A LION IS BORN
It is unlikely that anyone had a better panoramic view of the first stage of the German invasion of England than Feldwebel Rudolf Pabst. As a crew member of a Dornier 17P reconnaissance aircraft, he had taken off before first light on the day of the invasion to photograph British route centres and airfields in the sector east and south of London. The Dornier had crossed the coast near Ramsgate in daylight at a height of 12,000 feet, hoping to make use of scattered cloud cover if British fighters made an interception – as bitter experience over the past few weeks led its crew to expect. The Hurricanes and Spitfires had made life perilous for the reconnaissance machines and losses had been serious. True there had been a considerable improvement in the situation since the major air offensive had begun a fortnight ago, but there was always the danger of an early morning enemy flight making an unwelcome appearance. Over Canterbury the cameras were started whenever gaps appeared in the clouds below, and Pabst felt increasingly confident that the greater part of the mission would be fulfilled without difficulty. They took pictures of Maidstone and set a course which would take them over West Mailing and the airfields of Kenley and Biggin Hill. The three members of the crew noticed that the scene below looked different from a couple of days ago, chiefly because there seemed to be rather a lot of smoke hanging about at the lower altitudes. Over Biggin Hill the rear gunner called urgently that hostile aircraft were closing from above – three Spitfires probably and, yes, they seemed to be shaping to attack.
Immediately, the pilot dived for the clouds, with the Hurricanes (as they proved to be) hurtling down to cut him off. Just out of machine-gun range they reached safety, weaving aside and swinging south to put off the fighters, finally emerging at about 4,000 feet above East Grinstead. Wrote Pabst:
‘Our pilot decided to do what he had done before, that is fly home at tree-top level, crossing the coast somewhere to the west of Folkestone. I sat in the nose and therefore had my usual uninterrupted view of the ground as it flashed by. We careered over farms, woods and villages, skirting the larger towns as we endeavoured to avoid British anti-aircraft fire and airfields. I noticed that even the smaller country lanes had much traffic – columns of cars, lorries and carts with people either gazing up or jumping into the ditches. These, for the most part, seemed to be civilians with hardly a sign of military vehicles, so I suppose they were refugees such as we had seen in France and Belgium before. Nearing the coast the signs of war became more evident. A number of places had fires burning and we were shot at on a couple of occasions. Also the rear gunner shouted more frequent warnings about enemy aircraft, although I think a number of those were our own. But it certainly came as a surprise when we overtook a Kette of Ju52 transports lumbering out to sea near Hythe and it was only then, in fact, that I realized we had flown into the heart of the invasion. For to our left there pillared the dust and smoke of battle, cloaking the foreshore and the cliffs, and ahead were ships and boats, convoys of them stretching back across the Channel towards France.
At once the grandeur of this historic moment was impressed upon us. By rights our pilot should have made straight for home to deliver the results of our mission, but impetuously he swung left and followed the coastline, giving us a thrilling view of the armada at about the moment, I assume, when the first troops were going ashore to join the airborne boys. As we raced above the waves some of our men looked up, but elsewhere the others were too heavily engaged. Most boats were moving, but some were obviously in trouble, heeling over or in flames. Close to Dover we noticed gunfire above the cliffs, and farther out to sea, as we turned towards Dunkirk, we could see larger warships firing and beyond them, on the cliffs near Calais, the flash of heavy artillery in action. Just off Dover it looked as if there were a naval battle in progress. A heavy smoke screen had been laid and here the ships and boats looked as if they were in disarray, all formation abandoned. At this moment we felt both safer and yet more in peril – safer because there were a lot of our own fighters and bombers about, more at risk because a lot of trigger-happy men on the warships began firing at us and gave us a hot time most of the way across.’
