Intelligence and Anglo-American Air Support in World War Two: Tunisia and the Western Desert, 1940-43 (Studies in Military & Strategic History)

Intelligence and Anglo-American Air Support in World War Two The Western Desert and Tunisia, 1940–43 Brad William Gladm...

Author: Brad W. Gladman

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Intelligence and Anglo-American Air Support in World War Two The Western Desert and Tunisia, 1940–43

Brad William Gladman

Intelligence and Anglo-American Air Support in World War Two

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Intelligence and Anglo-American Air Support in World War Two The Western Desert and Tunisia, 1940–43 Brad William Gladman Strategic Analyst, Operational Research and Analysis, Canada Command Headquarters

© Brad William Gladman 2009 Foreword © John Ferris 2009 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Saffron House, 6-10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The author has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2009 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Palgrave Macmillan in the UK is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of St Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN-13: 978–0-230–22133–8 hardback ISBN-10: 0–230–22133–5 hardback This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. Logging, pulping and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Gladman, Brad William. Intelligence and Anglo-American air support in World War Two : the Western Desert and Tunisia, 1940–43 / Brad William Gladman. p. cm. – (Studies in military and strategic history) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978–0-230–22133–8 (hbk. alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0–230–22133–5 (hbk. … alk. paper) 1. World War, 1939–1945–Aerial operations, British. 2. World War, 1939–1945–Aerial operations, American. 3. World War, 1939–1945– Military intelligence—Great Britain. 4. World War, 1939–1945–Military intelligence—United States. 5. World War, 1939–1945–Campaigns– Egypt–Western Desert. 6. World War, 1939–1945–Campaigns–Tunisia. 7. Close air support–History. I. Title. D786.G54 2009 940.54’2311–dc22 2008029972 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 09 Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham and Eastbourne

For my parents, Betty and Bert Gladman, and my loving wife Lynn.


Contents List of Maps

viii

Foreword by John Ferris

ix

Acknowledgements

xv

List of Abbreviations

xvi

Introduction

1

Chapter 1

The Fall and Rise of Air Support Doctrine

19

Chapter 2

Air Support from ‘Compass’ to ‘Crusader’

41

Chapter 3

Air Support between ‘Crusader’ and the Consolidation of the El Alamein Line

74

Chapter 4

Air Support during Alam Halfa and El Alamein

99

Chapter 5

The Pursuit from El Alamein to Tunisia

116

Chapter 6

Air Support during Operation ‘Torch’

131

Chapter 7

Air Support after the Reorganization of February 1943

152

Conclusions

179

Notes

192

Bibliography

233

Index

244

vii

List of Maps Map 2.1 Map 2.2 Map 2.3 Map 3.1 Map 3.2 Map 3.3 Map 5.1 Map 5.2 Map 6.1 Map 6.2 Map 6.3 Map 7.1 Map 7.2 Map 7.3 Map 7.4

Wavell’s Offensive 1940–41 Rommel’s First Offensive in 1941 Operation ‘Crusader’ 1941 Rommel’s Second Offensive, 1942 Gazala 1942 Gazala ‘The Cauldron’ 1942 The Pursuit to Tunisia The Pursuit to Tunisia – Missed Opportunities Operation ‘Torch’ 8 November 1942 Algeria and Tunisia 1942 Tunisia 1942–43 The Battle of Kasserine Pass Tunisia January–February 1943 Tunisia March–April 1943 Final Allied Offensive in Tunisia, May 1943

