IF you were serving with an American B-17 or B-24 squadron operating over Germany in the summer of 1944, the odds were against you being alive and well in 1945. Four miles above Wiener Neustadt, Regensburg, Schweinfurt or Berlin, it was very easy to die in the bright afternoon sunshine; too easy for men who were young and unwilling to trade life for a few hours of glory. To fly with those massed squadrons, the huge, staggered formations of majestic Fortresses or Liberators deploying hundred of defensive guns, was to venture into a man-made inferno created by packs of Fw 190s, Bf 109s and Ju 88s, attacking in waves through the smoking, criss-cross lines of tracer. “Fighters at twelve o’clock, high!”—and the guns from every bomber would be firing together, the knife-edged wings of the German fighters stabbing orange flame as they came in for head-on attacks, closing to point-blank range and then breaking gracefully away through the bomber formations, still firing. To stand behind the pilot and co-pilot of a B-17, with pounding away and the pungent smell of burnt cordite filling the cockpit, was to stand poised on the brink of a nightmare; to glimpse awful scenes jumping into sight and then vanishing in a moment, like the flickering images on a cinema screen. Beyond that reeling glassed cabin, bombers would be dropping out of the formation in flames, coming apart at the seams like old battered toys or breaking quickly and neatly into two pieces, spilling men out into space like peas from a dry pod. American and German fighters would be hurtling past at nearly 600 miles an hour, cannon blazing; perhaps a stricken Fw 190 in a half roll, trailing great sheets of flame; a pair of yellow-nosed Bf 109s caught in the bomber cross-fire and exploding together; and below, more and more black-crossed fighters rising as though drawn hypnotically to the slaughter. And the B-17 or B-24 formations, all guns hammering, would fly relentlessly on to the target, to those few moments kaleidoscoped into an unholy climax of falling bombs, flak and fighters. Then back from the target, harried all the way, flying through the debris of the great daylight air battles of 1944; the emergency hatches, exit doors, tangled parachutes, bodies, fragments of fuselages and tail-planes, whole engines and wings; bits and pieces of men and machines, the drifting flotsam of war as it was fought in the air.
Into this bloody, embattled arena entered Willy Messerschmitt’s greatest achievement, the Me 262 jet fighter. It streaked through the skies over Germany in the autumn of 1944 like a meteor—“as if angels were pushing” in the words of Adolf Galland—the classic bomber-destroyer, without equal anywhere in the world. After six Me 262s had shot down fifteen American four-engined heavy bombers in as many minutes, General Spaatz, commanding the U.S. Strategic Air Forces, was moved to report that he and General Eisenhower were aware that the deadly German jet fighters could make the losses of the Allied bomber forces “unbearable in the near future”. Yet at the time—September, 1944—the Luftwaffe possessed only one operational Gruppe of Me 262s!
The history of German jet propulsion development can be traced back to the 1920s, when members of the Deutsche Rakete Geselschaft, or German Rocket Society, were carrying out research work on liquid-fuel rockets, and Fritz von Opel, the automobile magnate, was experimenting with solid-fuel rockets. The latter rockets were used with some success to power racing cars, and a special Opel rocket-powered sailplane was flown for the first time in September, 1929. When the National Socialists came to power three years later, the use of the rocket as a practical power unit was visualised, and a new department under the leadership of Dipl. Ing. Dornberger was created within the Reichsluftfahrtministerium to develop rocket propulsion. This department was later reorganised and installed in the new research establishment at Peenemunde, being divided into two sections, one dealing with test-bed work under Wehrmacht control, and the other section dealing with flight test work under Luftwaffe supervision. About the same time, Professor Helmuth Walther, a prominent German engineer, formed a company named Helmuth Walterwerke to develop and manufacture rocket-power units.
In 1936 Walther’s company was ordered to design and build a rocket-propulsion unit to power a high-speed aircraft envisaged by Dr. Alexander Lippisch, an exponent of the delta-wing and tailless aeroplane. A special single-seater monoplane, the Heinkel He 176, was used during 1937 to flight-test the Walther rocket motor, and the unit was also experimentally fitted into a standard Heinkel He 112 fighter. Meanwhile, the Ernst Heinkel concern was taking a practical interest in the principle of turbo-jet propulsion, and several units were completed as a private venture, continued experiments leading to the first successful German gas turbine, the He S 3. On 27th August, 1939, the world’s first flight by a jet-propelled aircraft—the Heinkel He 178—took place. Later, the Heinkel test pilot Erich Warsitz demonstrated the He 178 to Milch and Udet, who were impressed but failed to arouse any enthusiasm in Goering or Hitler.