Looking back on what he had seen, Pabst summed up his feelings about ‘this memorable and historic occasion’, as he called it. ‘Excited as I was, I failed to pay sufficient attention to the suffering of those in battle below and only gradually was it brought home to me, as to other Germans, what our men had gone through. The news that a cousin of mine had been killed in the paratroop assault and that my brother, Werner, had been severely wounded in that appalling massacre at the foot of the cliffs, had a deeply personal effect. Those were the fortunes of war, but it somehow seemed especially sad that Werner should suffer so much in action out of his element, on the sea, which he had never seen before this summer. Yet, despite all that has since transpired, I cannot dismiss from my mind the splendours of our achievements on that day of destiny.’
The germ of an idea
The momentous decision which brought about the invasion of Britain was taken by Adolf Hitler, the Reichs Chancellor and Supreme Head of the Armed Forces (the Wehrmacht), on 21 May 1940. It was a day rich in euphoria when new horizons opened up in his vision of a German hegemony over the rest of Europe. German arms had just won one of the most complete victories of all time. Only days before the Wehrmacht had rolled forward in its invasion of the West. Within four days Holland had been forced to surrender and now his triumphant army overlooked the English Channel, a signal from the leading tanks of General der Panzertruppe Heinz Guderian’s XIX Corps having announced the previous evening that they had arrived at Abbeville after a 300-mile dash across France from the Ardennes. It was then a question of deciding which way Guderian should go – southwards, into the heart of France, or northwards in the direction of Dunkirk in an endeavour to encircle the out-flanked French and British forces which were only just awakening to the fact that they were in imminent danger of being cut off, not only from the rest of France, but also from an escape route via the sea to England.
The orders went out to turn north to complete the envelopment. The invasion of France, stripped already of her best troops, could follow at leisure. The mainland of Europe lay at Germany’s feet and Britain must surely sue for peace as soon as the defeat of France had been completed. And with that thought in mind, the attention of the German High Command turned to fresh military realities in the event of political dreams coming to nought – the question of how to tackle Britain if she refused to behave sensibly.
The rout inflicted upon the Dutch, Belgian, French and British forces had been caused by Blitzkrieg, the battle technique which had brought about the 30-day conquest of Poland in September 1939, and which was bringing to a successful conclusion the invasion of Norway, begun on 9 April 1940. By deftly combining the operations of groups of fast-moving tanks, artillery, mechanized infantry and bombing aircraft, the Germans had produced a war machine far superior in quality to any other in the world. Psychological warfare using skillfully directed propaganda had eased the way for the invaders and so undermined the enemy’s sense of purpose and unity as to persuade him to recognize the futility of opposition. Poland had been ruined because her mobilization had been wrecked by the abrupt advance of mechanized forces; the process has been accelerated by dissent worked up among the indigenous German minority groups, and by attacks from the air on bases and communication centres. Norway had fallen to a surprise attack without declaration of war, and was stunned by the appearance in her midst of a handful of German troops who had emerged from hiding in ships in her harbours, or who had been landed from the air. In both countries German radio and newspaper campaigns had confused the people and stirred up dissidents – the so-called Fifth Columnists who actively assisted the invaders. And although total surprise was lacking prior to the invasion of Holland, Luxembourg and Belgium, the Germans still executed a lightning conquest by the adroit direction of their approach. Skill at arms, mobility and the concentrated application of fire-power had cowed their opponents; had rapidly cracked modern fortifications; had out-manoeuvred and systematically wiped out the best enemy mechanized forces by advances of more than 50 miles a day; had almost driven opposing air forces from the skies; and had convinced survivors of the pointlessness of further resistance. False reports, transmitted over the public radio networks, which announced the fall of towns prior to the event, had spread a sense of despondency, had simply and economically exploited the work of the soldiers and set the tone of Blitzkrieg, 1940 style.