viii

48 57 68 75 91 93 117 126 134 140 147 167 168 170 175

Foreword Intelligence and Anglo-American Air Support in World War II is a major contribution to the study of airpower and military operations. For decades, issues like C3I (command, control, communications and intelligence), ISR (intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance), C4ISR (command, control, communications, computers, intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance), air-land battle and strike warfare, have been central to ideas about war. Characteristically, they have been treated as new matters, and as separate ones. In fact, they are interrelated. C3I, or C4ISR, combine signals and data processing technology; command as thought, process and action; the training of people; and individual and bureaucratic modes of learning. They shape operations and strike warfare, the way that generals command, formations act, and firepower hits. These matters, as parts and whole, also have a history. Strike warfare was practiced effectively by 1917, while air-land battle characterised operations in Europe and Africa between 1939–45. This history rarely is treated as a topic in its own right. Brad Gladman does so. 1914 witnessed a head-on collision between mass armies and novel military characteristics: unprecedented force to space ratios, reinforcement capabilities, and firepower; the General Staff system; new modes of communication and intelligence, particularly radio, aerial reconnaissance, imagery and signals intelligence; and the rise of weapons firing at targets moving fast at long range, or else beyond the sight of their operators, and thus forced to use directing systems and predictive fire. This crash produced complex relations between command, weapons, forces and operations. Between 1914–18, C3I was well suited to support operations, better than forces were to fight them. Problems of signals and command declined faster than did those of action, as forces were dogged by high force to space ratios on narrow fronts, fire which could kill but not move, and advance limited to the speed of foot or hoof. Operations often worked as planned, far more than ever before, but only if many things went right at once, which was harder to do than in 1940, when forces were aided by mobile firepower, radio and the internal combustion engine. Where force to space ratios were at their lowest, as on the eastern front and in the Middle East, breakthrough, exploitation and manoeuvre were possible, but far less so on the western front. Conversely, systems of C3I and ISR filled the tactical needs of strike ix

x Foreword

warfare, via distant or predictive gunfire. At sea, simple telephone links between commanders, gun turrets, range finders, spotters, plotters and fire control officers solved these problems on individual ships. It would have been far harder to link all of these systems for every vessel in a fleet. Precisely that process occurred on land, where fire plans defined the actions of thousands of guns over ten-day periods, while deep, thick and simultaneous connections joined batteries, and their intelligence services, like sound rangers, spotting aircraft and commanders. Tactical C3I focused on this function, with telephones supporting guns and artillery intelligence, as radio did gun spotters, especially those in aircraft. These, the single greatest C3I systems of 1914–18, were central to the trench war. In its most flexible and powerful form, as practiced by the Canadian Corps in 1918, intelligence and firepower were fused at all levels. Intelligence officers coordinated infantry and firepower, and allocated targets to guns. The Survey Section and the Counter Battery Office controlled all intelligence and firepower. They centralized the direction of fire during breakthrough, unleashed it to subordinates in open phases, and recovered it when counterattack loomed. However labour intensive and convoluted, C3I and ISR combined the leading edges of technique and technology as well as ever has been done.1 All that has changed since is the kit for communication and killing. These changes matter. Those C3I systems were stronger than the weapons they supported. Essentially, they made artillery as effective as it could be in the trenches, but that just strengthened a weapon with limited range, accuracy and destructive capacity, attacking hardened targets, in a large number of exchanges against an enemy of equal capabilities. This simply sharpened the process of attrition by both sides at once, changing outcomes on the margins rather than the nature of operations. Aircraft were secondary in strike warfare, essentially serving as part of C3I and ISR, helping to acquire targets, direct fire, and report damage. Twenty years later, however, forces and weapons caught up with the opportunities enabled by C3I. Changes in the relationship between command, operations and weapons, especially in the ability of formations to smash and move and of aircraft to hit vulnerable, crucial and distant targets, created a revolution in operations and strike warfare, and the birth of air-land battle. Between 1939–45, warfare on land was transformed by the rise of firepower which could kill and move. Tanks, trucks, aircraft and radio gave armies unheard of mobility and destructive capacity. Forces were as large as in 1914–18, but fronts larger and more fragile. Armies could sidestep attrition and achieve quick, cheap and decisive victory through manoeuvre. Blitzkrieg usually, but wrongly, is defined by its means,