In January, 1939, Lippisch had accepted an invitation to join the Messerschmitt company in order to accelerate and enlarge upon his experimental and practical work, and a year later the Lippisch-designed tailless single-seater fighter, designated the DFS 194, made an appearance. Powered by a Walther liquid-fuel rocket unit, the DFS 194 attained a maximum speed of 350 m.p.h. with an initial climbing speed of 5,300 ft. per minute. As a result of this phenomenal performance, the Deutsche Luftfahrtministerium decided that the fighter should go into quantity production, and this was undertaken by the Messerschmitt works at Augsburg. The production development of the DFS 194 was redesignated the Messerschmitt Me 163, with the code name Schwalbe (Swallow) and the more apt nickname Komet, or Comet. Later, Professor Lippisch disagreed with Messerschmitt over the handling of the Me 163 project and returned to his native Vienna.
The Messerschmitt Me 262 was envisaged in 1938, when the Messerschmitt A.G. was asked to design a suitable aircraft to accommodate two new gas turbines—the BMW 003 and the Junkers Jumo 004—which were being developed and bench-tested at the time. The year 1941 saw the appearance of two prototype jet fighters: the Heinkel He 280, designed around the Heinkel He S 8 gas turbine, and the Messerschmitt Me 262, intended as an airframe for the Junkers Jumo 004. Both airframes were completed in advance of the power units, and for flight-testing purposes the He 280 was flown as a glider, with streamlined dummy engine nacelles, and the Me 262 with a Junkers Jumo 211 air-cooled inverted-Vee motor driving an airscrew in the nose. When the Heinkel He S 8 gas turbine unit became available, it was installed in both the He 280 and the Me 262, but proved to be unsatisfactory and later had to be dropped in favour of the BMW 003 and Junkers Jumo 004. The amazingly simple Argus impulse-duct jet motor was also flight tested for the first time in 1941 and later produced in large numbers to power V.1 flying bombs.
In 1943, the first turbine-powered flights of the twin-jet Me 262 Sturmvogel (Stormbird) took place, the power units being the production-version Junkers Jumo 004B, mounted in under-slung nacelles beneath the sweptback wings; because of these underslung units a tall tricycle undercarriage had of necessity to be fitted. The flight tests were highly successful, and after various minor modifications the Me 262 was cautiously ordered into quantity production as the Me 262A. All further work on the He 280 was abandoned.
Goering and Milch continued to remain indifferent to the possibilities of the Me 262, although Professor Messerschmitt had long ago pleaded to be allowed to produce “at least a few hundred fighters with jet propulsion”. He had also proposed the production of a fast bomber, but with a petrol engine. Milch at first professed an interest in jet bombers, but later changed his mind in favour of jet fighters. Hans Jesschonnek sat on the fence as usual, and said nothing; official apathy hung like a grey cloud over the Me 262 programme. Meanwhile, the Reichsluftfahrtministerium had decided that a production rate of twenty machines per month should be attained in 1944.
In an effort to arouse official interest, Professor Messerschmitt invited Adolf Galland to flight test an Me 262. “On landing I was more enthusiastic than I had ever been before,” recalls Galland in his memoirs. “Feelings and impressions were, however, no criterion; it was the performance and characteristics that mattered. This was not a step forward. This was a leap!” He immediately sent a telegram to Milch: “The 262 is a very great hit. It will guarantee us an unbelievable advantage in operations while the enemy adheres to the piston engine. Its airworthiness makes the best impression…. This aircraft opens up completely new tactical possibilities.”
The opinion of a fighter leader like Galland was still of some value in the hidebound Luftwaffe, and he was not content to let written reports speak for him. Having made up his mind about the Me 262, he went to see Goering, who was soon sharing the enthusiasm of his subordinate. While Galland was still with him, the Reichsmarschall telephoned Milch, and the subsequent conversation left Galland in no doubt that the Me 262 had at last been accepted. Goering said that he would ask Hitler the very next day for permission to mass produce the new fighter; but he had forgotten—or still failed to realise—how much the Fuehrer distrusted him.