It was a contented Hitler who received the congratulations of his senior colleagues of the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht (OKW) on the glorious morning of 21 May. The Commander-in-Chief of the Army, Generaloberst Walther von Brauchitsch, and Generalfeldmarschall Hermann Goering, C-in-C of the Luftwaffe, spoke only of complete success. But Admiral Erich Raeder, the C-in-C of the Kriegsmarine, had less to say; his units did not hold the stage because they were engaged in the closing phases of the Norwegian campaign and had played only a minor part in the conquest of the Netherlands. Yet the sudden inversion of the balance of armed power in the West had prompted Raeder to think deeply about its implications. With disturbing conclusions in mind, he waited until after the conference before asking for a private word with Hitler in order to breach again a subject which had been rejected in the past – the prospects of invading England, a project which had baffled all would-be conquerors since Duke William of Normandy had succeeded in 1066.1
The subject had last been raised by Raeder in November 1939 when plans to invade France through the Netherlands were under consideration. Kapitän Hans Reinicke of the Kriegsmarine had sketched out the complex problems involved in launching an invasion from German ports, and in his summing up had lacked enthusiasm. Goering had brushed aside the proposal, while the Army gave it serious study and formulated the nature of their requirements without being too hopeful.2 So the idea had lain fallow and, indeed, when Raeder spoke again about the matter with Hitler on 21 May it was not with the intention of instigating action, but of trying to find out if there had been a change of mind: he did not imagine that anything positive would come of his enquiry. It was to Raeder’s chagrin, therefore, when, in the spirit of victory, the revolutionary soul of Hitler was stirred. His eyes lit up at the vision of England’s shores coming within sight of his advancing spearheads. In his imagination the doors of opportunity swung wider open to the invincible Wehrmacht. He maintained strongly his dedication to the elimination of Communism as represented by Soviet Russia in the east, and he shared the fears of his advisers concerning the dangers of a war on two fronts. If he could now strike England out of the reckoning, as well as the other West European powers, everything would fall into place. Russia could then be tackled in isolation in 1941.
At once the meeting was reconvened to enable the Führer to congratulate the nonplussed Raeder on his initiative. He commanded that the project to invade England be re-examined as a matter of urgency. From Generaloberst Wilhelm Keitel (Chief of OKW) he demanded reports within three days to enable a positive decision to be reached, and, such was the mood of astonishment which prevailed, nobody demurred. Raeder, filled with professional doubts, determined at once to quash the matter at the right time, but von Brauchitsch and Goering, whose victory syndrome at that moment saw everything as possible, were willing to comply, while Keitel, who was known as a mere recording of Hitler’s voice, gave tentative assent. As for Generalmajor Alfred Jodi, the Chief of OKW Operations Office, and his deputy, Walter Warlimont, the future for them looked busier than ever; they guessed they would be responsible for the burden of welding the three separate Services into a single team for combined operations.
When the leaders met again on the morning of the 24th, a fresh development coloured their opinions, one that had appeared even as Guderian’s tanks began to advance towards Dunkirk on the afternoon of the 21st. That day a strong counter-attack by British tanks at Arras had overrun part of the 7th Panzer Division and a chain reaction of doubts had shot through the German hierarchy. Generaloberst Gerd von Rundstedt’s Army Group A, of which Guderian’s corps was a part, had for long been exposed to counter-attack along its lengthening flanks. Its cautious commander felt that the time to pause had come. In any case he wished to conserve the tanks (which were already low in strength) for use in the second phase of the campaign – the drive southward to occupy the rest of France. Throughout the 22nd and 23rd, von Rundstedt had fretted until, with von Brauchitsch’s approval (and, subsequently, early on the 24th, Hitler’s too) he had called a halt – even though Guderian’s tanks were at the threshold of Dunkirk and there were scarcely any Allied forces in position to bar his way. At this moment, too, it had been Goering who had intervened, claiming the right for his Nazi-orientated Luftwaffe to cover itself with glory by bombing the surviving enemy into submission while the Army held the ring. ‘In any case,’ remarked Hitler to a jubilant Goering, shortly before the invasion feasibility conference, The Army will need all its composure if it is to complete the conquest of France and then deal with England’ – a clear indication of the attitude he was about to adopt.