Foreword xi

tanks; the point is its aims. Massive but mobile firepower was used to hammer not the enemy’s arms but its brains – to stave in a narrow sector of the front and penetrate its rear, shattering its C3I and army. The German Army was the first to apply this technique, to some extent by accident – before 1940 Germans were not enamoured of armour and their tanks were less well suited to a main battle than many foreign ones. Yet they did want to move fast and avoid attrition, and they did learn good lessons from 1918. The Wehrmacht stumbled into blitzkrieg but mastered the art fast.2 It was quick to learn the value of combined arms on attack and defence. It was better trained than its enemies. This discrepancy grew as Germany destroyed the best large armies of Europe and engaged raw replacements. That gap enabled Germany’s large and good army to fight with optimum effect, through a system of directive control, with the command of forces centralised during breakthrough and unleashed to subordinates during exploitation and manoeuvre. It could play to its game, and make others do so. This did not happen by magic, but through a clash between C3I systems. The Germans learned to make their C3I work well enough, while wrecking that of the enemy, which needed good signals in order to function at all. All of these systems were shaped by styles of command and ideas about operations; it is no accident that the craftsman of the Panzer Divisions, General Heinz Guderian, was a signals officer by origin. German success stemmed as much from technical developments in signals as ideas about command. Other armies with similar doctrines did not follow this lead in signals – Soviets because of chaos in command, Japanese through technological weakness. British and American policy for radio was similar to German, but they did not act on it. The Germans developed signals fit for the war they planned to fight. They had more and better wireless equipment than anyone else, but the real difference was mental, not material. They expected war to be mobile and decisive. The signals they devised for these circumstances were suitable to blitzkrieg, especially because they exploited the flexibility and range of radio. In other armies, radio provided point to point links within commands, with few connections between them, content staying within each loop unless someone relayed messages outside. The Germans developed a cybernetic system, with more point to point links and lateral connections between nets, where content flowed automatically through the system rather than waiting for relay at some node. German infantry and formations had more radio sets than anyone else on earth, and its armour more than anyone but the British; thus, they used tanks better. Generals had distinct frequencies to control different

xii Foreword

subordinates. This system turned point to point links into signals nets. Dedicated frequencies joined all units relevant to any function, whose members remained linked to elements of other nets, thus robustly stitching the whole system together. Luftwaffe ground support forces too were integrated into this system. Simply by listening to the net, units could tap information and receive orders, and generals follow operations or control nets at lower levels of command, without waiting for links to relay messages. In the space of hours, they could gather information from and issue orders to hundreds of headquarters over thousands of square miles. This flow of information enabled directive command, ensuring that subordinates could act effectively on their own initiative, and their superiors adjust to unexpected actions from below. By 1939 the German Army approached optimality in C3I, each level of command capable of independent action and initiative, all joined by powerful, flexible and redundant communication links. They led the world in radio and the General Staff, added the internal combustion engine to the smelt, and forged a razor. The Wehrmacht made its foes fight a war of manoeuvre for high stakes at a fast pace. Decisions had to be made in minutes, not days, by armies with confused command structures over fragile signals. Poland, France, Britain, Russia, learned that poor C3I was a combat divider. Germany’s enemies had to overcome its huge superiority in manoeuvre warfare, air-land battle, strike and C3I, precisely as it wielded these weapons against them. This took time and effort. Fortunately, the Germans, unable to destroy their enemies, instead trained them at a high but affordable price. By 1942, blitzkrieg died on its feet and the Germans became just another army.3 This process was neither easy nor simple. Its enemies could not overcome the Germans by commanding or fighting the same way the latter did. They had to start with what they had, less well trained forces, while the German system required qualitative superiority over its foes. The easiest, most effective, and perhaps unavoidable, means for less well trained forces to overcome the Nazi’s edge, was to rely more heavily on control, coordination, firepower, and attrition, even when using exactly the same weapons which had characterized blitzkrieg. That was particularly true of aircraft. Strike was central to the German system: aircraft mattered as much to it as did tanks, both through close support against hardened targets and by interdiction, hitting, with power, precision and range, soft and distant targets central to the enemies’ ability to fight, such as units on the move, logistics, communications and transport. Aircraft were central elements of the ISR systems

