Through the flak

Johnston’s crew was to witness some of the toughest times of the bomber campaign: the winter of 43/44 and the bombing of Berlin, and then the effort to destroy infrastructure, installations and military positions in northern France prior to D-Day.

A core element of the German anti-aircraft defences was the fearsome nightfighter. Increasingly efficient radar and listening stations enabled German ground controllers to guide the nightfighters towards their target with greater accuracy. The technology was best suited to pinpointing any bomber unlucky enough to slip out of the stream. Closing in, the nightfighter crew would then switch to using their aircraft’s radar to make the final ‘lock on’ to the target. The Germans called the tactics of using a nightfighter  with the guidance of ground control ‘tame boar’ tactics.

The most dangerous targets in the bomber war were Berlin, Germany’s northern ports and the industrial heart of Germany, the Ruhr – known with bitter irony as the ‘Happy Valley’ because of the peril and danger found over its industrial haze-filled skies. 

Vast flak belts – often under the control of radar and powerful listening posts estimating the height of the bomber stream – protected key targets and cities. In some places, like the industrial Ruhr, the flak belts were 20km thick. The most deadly anti-aircraft guns were the large calibre ones, the ubiquitous Flak 88mm being the backbone of these defences.

The flak would send up a sea of shells, creating clouds of searing-hot shrapnel that would shred, rip and puncture the bombers. Tattered and torn, a bomber could often lose speed, fall out of the bomber stream and invite attacks from German fighters. Shrapnel could also break key components of the aircraft, leading to imminent danger there and then, or give the bomber crew something to worry about on their way back. Fuel lines could be ruptured and the intercom smashed. Hydraulic systems could become damaged or jammed. There was a host of possible problems and it was up to Ernie, if it was possible, to fix them. If the problem was too dangerous for the bomber to continue, or made it impossible for the aircraft to make it back to British waters at least, the pilot would order his crew to bail out over enemy territory.

Over the target, a bomber was in serious trouble if locked on to by a searchlight, which appeared – because of its perspective – to be blue. Crews often believed this was a 'master' beam that directed all other searchlights to ‘cone’ the bomber in blinding white light. If caught in the searchlights, an aircraft would become an obvious target for the guns below. The volume of flak raised usually made it impossible for the bomber to make it out of the area unscathed – it would usually leave the target area as prey for the fighters, or no longer fit to fly, in which case the crew would bail out. Now and then a direct hit on a bomber would be scored and the aircraft would be seen to either explode into a thousand fragments or start a sickening spiral towards the earth.

Stanislaw Stachiewicz, a bomber pilot with 301 Squadron gave a vivid account of what it was like to be ‘coned’. Flying the smaller Wellington bomber in the lead wave over the Ruhr in 1942 things went smoothly at first...

‘[When] we got over Essen everything was switched off and quiet. Then the bomb aimer, having prepared for the bomb run, told us we had passed over the target, so I told the crew we were going in again. On approach it was still quiet. We had just dropped our bombs when a blue searchlight beam shot up from the ground and locked on to us. Other beams followed its example. In two seconds we were coned by at least thirty searchlights and of course the anti aircraft fire began. I shouted to the second pilot: “Don’t get blinded! Concentrate on the instruments and direct me.

'He issued instructions and, changing course all the time, we tried to shake off the searchlights and flak. They stayed on us for 10-12 minutes until we left the defence zone and flew into the safety of darkness. We had taken a lot of damage, but thankfully nothing important had been destroyed. After landing we counted at least 40 holes in the fuselage.’

Running the risks

The danger was not over even when the bomber had delivered their cargo. Indeed, in some ways it became even more dangerous. The enemy was fully aware of their presence and their probable flight path back. Radar controllers would be busy guiding all available nightfighters into striking positions.

Meanwhile, nearer to the burning target, German single-engined fighters would have been scrambled. These interceptors would soar up to great heights and then keep a sharp eye open the shape of bombers silhouetted by the glow of the growing infernos on the ground. The fighters would then dive down and rake the bombers with gun fire in the hope that they could either take the four-engined aircraft down or damage it enough to leave it limping away from target area as prey for the nightfighters to finish off. This method of fighting the bombers was called ‘wild boar’ tactics and it was, despite being quite crude, extremely successful.