Raeder opened the discussion by emphasizing the dangers involved. The British Fleet, barely diminished by losses and damage incurred in the Norway campaign, remained immensely powerful, whereas the German Fleet had suffered serious losses among its cruisers and destroyers, and both its battlecruisers, Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, had been slightly damaged. While admitting that the situation had arisen where the entire Channel coast might soon be in German hands and that it might be feasible to put a force ashore in Britain (and even temporarily maintain it there), there was, he declared, no guarantee of sustaining such an operation. Enemy minefields could be swept, but the 30 U-boats at his disposal were quite insufficient and, in any case, were having trouble with their torpedoes. On naval grounds he could not recommend the attempt.
Speaking for the Army, von Brauchitsch regarded an invasion rather in the nature of an up-scaled river crossing operation. Once ashore, he promised, the soldiers would rapidly overcome a weakened opponent – an opinion they had originally given to Reinicke. It was up to the Kriegsmarine to get them there and – with hearty endorsement from Raeder – for the Luftwaffe to drive the Royal Air Force from the skies, besides contributing substantially to the delivery of supplies in case the Kriegsmarine was prevented from doing so. To Goering this was more of an invitation than a challenge. The Luftwaffe had won outright air superiority everywhere and had found no great problem in dealing with the RAF. Its paratroop formations, dropped ahead of the Army, had been largely instrumental in conquering Holland, and were on the eve of attempting the destruction of an army at Dunkirk to achieve what would be, he confidently predicted, the first ever conquest of land forces by air forces.
Goering had spent the 23rd in consultation with his Chief of Air Staff, Generalmajor Hans Jeschonnek, and with the man he most trusted among his Air Fleet commanders, General der Flieger Albert Kesselring, a previous Chief of Air Staff who had commanded Luftflotte 1 in Poland and whose Luftflotte 2 had just completed the subjugation of Holland and was about to tackle Dunkirk. Kesselring, like many of the senior German airmen, was a soldier by training; he was a fine artillerist and was among the five most brilliant members of the German General Staff. To him could be credited a major share in the building of the Luftwaffe. Better than many among his contemporaries, he understood the narrow margins by which the German economy and armed forces supported the war. It was his belief that Germany’s existing technical superiority, which presently enabled her to dominate the battlefield, could not last for long. Prior to every campaign he had pleaded for a strict conservation of resources. But, now that Germany was committed to a major struggle, he threw caution to the winds in the desire to reach a conclusive solution. Even at the risk of heavy losses, he deemed it essential to strike hard and without restraint, to eliminate every source of opposition in the West once and for all, before Britain’s potential could be developed. Goering agreed, accepting the prospect of the Luftwaffe suffering terrible punishment in a struggle with the RAF and the Royal Navy, but guessing that those losses could be replaced at leisure once Britain had been brought to her knees.3
The basis of a plan
The outline scheme Goering now submitted to Hitler was the product of Kesselring’s and Jeschonnek’s thinking. They effectively demolished Raeder’s objections while satisfying von Brauchitsch’s demands for complete air superiority. The invasion of England,’ stated Goering, ‘must be viewed as being primarily a Luftwaffe responsibility.’ Air power would be substituted for sea power,4 in that aircraft would not only be used to defeat the enemy air force, but would also carry out the preliminary bombardment besides transporting the first assault echelon to its objectives. Thereafter it would play an important part in satisfying logistic requirements. The Army, he conceded, would assume its traditional role after an air-head was formed in England; the Kriegsmarine, protected and supplemented by the Luftwaffe, must thereafter do all it could to keep open the sea lanes. By the middle of July, Goering reckoned, he could have available 750 of the three-engined Ju 52 transport aircraft, in addition to several of the much larger four-engined Ju 90 and Focke-Wulf Kondor, as well as about 150 gliders. These could lift, over short ranges, at least 15,500 men or, alternatively, 3,000 tons of stores and equipment. In other words, the Luftwaffe alone looked capable of delivering at least a complete division in the assault and of maintaining it, together with additional forces brought in by sea, over the days to come, allowing for the fact that most aircraft would be expected to fly an average of two sorties per day. This they had already done in Norway, using 500 aircraft, as well as in Holland. Goering demanded the satisfaction of three conditions in order to guarantee this performance. First of all, the invasion must be started with the least possible delay to enable the leading elements to arrive in England almost on the tail of any escaping enemy troops. It was essential that every advantage be taken of confusion in the enemy’s ranks and to give him the least possible chance for reorganization and rearmament. For preference it was desirable to attack not later than the middle of July, and better still at the beginning of the month. Secondly, it was essential that the Luftwaffe be given every opportunity to restore its strength immediately, and to concentrate on the forward deployment of ground installations in the conquered territories. Therefore the Army would have to make do with less air support in the concluding stages of the subjugation of France than it had enjoyed during the initial assault on 10 May. Finally, he insisted that the assault be launched only when four days good weather could be guaranteed, so that air superiority over the RAF might be secured without hindrance.