Foreword xiii

which supported strike warfare, and the latter’s main component. They could deliver heavy and one-sided blows, reshaping operations and the power of one army against another. In order to defeat the Wehrmacht, the western allies came to rely even more heavily on strike warfare, artillery and aircraft alike, than the Germans had done. They also became better in the practice. Brad Gladman provides a pioneering account of how the western allies adapted to and overcame Germany, focusing on the evolution of Royal Air Force (RAF) air support between 1940–43. He starts with its preparations before the war. He demonstrates that to interpret the RAF of the interwar years through its doctrine is a mistake: RAF doctrine was wrong about air support, but this mistake had limited consequences, because that service did not practice its doctrine. In fact, an air force ostensibly focused on strategic bombing, devoted almost as many resources to strategic air defence and imperial policing. Moreover, through imperial policing, the RAF practiced the skills required for air support, giving experience and understanding to many army and RAF officers, including those who would dominate decisions in 1941–42. The RAF, a large and able institution, also understood how to create effective C3I, which Fighter Command already had done with skill.4 Though poorly prepared for air support in 1940, the RAF was well suited to improve its performance. This background explains one of Dr. Gladman’s key findings: the rapidity with which the RAF reached the Luftwaffe’s level of quality in air support. Despite poor preparation and equipment, air support was fundamental to Britain’s smashing victories against Italy in 1940–41. Its limits were cruelly exposed by the Luftwaffe in April 1941; yet seven months later, by November 1941, the RAF had pulled close to the Luftwaffe’s level in air support, albeit in smaller numbers. By May 1942 it caught up both in quantity and quality, and never looked back. The RAF also became the single greatest component of British power in land warfare. Gladman’s demonstration that the RAF performed air support well has consequences for the history of airpower, and other fields. He shows that the literature on the desert campaign overlooks the airplane, which is as big an error as ignoring the tank. His book will force a rethinking of the quality of the British army and generals, though in complex ways. He shows that the RAF was fundamental to success at El Alamein, suggesting that this battle really was a joint victory by ‘Mary’ Coningham and Bernard Montgomery. This account will make that battle seem even more one-sided than before, and so perhaps further challenge Montgomery’s reputation, while also strengthening it by illustrating his

xiv Foreword

understanding of the value of airpower and willingness to work with airmen in developing it.5 Gladman will force historians to reconsider the influence of British models on the United States Air Force’s (USAF) approach toward air support. His work is a model of how scholars should integrate the working of signals, intelligence and C3I into operational history. This book illuminates the nature, and the history, of C3I, airpower, strike warfare and air-land battle. It merits reading. John Ferris The University of Calgary

Acknowledgements The author is grateful for the guidance and editorial assistance of Professor John Ferris and Professor David French in the writing of this manuscript. As usual, any errors of fact or interpretation are the author’s responsibility. As well, the author is grateful to the Department of History, United States Military Academy, for permission to use the maps in this book.

xv

List of Abbreviations AA AAFSAT AAFTAC AAPIU AASC AEAF AFHQ ACTS AHB AHQ AIR ALO AOC ASC ASOC ASP AVM AWM AWPD BDA Bde. BGS BLM BTE CAB CAS C3 C 3I C4ISR CGSS CIGS CSDIC CSO CTF DASC

Anti-aircraft Army Air Force School of Applied Tactics Army Air Force Tactical Centre Army Air Photographic Interpretation Unit Army Air Support Control Allied Expeditionary Air Force Allied Force Headquarters Air Corps Tactical School Air Historical Branch Air Headquarters Air Ministry Files Air Liaison Officer Air Officer Commanding Air Support Command Air Support Operations Centre Air Support Party Air Vice Marshal Australian War Memorial Air War Planning Department Bomb Damage Assessment Brigade Brigadier General Staff Bernard Montgomery Papers British Troops in Egypt Cabinet Office Records Chief of the Air Staff Command, Control, and Communications Command, Control, Communications, and Intelligence Command, Control, Communications, Computers, Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance Command and General Staff School Chief of the Imperial General Staff Combined Services Detailed Intelligence Centre Chief Signals Officer Centre Task Force Direct Air Support Centre xvi

