Tragedy at Dieppe Read online

  When a sortie requiring smoke bombs to blind a coastal battery was ordered, all available aircraft were already fitted with SCI for covering the withdrawal. “Consequently SCIs had to be removed and small bomb containers fitted, which is a lengthy proceeding on Blenheim aircraft,” an RAF analyst reported. Previous sorties also added delay because the planes returned “mostly shot up and careful inspection was necessary before undertaking [another] sortie.”18

  Despite the increasing calls for attacks on the coastal batteries, it was apparent that bomb runs were having little effect. A later report examining ten bombing attacks on 6-inch coastal batteries noted that none were silenced. “The twelve Bostons... sent against Hitler Battery bombed from 6,000 to 8,000 feet and... the bombs fell some 2,000 yards wide of the target. To neutralize a battery by bombing it is necessary to hit the actual gun pit. These batteries were in prepared positions dug in with sandbags around them so that near misses were ineffective.” Attacks by four Hurricane squadrons against gun positions hidden in caves or in concrete positions alongside the buildings facing Red and White Beaches also failed. “This is not surprising,” the report concluded, “considering that the target was not susceptible to the cannon fighters and Hurri-bombers. It is... a waste of time attempting to attack such targets with fighters which can only carry light bombs.”19

  When a Hurricane-bomber squadron was dispatched against the headland between White and Green Beaches, two Spitfire squadrons provided covering support. The Spitfires of No. 412 (RCAF) Squadron supported this attack. Flight Lieutenant Jack Godfrey tailed Flying Officer John Brookhouse. “Of all the jobs that could have been assigned to us,” Godfrey wrote, “this undoubtedly was the worst.” Taking off at 1000 hours, they “met the Hurri-bombers over the southern coast of England, and away we went... We flew about five feet above the waves, cruising quite slowly. About five miles off the French coast we gradually opened up so that we hit the coast going flat out to the right of the town.

  “Up over the headland we went and flew inland about three miles, weaving amongst trees. Then we swung to the left. I was following... Brookhouse, slightly to the right and about 75 yards behind. After making our turn we were in a bit of a gully with trees on either side and no trees ahead. The ground started to rise and there at the top was a big flak position. We were on it before we realised it. All hell was breaking loose. There were heavy ack-ack guns and I don’t know how many machine-guns blazing away at us from point-blank range. We had come up a funnel completely exposed. The next thing I saw was the tail of Johnny’s kite just blow, and the fuselage broke in two right behind the cockpit. His kite seemed to go slowly over on its nose. I didn’t see it hit the ground as I was past but one of the other lads saw it and it really spread itself all over the ground. I don’t suppose poor Johnny even knew he was hit.”20

  Committing the Hurricanes had been Leigh-Mallory’s only option with the support planes available. But he recognized that their effectiveness was likely to be scant. It had quickly become apparent that “attacks by Cannon Fighters are effective only whilst they are engaging their targets, but they have no lasting material effect on well-protected defensive positions. They are extravagant in as much as each aircraft is in action for a few seconds only.”21

  At 1000 hours, the first major flight of German bombers arrived; Leigh-Mallory doubled the continuous fighter coverage to six squadrons in response. No. 416 (RCAF), commanded by Squadron Leader Lloyd Chadburn, scrambled immediately. The Aurora, Ontario, bank clerk had been the first Commonwealth Air Training Plan graduate to command a squadron. In May 1942, he had become the first airman to sink a German E-boat. On August 19, he was two days shy of turning twenty-three.22

  The squadron flew four sorties over Dieppe, and Chadburn led each one, while his pilots drew two each. Pilot Officer John Maffre of Montreal was “green as grass,” flying his first combat mission. The squadron operated off a grass field at Hawkinge in Kent—the RAF base closest to France. “Being dry in August there was a great possibility that if you took off individually you would blind the rest with dust. They’d have to wait until the dust settled. So we would take off, twelve, line abreast—almost like a cavalry charge. It was great!”

  Arriving over Dieppe, Maffre saw “a tapestry of aircraft, wheeling all over the place—just nothing but aircraft—mostly fighters. We would see low-level bombers—Bostons and so on—attacking down below. But in the moments we had, when we could look around we’d see pinpricks of light down below, from the navy escort pounding the shoreline. We couldn’t see much of the shoreline, because it was wreathed in smoke and flames. And we just chased around. I just followed my leader. And there were aircraft—mostly Me-109s, but a lot of Focke-Wulf 190s, and a lot of Spitfires and Mustangs.”