Faced by such overwhelming support from Goering, neither von Brauchitsch nor Raeder were able to resist. In any case, they could see that Hitler was enthusiastic. Moreover, von Brauchitsch was about the last person in the Army who would oppose strongly his Führer; on an earlier occasion, Hitler had cowed him by the violence of his invective. The Army C-in-C had already been reduced to the sort of compliance Hitler preferred. As for Raeder, the most prescient among the Cs-in-C, he was weak in debate and preferred to argue a case in writing. At this moment he realized that if a halt were not immediately called, the invasion scheme might go ahead, out of control. By extracting an admission of fear from his colleagues and questioning them closely, he sought to convince Hitler of the dangers. Had they enough data from which an outline plan could be quickly formed, he asked? What would be the size of the forces they would wish to commit? Where would they land and on what breadth of front? When and at what rate would they require follow-up forces to arrive? Warming to the subject when they answered him evasively, he sought to undermine their confidence by asking if they knew about winds, tidal streams, the sloping nature of beaches and the problems which might be posed if an intact enemy port were not swiftly seized. He was getting nicely into his stride when Hitler stopped him short.
‘The difficulties,’ commanded the Führer, with a firm conviction which had burgeoned with military success, ‘can and will be solved.’ The attempt would be made he said, and he set 15 July as the target date for its commencement, sooner still if possible, adding his belief that it might even come earlier as a peaceful occupation if the British sued for peace – as he cheerfully expected.
Seeing that he was unsupported, Raeder bowed to his Supreme Commander’s order. Who then, he asked, would be responsible for the central direction of plans and operations? Concerning this Hitler was positive too. It would be executed as in the first combined operation – ‘Weserübung’ – the invasion of Norway. That had been planned by a combined staff under himself through OKW – although, in truth, he had played no part at all in the actual planning of that campaign. This time, he implied, it would be different, and particularly since the Navy seemed so lukewarm to this scheme after being highly enthusiastic about its predecessor. ‘In any case,’ pronounced Hitler, ‘this will be predominantly a Luftwaffe party in its crucial, early stages,’ and he relied upon his old and trusted comrade Hermann Goering to give unstinted support – an invitation which the bulky airman eagerly accepted as a prospect of acquiring greater glory.
The joint planning staff, which was hurriedly assembled by Jodi, was already partially experienced in the task, since many of its officers had been connected with Raeder’s 1939 survey, and the sailors among them had learnt much from Norway. They met in Berlin on the 26th to present the respective requirements of their Cs-in-C. At once it was apparent that common ground hardly existed except in solid agreement that air superiority over the invasion area and its approaches was a mandatory prerequisite. The stumbling-blocks to a joint plan were those of scale. The Army’s representative, Oberst Heinrich von Stülpnagel, insisted that the landings be on the widest possible front between Deal and Lyme Bay. He spoke of the need to employ 13 divisions from the outset, each divided into two echelons – the first to gain a foothold, the second to exploit success. In the first echelon would be 90,000 men, 650 tanks, 4,500 horses, more than 100 mountain guns and a large number of anti-tank guns, besides such weapons as mortars and machine-guns. These the Navy must carry. The Luftwaffe, too, would need help from the Navy, for although it would transport and supply its own two airborne infantry formations, it saw the need, too, for the early arrival of 52 anti-aircraft batteries within the first echelon, comprising more than 300 88mm dual-purpose guns. The second echelon would be even larger – 160,000 men strong. Reinicke, on behalf of the Navy, reckoned it would need 45 transport ships, 640 barges, 215 tugs and 550 motorboats to lift the first echelon (less 200 of the 88mm) and something like four times that capacity to bring across the remainder while continuing to maintain those which had already got ashore.5 Moreover, he pointed out that to assemble such a fleet as this would not be possible until mid August at the earliest. And, he added, the naval forces, already depleted by losses in Norway, could not for long protect the sea lanes, even if a mine corridor were laid in time.