List of Abbreviations xvii

DDMI DEFE EAC ETF FAC FM G2 G3 GAF GC&CS GHQ GOC GS GSI GSO HF HQ IO IWM ISR ‘J’ JRUML JSTARS JTAC kc/s LADA LC LHCMA LO LRDG MAAF MAC MATAF ME MEF MEIU MG MISC

Deputy Director Military Intelligence Ministry of Defence Records Eastern Air Command Eastern Task Force Forward Air Controller Field Manual Intelligence Section Operations Section German Air Force Government Code and Cipher School General Headquarters General Officer Commanding General Staff General Staff Intelligence General Staff Officer (followed by a number that indicated the grade) High Frequency Headquarters Intelligence Officer Imperial War Museum, London Intelligence Surveillance and Reconnaissance Staff Information Service John Rylands University of Manchester Library Joint Surveillance Target Attack Radar System Joint Terminal Air Controllers kilocycles London Air Defence Area Library of Congress, Washington D.C. Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives, King’s College London Liaison Officer Long Range Desert Group Mediterranean Allied Air Force Mediterranean Air Command Mediterranean Allied Tactical Air Force Middle East Middle East Forces Middle East Interpretation Unit Machinegun Miscellaneous File, Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives

xviii List of Abbreviations

MRAF M.T. NACIU NAM NAPRW NARA NCO NWAAF NWACAF NWASAF NWATAF OC OKH OKW OODA OSS Ph/R PRO PRU PW PWIS RAF RAFM RDF RFC RG RMA R/T RTR SAAF SIO SLU SCU Tac Tac/R TACC TACP TOC USAAC USAAF

Marshal of the Royal Air Force Motorised Transport North African Central Interpretation Unit National Army Museum, London Northwest African Photographic Reconnaissance Wing National Archives and Record Administration, College Park, Maryland Non-Commissioned Officer Northwest African Air Force Northwest African Coastal Air Force Northwest African Strategic Air Force Northwest African Tactical Air Force Officer Commanding Oberkommando der Heeres Oberkommando der Webrmacht Observe Orient Decide Act Office of Strategic Services Photographic Reconnaissance Public Record Office, Kew, Surrey Photographic Reconnaissance Unit Prisoner of War Prisoner of War Interrogation Section Royal Air Force Royal Air Force Museum, Hendon Radio Direction Finding – an early name for radar Royal Flying Corps Record Group Revolution in Military Affairs Radio Telephony Royal Tank Regiment South African Air Force Senior Intelligence Officer Special Liaison Unit Special Communications Unit Tactical Tactical Reconnaissance Tactical Air Control Centre Tactical Air Control Parties Tactical Operations Centre United States Army Air Corps United States Army Air Force

List of Abbreviations xix

USAAS USAFHRA VHF WDAF WO W/T WTF WU ‘X’ ‘Y’

United States Army Air Service United States Air Force Historical Research Agency Very High Frequency Western Desert Air Force War Office Files Wireless Telegraphy Western Task Force Wireless interception unit Intelligence gained from listening and recording prisoner’s conversations Interception and analysis of enemy low-grade radio transmission