  The squadron knew the soldiers below were mostly Canadian, which “gave us a proprietary sense.” During one dogfight, Maffre lost contact with his leader. Suddenly, tracers passed his wingtip and “you realize some SOB is trying to kill you. But fortunately he didn’t hit me.” Maffre fired his guns once, hitting nothing.23

  Not so Flight Lieutenant Blair Dalzell “Dal” Russel. He jumped an FW-190 when it’s pilot “wasn’t looking... I think he was a fairly green pilot.” Russel found the wheeling air battle “pretty shaky all around” and considered his downing the plane more due to luck than skill.24

  The first German bombers were single-engine Stuka dive-bombers, but dual-engine Dorniers and Heinkels flying from bases in Holland and Belgium soon arrived. Some were painted black for nighttime operations. A few were training planes flown by trainee crews. The intensity of anti-aircraft fire from the ships and immediate response by covering fighters made it difficult to attack properly. To target a ship, the bombardier needed the plane to hold a steady course until he released the bombs. Instead, the bomber pilots were jinking to escape the Spitfires or avoid anti-aircraft fire. The ships were also constantly zigzagging. Scoring a hit became a matter of chance. Except for some Stuka attacks on the beaches, the bombers concentrated on the ships. By about 1030 hours, all Luftwaffe “resources on the Western Front were in action.” Leigh-Mallory increased the covering squadrons to nine.25

  The fighter cover was terrifically effective. From the deck of Calpe, Quentin Reynolds watched three Dorniers fly straight over Dieppe towards the destroyer. Spitfires jumped them immediately, and one Dornier broke left with three giving chase. The leader “dove under the tail... and then climbed up under it, firing... into the fat belly... and a thin, white trail of smoke appeared, as though the belly were leaking and the white smoke changed to black and the Dornier began a slow dive. Then a burst of bright orange flame completely obliterated the smoke, as though the belly of the Dornier had exploded... now the whole nose of the Dornier was a ball of fire as its dive became deeper.” The bomber released a dozen bombs, which struck three hundred yards from Calpe. “The ship rocked... and the bombs threw up jets of water.” A quarter mile distant, the bomber crashed into the sea. Two crewmen had bailed out, the other three consigned to a watery grave.

  Calpe’s anti-aircraft guns were hammering fire towards the dangerously closing third Dornier. “The gun crew worked in beautiful harmony. Range finders bent over their instruments, men passed shells, men slapped them into guns, breeches slammed shut... Black bursts seemed to surround the Dornier, and then suddenly there was no Dornier... One moment it was streaking at 280 miles an hour, alive, pulsating, vital, and then it was a mass of scattering debris. One wing sluiced crazily down, and thousands of parts too small to see flew in a thousand directions. It was very impersonal, and the thought that men of flesh and blood were parts of that flying debris never presented itself. Aerial warfare is impersonal.”26

  The ships’ gun crews seldom bothered distinguishing friend from foe. Any plane in range drew their fire. Aboard LCT16, Captain G.C. Wallace of 3rd Canadian Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment “was standing beneath the bridge when two Bostons escorted by Spitf
ires flew very low over us. The naval gunner... opened up, followed by several machine guns mounted on the deck, followed by fire from our Oerlikon guns. I dashed up to the bridge and asked the first officer why the goddamn gunner was firing upon our aircraft. His answer was noncommittal so I then dashed over to the gunner and asked him what he was firing at and he replied, ‘At a Focke Wulfe Torpedo Bomber.’ The planes were now out of range and the firing was stopped. We were recompensed for our mistake by having the escort of Spitfires spray us liberally with machine-gun fire.”27 At least six RAF planes were lost to friendly fire.28

  The Jubilee plan had foreseen such events and sought their prevention by establishing a minimum altitude, below which friendly aircraft were to operate only when pursuing enemy planes. In the heat of the moment, however, some pilots forgot this instruction. The gunners also fired at planes well above the designated ceiling. Leigh-Mallory felt the naval gunners ill trained in aircraft recognition.29