When it came to the turn of the Luftwaffe representative – Generalmajor Hoffman von Waldau who, by Goering’s deliberate intention, out-ranked the other members of the planning group, he did not disappoint them in inspiration. In his opinion, the Army had over-estimated the size of the force needed. If the British were so heavily defeated in France, as they were all led to believe by Intelligence reports, relatively small forces would be needed to overcome what little resistance might be encountered in England. That being so, the invasion frontage could be substantially narrowed, the naval effort cut by at least 75 per cent, the escort requirement simplified and the date for the attack could be advanced so as to meet the Führer’s deadline. He was enthusiastically supported by Jodi, and the upshot of it was that von Waldau’s concept, for what Jodi and Hitler now called ‘Operation Lion’, was adopted as the basis for a joint plan. In these conditions the Army would not be heavily stretched; therefore it could still concentrate the bulk of its forces on the final subjugation of Norway and France. The Kriegsmarine, it was agreed, would not be equal to the task; it could raise enough transport craft, but had little hope of holding at bay the Royal Navy once the landing areas had been clearly delineated. All the participants therefore depended upon the Luftwaffe to make good naval deficiencies by playing a central rôle in helping to neutralize the Royal Navy. This the Luftwaffe commanders promised to do. Indeed, its dive-bombers already were swarming above the channel ports, bombing the light naval forces which were striving to rescue the defeated Allied armies from the shores of Belgium and France. Successes in these attacks were contributing to the forthcoming Battle for Britain before the Battle for France entered its final stages.
Britain in peril
In Britain on 26 May there were few in high authority who would have taken other than a thoroughly gloomy view had they been privy to the German deliberations. From the moment when Winston Churchill became Prime Minister on 10 May and the German spearheads approached the Channel coast, his fears began to focus on the danger of imminent invasion. Having studied the lessons of Norway and Holland, the Chiefs of Staff (Admiral Sir Dudley Pound, General Sir Edmund Ironside and Air Marshal Sir Cyril Newall) had concluded that a force of 5,000 paratroops, dropping on seven selected airfields in south-east England, might bring paralysis and pave the way for reinforcements by troop carriers. At the same time, 20,000 troops with armoured vehicles, landed from the sea, might well get through – the Navy always having warned that, in certain kinds of weather, a landing could be made without interference in the first instance.6 Within the past few weeks an organization known as Ultra, which employed a primitive computer, had come into operation and had been able to break a limited number of encyphered messages passing through the higher German communication networks. The orders to Guderian to advance on Dunkirk had been monitored and read,7 and already the Chiefs of Staff had advised the Government that the Allied armies there would be lost within 48 hours if Guderian reached his objective and thus isolated all the northern Channel ports.8 With so few troops left to defend France, the imminent collapse of that nation must be expected. Soon the over-stretched and, in the case of the British Army, largely disarmed fighting Services would be faced with widely expanded commitments. At any moment Italy was expected to join her Axis partner in hostilities against Britain and France, and this would make defence of the Mediterranean Sea a major commitment. If France were defeated and her Fleet neutralized, the Royal Navy would have to establish a new Fleet to defend the western Mediterranean in addition to the large force she already maintained at the eastern end. Almost every warship would have to be withdrawn from the Far East, where the United States Navy would be left alone to confront the already bellicose Japanese. Furthermore, the difficulties of defending the vital sea lanes, upon which the British Isles depended for survival, would be multiplied manifold once the Germans could base naval and air forces along the western coast of France. And, finally, it could not be expected that the Navy would manage to evacuate the Army from Norway and Dunkirk without suffering substantial losses among its most valuable vessels.