Introduction

Among the greatest developments in conventional war since 1914 has been the rise of air/land power – the interaction between air forces and armies in military operations. From 1914, a great function of air power always has been its effect on ground combat, something fundamental to land warfare since 1939. This topic has received some attention from specialists, but much less than it merits.1 Far more has been written about armoured than air/land warfare, yet these two matters are complementary parts of a greater whole. Moreover, historical accounts of the rise of air/land warfare tend to focus on German experiences, and to treat the British and American air forces as less important and effective.2 That view is flawed. This book examines a case of the rise of air/land power and how the British and American air forces handled it between 1918–43. In particular, it considers why they did so in a mediocre way until 1940, and yet by 1942 were leaders in the field. This work is original both by treating that topic seriously, and by placing it in the context of the development of doctrine and practice in an inter-Allied and inter-service environment, and the evolution of systems of command, control, communications, and intelligence (commonly termed C3I). Anglo-American air/land power has been misunderstood for several reasons. Air historians largely ignore the topic, instead focusing on strategic bombing, and predict RAF policy by its theory, ignoring the more important matter, its practice. Army historians treat air/land power as a deus ex machina, something which shapes events but does not need explanation. More generally, the issue is dogged by the perennial divisions between British and American historians over the quality of their military forces in Europe between 1942–1945, redoubled by the ferocious debates over the role of Bernard Montgomery as commander. Many historians 1

2 Intelligence and Anglo-American Air Support in World War Two

simply assume as an item of dogma that the only people who ever took air/land warfare seriously, or were any good at it, were Germans. This work argues that between 1919–39, air forces in the US and UK approached the issue of air/land warfare in similar ways, which underrated the significance of the practice. Between 1941–42, however, British forces in the desert campaign learned to apply air power effectively, and during the Tunisian campaign of 1943, spread their air support system to the rest of the RAF, and the USAAF, which acted on them until 1945. In the process, they created the best system of air/land warfare ever seen, which was the root of its development to the present day. This book proves these points through an analysis of the air campaigns in the desert and Tunisia, which usually are ignored through a focus on purely land operations. This work begins with an analysis of intelligence, which is both a process and a product, and how this enabled forces to complete the ‘Boyd’ or ‘OODA’ (observe, orient, decide, and act) loop more rapidly than their opponents. In order to understand how the air support system functioned, an understanding of the mechanics of C3I must be developed, which is the main focus of this book.3 The requirements for making effective use of intelligence for the application of tactical air power – the ability to receive, analyse, and disseminate intelligence in a timely fashion, an air force’s ability to attack targets without suffering serious losses, while supporting army operations – are examined. This work then examines the interwar doctrines of both the RAF and USAAF. It argues that both British and American senior Air Commanders purposely overlooked the value of air support in favour of other uses of air power. Both the RAF and USAAC lost the ability to deliver air support, and for similar reasons. Both refused to accept subordination to Army officers, and pursued strategic bombing in order to avoid doing so. The book also highlights the significant experience British airmen gained in operations on the fringes of the Empire, and the obstinacy of a few US airmen willing to swim against the prevailing tide. In Air Control operations and small wars on the frontier of the British Empire, close cooperation between the army and the RAF, impossible in any other area of contact, proved essential to the success of operations. Often closely coordinated operations in Iraq, the North West frontier of India, and Palestine saw air support applied as a common feature, and they gave command experience to men like Arthur Coningham, Arthur Tedder, John Slessor, Bernard Montgomery, and Claude Auchinleck which helped to shape the steep learning curve in the adoption of air support in the Western Desert during the Second World War.4