  Hughes-Hallett was also displeased but considered the fire largely unavoidable. “It is very difficult for a ship to recognize aircraft flying straight at it and if the aircraft is close ships must engage them otherwise the enemy would get a clear run.” He recommended having “noses of single engine aircraft... painted a distinctive colour” for recognition purposes and also that gun crews not fire at low-flying aircraft unless they were coming directly at the ship.30

  At 1030 hours, Leigh-Mallory released twenty-four American B-17 bombers to carry out a pre-arranged attack on the Abbeville airfield, thirty miles northeast of Dieppe. The intention was to render the base inoperable during the withdrawal. This was the second mission flown by the U.S. Army Air Force in Europe. Four fighter squadrons—including RCAF 401 and 402 Squadrons—covered the bombers. Despite heavy flak, the bombers reached the airfield unscathed. Mechanical failure prevented one dropping its bombs, but the others each released about 1.5 tons of either high-explosive or incendiary bombs. “Many bursts were seen in the northwest dispersal areas and on the runways whilst fires were started in the woods adjoining the dispersal areas. Bursts were also observed on storage sites and clouds of black smoke were seen rising from the whole target area. This very accurate bombing of dispersal areas and runways—bombs fell near to at least 16 aircraft in these areas—caused considerable confusion to the enemy, and he was denied the use of his aerodrome for probably two hours, his aircraft being instructed to land at alternatives.”31

  As the bombers returned to England, three of the Spitfire squadrons were released to engage the German fighters. Squadron Leader Ken Hodson led No. 402’s Spitfires in a gradual descent from 25,000 to 10,000 feet. Spotting a flight of Dorniers, Hodson dove towards them. He fired a long burst that smacked rounds into one Dornier’s tail and fuselage. Hodson’s second, Flight Sergeant B.M. Zobell, hit another Dornier with two bursts. The bomber’s gunner replied, punching bullets through his rudder, both wings, shattering the Perspex canopy, and smashing the gunsight. A splinter of glass pierced his left eye. Breaking away, Zobell flew homeward.32

  Meanwhile, Flight Sergeant Donald Robert Morrison had dived on an FW-190 about 1,500 feet below him. “I did a slipping barrel roll, losing height and levelled out about 150 yards behind and slightly to the starboard and above the enemy aircraft. I opened fire with a 2-second burst closing to 25 yards. I saw strikes all along the starboard side of the fuselage and several pieces which seemed about a foot square flew off from around the cowling. Just as both the enemy aircraft and myself ran into cloud, he exploded with a terrific flash of flame and black smoke. Immediately after this my windshield and hood were covered with oil and there was a terrific clatter as pieces of debris struck my aircraft.”

  Morrison started for home at about a thousand feet of altitude. Suddenly his engine began to sputter. Realizing he must bail out, Morrison nursed the faltering plane to two thousand feet before the engine died. “I took off my helmet and undid my straps and opened the hood. I crouched on the seat and then shoved the stick forward. My parachute became caught somehow and I figured I was about 200–250 feet above the water when I got clear. The aircraft plunged into the water below me as my parachute opened. Almost immediately I pressed the quick release, just as I hit the water. I inflated my dinghy without any trouble and then climbed in.” While a couple of Spitfires circled protectively, Morrison raised a flag.” This aided the rescue boat to come straight to me... I had only been in the water for about 15 minutes.” Morrison was seventeen miles from Dieppe when a high-speed launch from RAF’s Air Sea Rescue Service picked him up.33 Lightly armed and relying on speed and covering fighter protection, these launches rescued twenty pilots. But of five launches deployed from a base in Dover, the Luftwaffe sunk three, and twenty crew died. “Whilst under the fighter screen,” Leigh-Mallory wrote, “they were adequately protected but at times they gallantly went beyond this cover and suffered casualties.”34

  Air operations intensified at 1100 hours. Boston, Hurri-bomber, and Hurricane cannon squadrons repeatedly attacked the headlands, while smoke-laying aircraft swathed them in smoke. Blenheims raced the length of Red, White, and Green Beaches, creating an obscuring screen. Overhead, Leigh-Mallory thickened the covering force by sending a squadron of Spitfire IXs, capable of reaching higher altitudes than other Spitfire models, to intercept German bombers attacking the beaches from 23,000 feet.35

  Since deciding to launch Vanquish, Hughes-Hallett had scrambled to ensure that the navy would be ready on time. As the original plan had foreseen everyone being picked up in front of Dieppe, a new plan had to be improvised on the fly. Commander H.V.P. McClintock, in charge of the boat pool, was summoned to Calpe. Only LCAs and LCMs would lift troops from the beaches, Hughes-Hallett declared. They would then bring the men to LCTs waiting a mile offshore, transfer them, and then rotate back to the beach in a constant shuttle. Hughes-Hallett “considered it out of the question” to send R-Boats or LCTs “inshore in view of the volume of enemy fire.”

