World
War Two - the aerial war
More than fifteen hundred years ago, the Chinese
strategist
Sun-tzu wrote: Every battle is won
before it is ever fought.” The
superiority of one side over the other (he
meant) can be determined
before the actual conflict: more
often than not, superior forces will vanquish inferior.
This was never so clearly
demonstrated as in the air war of
World War II. Both sides made very clear
decisions that took them in
one direction or another and with
the benefit of hindsight it is
possible to determine which of
those decisions proved advantageous and which proved
disastrous.
The outcome of the war, in both the European and the
Pacific theatres, was determined by
certain decisions and their
outcomes in a very real sense, World War II was
an air war, and it was in
the air that it was won by the
Allies and lost by the Axis powers. This is not to diminish
the heroism and sacrifice of the soldiers and sailors
who also fought, but supremacy on
the ground and at sea
were determined by supremacy in the air. The ability
to bomb targets with
minimal resistance, the ability to sink
battleships and carriers, the ability to secure
beachheads and forward
positions; all these were made possible by
one air power vanquishing the other,
with armaments and
instruments that were not available (or even dreamed
of) in World War I.
The preparations for the war began several years earlier,
and it was apparent from the very
beginning that a major
portion of the conflict would be fought in the sky. On
March 10, 1935, Hermann
Goering, Air Minister of the
Luftwaffe, the German Air Force, called the military
attaches of England and
France to his opulent offices in
the Air Ministry building in Berlin. He informed
them that Germany no
longer considered itself hound by the restrictions placed on
its development of military
aircraft by the
Treaty of Versailles. To underscore his point, he
drew aside
the tall drapes of his office window and displayed a
sky filled with all manner of
aircraft, flying over the Ministry
just for the benefit of Goering’s
visitors.
It was the first of many
incidents before and during the
war in which the Germans tried to
convince their adversaries that their
power was greater than it actually was. Had those
attaches been competent (or
inclined) to look a bit closer at
the several hundred planes that flew overhead, they would
have noticed that many
of them were not military aircraft, but
old Junker tri-motors painted with military colours.
The ruse (conducted
consistently and elaborately)
worked both for and against the Germans.
It convinced England and France
that the Germans were too powerful
to challenge when Hitler annexed
Austria, and that (along with
reports from Lindbergh, who toured many
German factories and had
been fooled himself) in turn
prompted Chamberlain’s policy of appeasement. It also
sent the British and the
Americans scurrying back to the
drawing board and the factories to overcome
the head start the Germans
seemed to have. The shock of Goering’s
display hit particularly hard
in England, where the government had sworn by the
“ten-year rule”—the idea that
England would have a ten-year
warning before the next war, and
thus plenty of time to develop any weaponry
required—and had thus allowed its weapons research
program to languish.
Nearly thirteen thousand B-17 Flying
Fortresses—the mainstay of the Allied bombing
campaign—were built by Boeing. Yet Congress feared
that appropriating funds for such
a plane would create fear among
the public of cross-oceanic bombing. The start of a goodwill
flight to South America
in February 1938 was designed to
allay such fears and promote the plane.
Throughout the war, the Allies were convinced that the
Germans were developing, and on the
verge of unleashing, super weapons—from jet aircraft
to intercontinental rockets to the
atom bomb. There was plenty of
evidence that could not be
dismissed: the Germans had actually
deployed V-2 rockets from Peenemunde on the
Baltic, and they had all the necessary
brainpower in many other areas of science. But what the
Allies did not know was that the Germans had a time rule of
their own: they did not commit any resources to a weapons
project that could not be reasonably expected to yield a
field weapon within a year. This rule grew partly out of the
belief that the war would not last longer than two years,
and partly out of a belief that the industrial capacity of
Germany could not sustain a development program for that
long.
V2 rocket under test
The Nazis were right about the
second premise, but wrong about the first, and they
mistakenly scuttled the programs for the jet aircraft and
the atom bomb virtually in the bud. Meanwhile the Allies
continued to develop aircraft that could overcome the
advantages of the earliest German fighters, as well as
long-range bombers that were unchallenged and unmatched by
the Luftwaffe. This did not happen easily or automatically:
the battles that Billy Mitchell fought and lost had to be
waged over again and with greater cunning if an independent
U.S. air force was to be created.