Hitler received Goering coldly, and showed little interest in the Me 262. He was quick to remind the Reichsmarschall that he had been promised the He 177 heavy bomber in 1941 and it was still not ready for quantity production. As for the Me 262, Hitler felt that it would have to wait a while until he reached a decision about its value. In the meantime, he expressly forbade any preparations for mass production. Later, the Fuehrer held a conference of aircraft engineers and designers, supposedly to discuss the jet fighter programme, but actually to reiterate his orders without bothering to heed outside suggestions. Flight tesing of the Me 262 was to be continued with a few prototypes; mass production was still strictly forbidden.
Then Hitler began to wonder if the Me 262 could be used as a fast bomber. On 2nd November, 1943, Goering visited the Messerschmitt works and asked Professor Messerschmitt: “Would the Me 262 be able to cany one or two bombs so that it could be used as a surprise fighter-bomber?” He added that the Fuehrer was taking a personal interest in the matter. Messerschmitt replied that the aircraft could indeed be modified to carry two externally mounted 1,100 lb. bombs or one 2,200 lb. bomb; a factually correct answer which meant precisely nothing, for almost any fighter could be adapted as a fighter-bomber—provided the drastic loss of performance was acceptable. The carrying of a bomb load would reduce the maximum speed of the Me 262 by as much as 120 m.p.h. Nevertheless, Goering was apparently delighted, and hurried back to Hitler with the good news that Germany had a new type of fast bomber. Yet, in August of the same year, the General of the Bombers, Werner Baumbach, had stated: “As home defence must be made strong first—I say that as a bomber officer, although anyone can appreciate that it must go against the grain—I propose that in the present situation we give up the He 177 (heavy bomber) and its capacity in favour of the jet fighter and jet propulsion.”
On 26th November the Me 262 was demonstrated before Hitler at Insterburg in East Prussia. The Fuehrer asked at once, “Can this aircraft carry bombs?” Goering turned to Professor Messerschmitt, who replied carefully, “Yes, my Fuehrer. Theoretically, yes—there is enough spare power to carry 1,000 lb., perhaps even 2,000 lb.”
Hitler nodded. “For years I have demanded from the Luftwaffe a fast bomber which can reach its target in spite of enemy fighter defence,” he said. “In this aircraft you present to me as a fighter plane I see the Blitz Bomber, with which I will repel the invasion in its first and weakest phase. Regardless of the enemy air umbrella, it will strike the recently landed mass of material and troops, creating panic, death and destruction. At last this is Blitz Bomber! Of course, none of you thought of that!” And he looked triumphantly at the men who faced him.
Messerschmitt apparently deemed this to be an occasion when silence was golden, and Goering, who should have acted as spokesman for the fighter experts, also chose to say not a word. Nevertheless, for once a decision of Hitler’s was ignored. The existing programme for production of the Me 262 as a fighter remained virtually unchanged, and the first Me 262A-O fighters for service evaluation were used in action during March, 1944. Meanwhile, Adolf Galland was openly pressing for production of a thousand jet fighters a month, and at the end of April he again drew attention to the Me 262 in a résumé of the air situation, commenting as follows:
“The problem which the Americans have set the fighter arm is—I am speaking solely of daytime—quite simply the problem of superiority in the air. As things are now, it is almost the same thing as command of the air. The ratio between the two sides in day fighting at the present time is between 1:6 and 1:8. The enemy’s proficiency in action is extraordinarily high and the technical accomplishment of his aircraft so outstanding that all we can say is—something must be done! In the last four months we have lost well over a thousand men in the daytime. Of course, that figure included many of our best Geschwader, Gruppe and Staffel leaders. I have mentioned this last possibility in many a report and conference, and gone so far as to talk of the danger of collapse. Now we have reached the point, because the numerical superiority of the enemy has become so great that we must ask ourselves whether the fight is not becoming extraordinarily unprofitable to us.
“What can we do to alter this situation?