As for the Army in Britain, there remained only 15 infantry divisions and a single, incomplete 2nd Armoured Division. All, in manpower, were at half establishment, extremely limited in mobility and with only about a sixth of the field and anti-tank artillery to which they were entitled – first priority in everything having been given to the British Expeditionary Force in France which, at that moment, was on the verge of losing nearly everything it possessed. The 963 tanks remaining in Britain represented impotence; only 213 were of real combat value, the remaining 618 light tanks and 132 medium machines being either of limited fighting capability or useless. A call for Local Defence Volunteers (LDV) by the War Minister, Mr Anthony Eden, on 14 May,9 was resulting in the enthusiastic enrolment of 250,000 volunteers who had yet to be organized, dressed in uniform, given training and, above all, provided with arms. As a supplement to the Home Defence divisions they might just be capable of raising the alarm if paratroops landed.
As the Chiefs of Staff admitted, everything depended upon the RAF keeping the Luftwaffe at bay. But, since April, the RAF had suffered heavy casualties. Losses of aircraft had substantially exceeded production, particularly in fighters, upon which the burden of the defence of the forces at Dunkirk as well as the United Kingdom depended. In three weeks of fighting in May, 430 fighters had been destroyed against a production of about 300 – the latter figure far higher than originally estimated because the aircraft factories had adopted a 24-hour day, seven day week in response to the sudden emergency. Savings which would be made by withdrawing to Britain the RAF units then in France were bound, too, to be offset when fighters from the UK Defence Forces were committed to provide air cover over Dunkirk during the attempted evacuation of the trapped Army.
The American factor
Britain could expect very little immediate outside help. Hope was about all that the British Government could pin upon the future. Churchill insisted that everything possible be done to save the Army at Dunkirk. At the same time, he tried, might and main, to stiffen French resolve, to keep them in the fight while he turned to President Franklin D. Roosevelt of the USA for whatever aid could be obtained. On 15 May, Churchill had asked Roosevelt by telegram to maintain a policy of non-belligerency, ‘Which would mean that you would help us with everything short of actually engaging armed forces.’ He asked, too, for fifty old destroyers, several hundred modern aircraft, anti-aircraft guns, raw materials, the indirect intervention of the US Fleet through the prolonged visit of a US squadron to the Irish ports as a deterrent to a German descent on that country, and a similar presence at Singapore to deter the Japanese. To this, Roosevelt could only respond immediately with aircraft and arms. Warships could not be sent without Congress approval; in an election year and with the existence of isolationist lobbies, the time to ask was not opportune. But the US Fleet would remain concentrated at Pearl Harbor and in an operational posture. As the days passed in deepening crisis, Churchill’s long established personal relationship with Roosevelt became a matter of vital importance, but for the time being the help that could be expected from the USA was of only marginal assistance.10 The advice Roosevelt was getting from his sources of information in Europe – and particularly the pessimistic reports being sent by his Ambassador in London, Joseph Kennedy – implied that the chances of British survival were no better than fifty-fifty.
It was apparent that, for the next seven months at least, Britain would have to look to her own salvation and, as the Chiefs of Staff put it, become ‘organised as a fortress on totalitarian lines’. On 22 May, under the United Kingdom Emergency Powers (Defence) Act, which was rushed through Parliament within hours, the Government assumed sweeping powers over persons and property. Next day it interned those who were regarded as being pro-German or thought to be in contact with the enemy.11 Fear of a Fifth Column such as was supposed to have contributed to the collapse of Britain’s allies, was already rife. Spy mania swept the nation and the Government reacted against subversive elements – real and imagined – as the people reported anything unusual as if it were sinister. As the battle for Dunkirk got into its stride and the fear of invasion increased, the nation took up what few arms it possessed and, in the initial stages of preparing their defences, accidentally shot far more of their own side than of the enemy who had yet to put in an appearance.