There was a final twist for the bombers to contend with. Earlier in the war, the Luftwaffe would often send out its nightfighers, known as intruders, to circle the skies over the bomber airfields. These aircraft would attack unsuspecting bombers taking off or returning and then bolt back for home before the RAF could respond. Later on, as British counter measures made sending out intruders impractical, the Germans would send out nightfighters to patrol the airspace over the North Sea. For the returning bomber crews, relaxation could only really occur once the aircraft had landed back in Britain.

In 1943 the Germans had made the chances of survival a statistical nightmare for Allied aircrews. The men had a 51% chance of being killed on an operation, a 9% chance of being killed in a crash in England, a 3% chance of being injured, a 12% chance of being captured and interned – with a 1% chance of escape. There was a 24% chance of surviving unscathed.

In an effort to reduce the risks, the RAF installed more efficient technology into the bombers, such as better targeting technology, jamming kit and a warning radar, although the latter were used with great care as nightfighters soon learnt to home in on the waves they emitted. The RAF also evolved its tactics. Often two or three bomber streams would be sent out on divergent courses, seemingly aiming for different points on the map, before swinging on to the primary target at the last possible moment. It was all designed to keep the Germans guessing as to where to centre the focus of their ‘tame boar’ nightfighters.

Other defensive measures included the use of ‘window’, thousands of strips of foil that would be jettisoned from the bomber aircraft in the hope that the enemy radar operators would be confused by the sudden emergence of an innumerable number of extra blips. ‘Window’ worked well when first introduced in mid 1943, but the Germans soon adapted and upgraded their technology in order to cope – which they did quite well, although ‘window’ was to remain a problem for them. The Allies also had other aces up their sleeves, including specially-adapted bombers with equipment that could interrupt and jam the German airwaves. False orders and directives were also broadcast on German frequencies with the simple aim of creating confusion.

Finally, the RAF sent out its own nightfighters, usually well-equipped Mosquito aircraft, to try and hunt their German counterparts down. While they did not rack up a large tally of kills, they certainly gave the enemy an extra factor in the bomber war to contend with. 

We should note that the Allies were delivering a far greater and far more destructive tonnage of explosives than the Luftwaffe could have even dreamed of during the ‘Big Blitz’ of 1940-1941. The RAF had also perfected the mixture of bombs. At the smaller end were 40lb and 250lb bombs; then 250lb and 500lb Medium Capacity (MC) bombs, and the 4,000lb ‘cookie’. As the Germans had done, so the Allies also used thousands upon thousands of incendiaries in order to spread fire and flame.

In 1944 new bombs were introduced, including the 1,000lb MC bomb, and, for the Lancaster bomber, the 8,000lb ‘Blockbuster’ High Capacity (HC) bomb and the 12,000lb ‘Tallboy’ HC bomb. In March 1945 the RAF introduced and began dropping one of the most powerful conventional bombs of the war, the 22,000lb ‘Grand Slam’, which could only be carried by a specially adapted Lancaster.

The men of Bomber Command were well aware of the dangers they faced and the destruction they were causing – no more so than Ernie, who, more than most, had witnessed the misery bombing could cause.  Yet, the men sincerely believed that their work was a key element in winning the war. They thought their efforts were sapping enemy morale, disrupting the Third Reich’s ability to wage war and was keeping Nazi manpower and industrial production diverted from fighting the Soviet Union – the Eastern Front being the pivot of the war. Whether they were right is still a considerable matter for debate among historians and the public today.

Despite the horror and high casualty rates, it is a testimony to the men who made up the bomber crews that very few stood down. It is worth remembering that they were all volunteers. They could have stood down at any time, but this would have involved them having the dreaded letters ‘LMF’ – lacking moral fibre – attached to their name. For most, this was a fate worse than death. To ‘throw in the towel’ and walk away from crewmates was the greatest shame one could incur. That said, many declared LMF had snapped under the immense psychological pressure and, often for the safety of their crewmembers, were removed whether they liked it or not. They were often given ground duties of no particular importance and shunned, as though the fear they had suffered from (and still suffered) was an infectious disease.

While we today might find the concept of LMF a deeply uneasy one, it is important to try and view its meaning at the time. In the 21st century we have a much deeper understanding of psychology and post-traumatic shock; in the 1940s research in these fields were still in their infancy. We should try to remember that in the bomber war there was no room for weakness and no room for mistakes.

Prepare for take off