“First, we must change the ratio. This means that the industry shall produce aircraft in numbers which will enable us to build up the fighter arm. Secondly, as we are numerically inferior, and always will be—let there be no doubt about that—technical performance must be improved…. I am convinced that we can do wonders even with a small number of greatly superior aircraft like the Me 262 or Me 163. The battle between the fighters—which in daytime is a preliminary to attacking the bombers—is largely a matter of morale. We must break the enemy’s morale. With the help of the two factors, numbers and performance, the fighting value of our formations and the level of their training will inevitably be raised. I do not expect that we shall ever be on equal terms with our opponents, but I think that we shall achieve a reasonable ratio.
“In the last ten battles we have lost on an average more than fifty aircraft and forty men. That means five hundred aircraft and four hundred airmen in ten great raids, and at the present rate they cannot be replaced…. We need higher performance to give our own fighter force a feeling of superiority even if we are inferior in numbers. For example, to give some idea of values: at the moment I would rather have one Me 262 than five Bf 109s!”
So far, so good. Production of the Me 262 as a fighter continued, although Messerschmitt was also developing a bomber prototype, the Me 262V10. Then, at a conference held on the Obersalzburg in the summer of 1944, Hitler again mentioned the Me 262. “How many have been produced so far?” he demanded.
“One hundred and twenty, my Fuehrer,” replied Erhard Milch.
“And how many of these can cany bombs?”
“None, my Fuehrer,” came the inevitable answer. “The Me 262 is being produced exclusively as a fighter aircraft.”
The words Milch spoke exploded in Hitler’s ears like a succession of firecrackers. Two minutes later the Fuehrer was on his feet, hammering with his fists on the table and roaring insults and wild accusations. “You have constantly lied to me and deceived me!” he screamed at Milch. “The Luftwaffe is disobedient, unreliable and disloyal. Look at all the promises! And yet what has it achieved? Nothing. My orders have been systematically disobeyed. I will not stand it any longer!”
Stunned by the tirade, Milch was unable to find his voice; and in the background the amazing Goering nodded agreement with everything Hitler said. Soon afterwards, Milch was dismissed all his appointments; hurled out into the darkness like so many who had briefly crossed swords with the Fuehrer. As for the Me 262, Hitler ordered the modification of all existing machines as bombers, and forbade any mention of the aircraft as a fighter or even as a fighter-bomber. There would be no further discussion or argument about the Me 262; it was a Blitz bomber. All training and testing work on the Me 262 was at the same time taken away from Adolf Galland and handed to the bomber leader, General Peltz. Both Galland and Messerschmitt tried desperately to make Goering fight against the decision, but the Reichsmarschall chose to retire into his shell. When Galland became too persistent, Goering brought the discussion to an end by stating firmly: “So that we may understand each other clearly, I must report that there is no longer any question of debating the fundamental point at issue.”
Having cut the Me 262 fighter programme to pieces, Hitler later relented slightly and made it known that “the tests should be continued with some of the prototypes as fighters”. Meanwhile, the various modifications and problems arising from the fighter-to-bomber conversions naturally delayed tactical employment of the Me 262, and not until after the Normandy landings had taken place did Hitler’s “fast bomber” make an appearance. The conversion of the Schwalbe fighter finally resulted in the Me 262A-2a, code-named the Sturmvogel or Stormbird, which entered service with Kampfgeschwader 51 when the Allied forces were already surging across France. By the time Kampfgeschwader 6, 27 and 54 had been re-equipped with the type, the German army in the west was in full retreat Behind the scenes, Peltz was floundering in the confusion of trying to train his bomber pilots to fly an aircraft designed and built as a fighter; and all for the sake of dropping one or two bombs that could do no real damage.
Adolf Galland, who had been left to amuse himself with a test commando unit of a few Me 262 fighters, at last received orders to form a jet fighter unit, the nucleus of Jagdgeschwader 7, later to take a heavy toll of Allied bombers. There were two reasons for this change of heart by Hitler; the Arado Ar 234B jet bomber was beginning to roll off the production lines; and Albert Speer, with the unexpected support of Himmler, was pressing for release of the Me 262 as a fighter. The first Me 262 fighter unit was commanded by Major Walter Nowotny, a brilliant young Luftwaffe fighter ace and holder of the diamonds, who had shot down over 200 enemy aircraft. He was killed in action on 9th October, 1944.