Introduction 3

The speed with which British forces in the Western Desert created an effective air support system owes much to interwar experience, and the Middle East system in turn became a template for the RAF and USAAF. The book then turns to the early campaigns in the Western Desert. It argues that initial attempts to provide air support, suffering from a lack of a fully developed air support doctrine and insufficient experience in conducting such operations, were weak and inefficient, yet surprisingly successful and out of proportion to the effort involved against a largely unmotorized and qualitatively inferior Italian army. Constant bombing, both day and night, even by a small number of British aircraft harmed Italian morale, and hastened their collapse. This success was cut short by the entry of the German Afrika Korps into the theatre, forcing the British to fight a rapid mobile war for which they were unsuited. Their entire approach to air support had to be re-thought, including the introduction of better and faster procedures for using intelligence to identify the best targets and then to direct aircraft at them. Developing such a system was time consuming, costly, and had to be accomplished at a time of great stress. Yet this occurred rapidly but could not achieve anywhere near full effect until the British army learned to fight well, and to integrate air support into its battle plans. By mid-1942, every factor necessary for the efficient use of air power was in place. The RAF had come a long way with great speed. Its operational air strength was dramatically greater than that of the Axis, its aircraft were equal or superior and well suited to the job, and tactics had evolved to maximize their potential. So too, the British C3I system had improved greatly since 1940. Organizations and personnel could receive, process, and transmit intelligence of unparalleled quality and quantity with a minimum of delay, and to guide operations with effect in real-time. Increasingly reliable intelligence, and effective Command, Control and Communications (C3) enabled attacking aircraft to arrive over the target 30 to 40 minutes from the time of request for support, and then deliver damaging attacks against a variety of targets.5 The RAF stood fully ready to support the Eighth Army. Unfortunately, the latter was unready to fight it. The result was a remarkably effective performance by the RAF beside the disastrous failure of the British army at Gazala. A desperate flight from Cyrenaica and fight for Egypt followed, and during this crisis in June and July 1942, when the possibility of Axis victory in Africa was greatest, the entire RAF was devoted to army support. Every serviceable aircraft averaged seven sorties per day in an effort leading army intelligence to conclude that there “can be no doubt but


that the RAF saved the Eighth Army.”6 Effective C3I and tactical air power were indispensable elements in this victory. What was missing was a commander able to bring all the elements together in an environment in which they would work. The environment was provided at El Alamein, as was the commander. Lieutenant General (later Field Marshal) Bernard Montgomery, aided by both Tedder and Coningham, drew all the essential elements of effective air support together during the Alam Halfa and El Alamein battles. The RAF and Eighth Army were welded at a combined headquarters. Both forces came to understand the needs and capabilities of the other far better than previously. Intelligence became much better organized and integrated into operational planning, which facilitated the speed with which commanders could understand the military situation and act on it. Thus, the ability to apply a considered air plan or respond swiftly to calls for air support vastly improved. Air support played a vital role in the victories at Alam Halfa and El Alamein. In just under two years, the RAF had designed an admirable weapon that struck straight at the enemy’s weaknesses. Close air support and interdiction, two types of operations that had once competed for available air power, finally complemented each other. By making effective use of intelligence, the RAF removed the mobility of Axis forces, and slashed their vulnerable and strained supply lines. Because of Axis skill at dispersal, it was only when “the enemy were attacking or being attacked by ground forces and were forced to concentrate that really good targets were offered” for close air support.7 Until such targets presented themselves, the RAF used its fighters and fighter/bombers against road supply convoys. Good intelligence, relayed to commanders in real-time, let this effort be switched to close air support very quickly. Improvements in RAF and army C3I, combined with the slower pace of battle imposed at El Alamein, allowed the full weight of the RAF and the army to be directed against the most appropriate targets with speed and power. This constant aerial attack destroyed enemy morale and accounted for a significant portion of the enemy’s material losses. The overall effect of air power was to remove the Axis forces’ advantages, and to turn them into an eggshell awaiting the hammer blow. Indeed, Rommel was largely defeated by the RAF. The historiography of the desert campaign has not begun to account for this fact. After the defeat of the Axis forces at El Alamein, British commanders had to decide whether to try to annihilate the Afrika Korps quickly, or gather British strength for a long pursuit to Tunisia. Montgomery initially planned for the former, but bungled the effort despite abundant