As for the Germans, they had learned some
lessons from Mitchell and ignored others. Mitchell believed
strongly in the development of large, fast, high-flying
bombers that were beyond the range of ground fire and faster
than fighter aircraft. His first attempt at building
such a bomber, designed by Walter
Barling in 1919, was an expensive
experiment that came to known as
“Mitchell’s Folly.” Over the next decade, Glenn Martin
provided the Navy with a series of
bombers, beginning with the
MB-1 that Mitchell had used to
sink the Ostfriesland and
culminating in the MB-10.
The MB-10 and similar fine planes
produced in England and France
were not going to be adequate if the United States ever
found it necessary to fight a war in
Europe.
Boeing B-17
This set Boeing’s chief designer,
Clairmont Egtvegt, to work and
resulted in the Boeing B- 17
Flying Fortress, arguably the
plane most responsible for the defeat of the Germans.
In the face of defeatist
talk from Lindbergh (who, in
fairness, flew combat missions in the Pacific, paid dearly
for his isolationist beliefs, and placed his entire
knowledge of the German aircraft industry,
distilled of German
misdirection, at the disposal of General H.H. “Hap”
Arnold, chief of the Army
Air Corps), aviation pioneer and
Russian exile Alexander de Seversky, who had lost
a leg flying for the Czar
in World War I and was one of the
world’s most gifted aircraft designers, encouraged
the development of air
power and promoted a program that
exploited the many weaknesses he
saw in the Luftwaffe.
In the final analysis, the air war was won as much by
what the Luftwaffe failed to do as by what the Allies
succeeded in doing. The German approach had its roots in the
Red Baron’s Flying Circus of World War I) was to provide air
support for ground troops in the actual field of battle. The
Junkers JU 87 Stuka dive-bombers that descended on Poland in
1939 and were used so effectively as a component of the
Blitzkrieg (“lightning war”) were still operating as
independent agents in the air, attacking targets with the
same kind of spontaneity of the armour and infantry.
This was exactly what made the strategy
so effective. But once the lines were drawn, the Germans had
no way of maintaining control of the air or extending
destruction beyond the immediate battle line. Goring had
taken note of Mitchell’s actions at St. Mihiel, but he was
unaware of how coordinated an operation it was and how much
of his resources Mitchell had devoted to monitoring and
directing the planes. The entire practice of dive-bombing
was an American invention that World War I ace Ernst Udet
witnessed while on tour in the United States and which he
brought back with him to his native Germany. The amiable
Udet was not a Nazi (he reportedly had a picture of Hitler
in his Berlin apartment that he used for target practice)
and was not much of an administrator. When he was appointed
technical director of the Luftwaffe after Goring took power
as Air Minister, many eyebrows were raised.
Ernst Heinkel, one of Germany’s great
airplane builders, had several large bombers on the drawing
boards; Udet summarily cancelled the program, telling
Heinkel that there would be no need for long-range bombers.
Analysis of what transpired more than fifty years ago has
raised many questions. Udet returned to the United States,
now as a high Nazi official, yet the United States
encouraged his pursuit of dive-bombing as a technique and
even sold him two planes, the Curtiss F8C “Hell-Diver,”
which had been developed by the Navy specifically for
dive-bombing. By temperament, Goring was not a man to
relinquish glory or power to anyone, least of all Udet, whom
he privately regarded as nothing more than a stunt flier.
Yet this is what he did, giving Udet all the credit for the
Stuka’s success in the invasions of Poland and Norway.
Herman Goering (left:
and Ernst Udet, the famed World War I ace who
was placed in charge of Luftwaffe development, confer in
1938.
It is possible that Udet was a pawn of
both sides: the Americans, who knew that dive-bombing was
effective in the short run but a losing strategy in the long
run, and Goering, who needed a scapegoat if the war took any
longer than originally planned or if the Allied production
capacity buried the German war machine (which is exactly
what happened). Udet committed suicide in November 1941,
scrawling on the wall, “Reichsmarschall, why have you
forsaken me?” Goering had wanted to court-martial Udet
posthumously, but instead he presided over a lavish state
funeral for the hero of the First World War.
Udet’s
successor, Hans Jeschonnek, was even less qualified than
Udet; not surprisingly, he too committed suicide when blamed
for the failure of the Nazi air war. The irony of ironies is
that the judgment of history places a large measure of blame
for the fall of the Third Reich at Goering’s doorstep. The
vaunted Luftwaffe, which wreaked so much destruction on
Europe and was hailed as the chief instrument of Hitler’s
conquests, proved in the end to be an inadequate instrument
of empire.
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