Towards the end of 1944, when the defeat of Germany remained only a matter of time, Hitler decided to give priority to the Me 262 in the fighter role. The Me 262 fiasco thus reached the point of absurdity with the Fuehrer’s order that all the Me 262 fighters converted to bombers must now be reconverted to fighters! More time was lost while this work was undertaken, and the production figures for the Me 262 serve to highlight the ridiculous situation. A total of 1,433 Me 262s were built during the war years, of which 568 had been produced by 31st December, 1944, and 865 completed during the first four months of 1945. Of these, only about 100 aircraft were used in action, some having to be reconverted into fighters at the front under enemy fire.
The many delays with the Me 262 had inspired the Reichsluftfahrtministerium to issue a specification calling for a cheap jet fighter which could be mass produced and hurriedly rushed into service in large numbers. Galland immediately took up arms against this idea, as he correctly judged that the limitations imposed by the specification spelled failure to any jet fighter. Also, production of the Me 262 would be further delayed. And supposing the miracle did take place and a fighter appeared which could indeed be manufactured in large numbers, how was the desperate shortage of trained pilots to be overcome? Galland suggested that all new projects should be dropped in favour of the Me 262, which had proved its worth in action; the situation was too desperate for the time-wasting development of new types.
Galland’s arguments fell on deaf ears, and Professor Ernst Heinkel’s latest design, the He 162 jet fighter, was accepted by Goering as the aircraft that would break the Allied bombing offensive. The He 162 Salamander, more popularly known as the Volksjager, or People’s Fighter, was of mixed wood and steel construction and powered by a single Jumo 004 turbo-jet engine mounted above the fuselage and behind the cockpit. Imperfectly developed and produced in very great haste, the He 162 progressed from drawing-board to initial flight tests in the amazingly short period of sixty-nine days, and was so light and simple in concept that it was almost as primitive as the V.1 flying bomb. It could hardly be classed as a high-performance fighter, but Otto Saur, the fighter production leader, widely acclaimed the aircraft and sincerely believed that thousands of He 162s would soon be filling the skies over Germany. It was hoped to solve the pilot problem by using a year’s intake of Hitlerjugend (Hitler Youth) boys of sixteen and seventeen years of age, who were to be hurriedly trained in gliders, then transferred directly to the Volksjager and thrown into battle. That such an insane idea could be put forward—let alone gladly accepted—indicates the disastrous state of affairs existing in the Luftwaffe hierarchy by the end of 1944.
On 10th December, 1944, the Heinkel test pilot Flugkapitan Peter demonstrated the He 162 to a party of high Nazi and Luftwaffe officials. During a low-altitude, high-speed run across the airfield the starboard wing leading edge suddenly broke away, followed by the starboard aileron and wing-tip, then the fighter performed several rolls and disintegrated, killing the pilot. It was discovered that the new type of wood adhesive used in the construction of the He 162 had failed under stress, but the crash made Saur and the other Volksjager advocates doubt the capabilities of their “miracle fighter” for the first time. Nevertheless, the He 162 was ordered into quantity production.
Fortunately for the Hitlerjugend boys who were supposed to fly the He 162, only about 100 machines were delivered before the shortage of fuel, Allied bombing and the German capitulation brought production to an end. During the last weeks of the war, all the wooden parts of the aircraft were being made in carpenters’ shops in Thuringia and Wurttemberg and then assembled in three main centres, and large numbers of semi-completed Volksjager were captured during the Allied advance. A few airworthy He 162s were later flown to Britain and tested at Farnborough, but they were found to be anything but “miracle fighters”, being prone to many defects and extremely difficult to handle at speed.
Adolf Galland’s outspoken comments on the Me 262 fiasco, followed by his lonely struggle against Saur and the other He 162 advocates, had made him a marked man. In January, 1945, Goering virtually relieved him of all his duties by sending him on indefinite leave without bothering to appoint a successor, a move that inadvertently blew the lid off the crisis seething in the German fighter arm. Obersts Lutzow and Trautloft, heading a delegation of veteran fighter pilots, drafted a memorandum for Goering, which, in effect, blamed the Reichsmarschall for the disastrous state of the Luftwaffe and demanded immediate action to save the situation. The “fighter pilot mutineers” hoped to be granted an audience by Hitler, but had to be satisfied with Goering, who met them in the Haus der Flieger in Berlin. He was accompanied, among others, by General der Flieger Karl Koller, the last Chief of Staff of the Luftwaffe, who had reluctantly accepted a post nobody wanted when Goering agreed to give him a free hand. (Koller criticised Goering to his face for taking no interest in Luftwaffe affairs, and the Reichsmarschall promised roguishly to “be a good boy in future”; in this mood, according to Koller, he was “irresistible”.)