  Still unaware of the Royal Regiment’s surrender on Blue Beach, Hughes-Hallett instructed that the LCA and LCM flotillas should return to the same beaches where they had landed troops.

  Earlier, Hughes-Hallett had dispatched Lieutenant Commander Harold Goulding, Blue Beach’s boat officer, to take three LCAs from Princess Astrid’s flotilla with ML291 in support and try landing there. Goulding began the approach at about 1030 hours. The flotilla came “under increasingly heavy fire and he could see no sign of our forces. One LCA... was sunk and the remainder withdrew.”36

  Meanwhile, the main rescue effort was clumsily evolving. No landing craft were equipped with wireless sets, so McClintock gave instructions by loudhailer from the deck of ML187. To speed the process, he ordered his boat pool assistant commander, Lieutenant J.H. Dathan, to inform the flotillas that would approach Green and White Beaches to be ready by 1100. McClintock would take care of those facing Red and Blue Beaches.37 Dathan diligently warned the respective LCA flotillas. Then, finding twenty LCAs in the boat pool lacking apparent assignment, he tasked ML214 to guide them in to White and Red Beaches.38

  As these two officers sailed through the flotillas bellowing instructions, Calpe was notifying the larger ships of the new plan. Standing off Dieppe, Lieutenant F.M. Foggitt, commanding LCF1, received a signal at 1030 hours “that the withdrawal was ordered for 1100 hours. Subsequently it appeared that the captain read this signal as referring to LCF1. A further signal detailing the action of certain ships during the withdrawal was received at 1045 hours. LCF1 was not included and, subsequently, at 1100 hours she turned to seaward and proceeded back to Newhaven in company with a group of LCTs.” These were the LCTs under Garth’s escort. Aboard LCF1, Royal Marine major G.H. Stockley thought “that the action of the captain was wrong. But, if the signals were read as described, then it was reasonable to suppose that LCF1 should withdraw at 1100 hours and provide [anti-aircraft] protection to the group of LCTs.”39

  Fortunately, LCF1’s unsch
eduled departure had no serious consequences, though some later commentators reported otherwise because they believed the LCTs could have been used in the evacuation.40 All that was lost was an additional gun platform for fending off the Luftwaffe.

  Far more serious was McClintock’s mishandled organization of the eastern LCAs. Drawing abreast of Dieppe’s harbour entrance, ML187 was fired on by German fighters and possibly the gun on the western mole. “I retired very hurriedly to seaward followed by quite a few landing craft. The end of this attack found us rather disorganized as we had 3 or 4 serious casualties.” McClintock’s intention was to transfer the wounded to a destroyer. However, learning of the failed attempt to reach Blue Beach, he concluded “that it was not possible to evacuate from Blue, White or Red beaches... I then went in search of HMS Calpe to report what I knew to the Force Commander and to exchange information, but could not find her so made a signal in plain language to Commander Luce by name. He replied saying, ‘If no further evacuation possible, withdraw to 4 miles from shore.’ The signal was received by me as ‘No further evacuation possible, withdraw.’ Foolishly I made no reply to this signal so left the Force Commander in the dark as to what I was doing.” Unable to see shoreward through the smoke, McClintock became increasingly unsure of what to do next. The captain of a passing LCT shouted that White Beach had fallen. McClintock realized he did not know where all the landing craft were. “I... was pretty sure... Dathan had a certain number with him, and I knew that a certain number had already started for home by my orders.” He rounded up a number of R-Boats but could hardly communicate with them because his loudhailer no longer worked. “After a certain amount of hesitation I decided the best thing to do was withdraw with this group.” McClintock lingered, however, seeking other LCAs to shepherd away from the beaches and get them headed back to England.41