observer Corps will pick it out with their binoculars, identify the type of aircraft, and call it in. We have thirty-thousand observers in Groups spaced along the coast about five miles apart. Our radar can see the planes, but they can’t tell us what they are. These observers can, and they also have range-finders, so they can confirm locations.”

  He pointed to the map once again. A
new marker had appeared, and the plotter pushed it toward the incoming German marker. “54 Squadron from Hornchurch sent up five Spitfires to meet it.”

  “You know all of that from that little piece of plastic?” Paul asked, incredulous.

  Joel laughed. “Sorry.” He pointed across the room. “See those vertical boards? At the top of each one is the name of the sector and the Group’s squadrons. Below each of them, you see a status list with a row of lights under them. Together, they indicate current status of each squadron down to the number of individual fighters available. All the other lights across all boards are off. So, in this case, I could easily see which squadrons were ordered to do what, and those aircraft have been ordered to engage. Knowing what is going on at any moment is a function of reading the markers on the map and paying attention to the status boards.”

  “Amazing,” Paul enthused. “Such an intricate system.”

  “Agreed,” Joel said. “It puts our aircraft where they need to be when they need to be there, in effective numbers, without wasting resources. It’s saved us to date, and the Germans not only have nothing like it, they don’t know this system exists. They don’t have radar. And here’s a crucial part. Once our fighters are in the air, our controllers will vector them to the bandits by radio.”

  He directed Paul’s attention back to the map. “And now we know that the bandit is a Messerschmitt 110. That’s a twin-engine fighter-bomber and not to be trifled with. He’s over the Thames Estuary and turning north. From his flight path, I’d say he’ll pass over Canterbury, keep heading north out over the Channel, and then turn east and back to France. Our fighters are flying out of the west to intercept him.”