Silently, Goering read the memorandum placed before him. It pointed out that the fighter arm of the Luftwaffe had suffered fearful losses for a considerable time, yet the Reichsmarschall continued to charge his fighter pilots with cowardice, mentioned the increasing influence of the bomber arm in fighter matters and stated that the dismissal of Galland at such a time seemed to be a grave error. The equipping of bomber units with the Me 262 was also considered a terrible mistake. Finally, the memorandum demanded the removal from their posts of a number of high Luftwaffe officers—Goering’s cronies—and concluded with the blunt words; “The fighter arm is of the opinion that the Reichsmarschall is being ill-advised by his staff and it is also of the opinion that all officers without long war experience should now be removed and replaced by experienced fighter commanders.”
Before Goering could open his mouth, Lutzow, in defiance of all protocol, rose to his feet and spoke. “Herr Reichsmarschall,” he said quietly, “in the name of my comrades I must ask you to give me fifty minutes uninterrupted time to speak, as otherwise our intention of making the situation clear to you will be frustrated.”
Goering was crimson in the face with anger. “What impudence!” he shouted. “Are you suggesting that I didn’t build up a strong Luftwaffe?”
Lutzow looked directly at him. “Yes, Herr Reichsmarschall, you did build up a strong Luftwaffe,” he replied. “And it won you many victories in Poland and France. But afterwards you went to sleep.”
The last remark brought the meeting to an abrupt end. Goering seemed momentarily paralysed with rage, then he yelled, “This is the limit! You’re all mutineers!” and stalked out of the room. Once back at Karinhall and away from the accusing eyes of his subordinates, he became the old ruthless Goering, ready to swing the axe without pausing to consider the facts. Lutzow was relieved of all his duties and virtually banished from his native Germany, for he was placed in command of a fighter unit in the Italian theatre of operations. Trautloft was also dismissed. Adolf Galland, who Goering suspected had instigated the “mutiny” while remaining in the background, was ordered to leave Berlin at once and not return without permission, an indication that he was about to be publicly dragged through the mire as yet another scapegoat to save the Reichsmarschall’s skin. What is history to make of this vain, grotesque man who buried his head in the sand to the bitter end, and used his authority only to silence the voices of reason?
Just how much of the so-called Galland affair had leaked out to the ears of Hitler is not known, but at this juncture he intervened. Goering unexpectedly called Galland to Karinhall and told him that in view of his past services to the fighter arm, no further disciplinary action would be taken. For obvious reasons Galland could not be reinstated, added Goering, but the Fuehrer was giving him the opportunity to prove the value of the jet fighter by forming a free-lance Jagdgeschwader of Me 262s, selecting his own pilots. Goering cunningly recommended the most rebellious of the fighter leaders for service with what he considered would prove to be a suicide unit, and for once Galland was in complete agreement; he knew that the “mutineers” were without equal in the Luftwaffe.
In due course, Jagdgeschwader 44, perhaps the most élite unit in the Luftwaffe, was formed at Brandenburg-Briest. The pilots included such outstanding aces as Barkhorn, Steinhoff and Lutzow, who had been recalled from Italy; all were veterans, and many wore the highest decorations for bravery, including the Knight’s Cross. In March, 1945, Jagdgeschwader 44 became ready for active service from Munich-Reim, and the last and greatest of the Luftwaffe fighter pilots were able to fly the world’s first operational jet fighters into the cauldron of the German skies. Among these unique airmen, Adolf Galland, their commander, held a unique position. “The circle was closing,” he writes. “I went into the war as lieutenant and squadron leader, and should end it as lieutenant-general and squadron leader! I was the fortunate man who was allowed to form and lead the most powerful squadron of fighters in the history of war.”