Introduction 5

intelligence on the appalling state of the Afrika Korps.8 The performance of the British forces in the pursuit shows how the failure of one element in the C3I system can cause the failure of the whole. During this period command failed. Montgomery’s initial failure to ruthlessly pursue the Panzer Army let it escape. Then supply difficulties, and the need to ensure their resolution before beginning large-scale offensive operations, hampered attempts to force a final battle. Although the Eighth Army’s strength, supported by the RAF, kept Rommel retreating, it was unable to complete the victory begun at El Alamein, before the Germans reached Tunisia. Meanwhile, on 8 November 1942, within a week of the victory at El Alamein, Anglo/American forces commanded by General Dwight Eisenhower, invaded Northwest Africa in Operation ‘Torch’. However, air support did not receive proper attention during the preparation for ‘Torch’. Its planning began during July 1942, by a combined BritishAmerican staff.9 Neither ground nor air forces from the United States or Britain had much in the way of air support training. Indeed, the 33 U.S. Fighter Group that landed at Port Lyautey was trained for the air defence of the northeastern United States.10 Neither the RAF nor the USAAF had adopted the air support system developed in the desert, and neither could provide air support with effect. The general inability of ground and air commanders to deploy effectively and control their forces caused a reorganization of armed forces and intelligence organizations in Tunisia during February 1943. In this process, much of the experience gained from the Western Desert was drawn upon. A vastly more streamlined and rational command structure emerged with better communications between various command levels and services, allowing the already improving intelligence system to be more easily integrated into operations. Alongside these changes to C3I, increasing emphasis was placed on airfield construction, repair and salvage, and general supply. This made Allied air forces far better able to provide and exploit the effect of air support. This reorganization was fundamental to the Allied use of air power in the land battle for the next two years, which in turn was their single greatest card in operations on the continent. The effectiveness of close air support or interdiction operations improved dramatically with more capable C3I systems, which allowed the rapid processing and dissemination of target material, alongside an often excellent understanding of enemy intentions and capabilities. Strategic intelligence guided the collection of operational intelligence by showing the movement and state of enemy forces. Communications


enabled the passing of intelligence and orders based on that intelligence and the more capable the communication system, the more rapidly this could be accomplished. Thus, communications were a vital part of the ability to deliver air support. But without understanding why this was so, an incomplete picture has been presented. From this standpoint, this book represents an important change in focus. The Middle East system of air support formed the core of Allied air support doctrine for the rest of the war and beyond. Intelligence was essential to the application of air power in the Western Desert and Tunisia during the Second World War. The Western Desert, where evolved much of the air support doctrine that was successfully employed for the remainder of the war, has aptly been described as a tactician’s paradise but a quartermaster’s hell. The seemingly endless desert of sand, dust storms, rock and salt marshes was hard on men and machines, and provided none of the resources they needed to fight or even survive. Low force-to-space ratios did allow brilliant mobile operations, but tactical freedom came at a heavy price. Difficulties in supplying armed forces were exacerbated by high consumption rates during mobile operations, where deficiencies in supply had an immediate effect on operational ability. Military operations thus had to be cost-effective, as neither side could afford to waste resources. In the desert and some areas of Tunisia, mobile operations were possible and good intelligence could increase dramatically their cost-effectiveness, but highly fluid battles exacerbated the difficulty in acquiring it. In the mountainous regions of the rest of Tunisia, where force-to-space ratios were much higher, geographical considerations hampered the effective use of intelligence in different ways. During battle, armies and air forces react to changing situations through what has been described as the ‘Boyd’ or ‘OODA’ loop. This concept, developed by Colonel Boyd of the United States Air Force from his analysis of aerial combat in Korea, holds that pilots in combat (or armies) go through a series of four-staged loops. The loop begins with observation of enemy and friendly forces, made easier for pilots by the better visibility of an F-86 bubble canopy, and by intelligence for armies or air forces. In the second stage, incoming intelligence is analysed in relation to the total situation, especially the capabilities and intentions of enemy and friendly forces. In the third, a course of action was decided upon, followed by its execution.11 The faster armed forces go through this loop, the better their ability to exploit fleeting opportunities. The side which is slower in reaching action misses these

Introduction 7

opportunities and frequently finds their intended action was precluded or even counterproductive. Intelligence, properly and rapidly assessed and disseminated, let armed forces go through the ‘OODA’ loop more quickly and thus react quicker to changes on the battlefield, and impose their will on the enemy. For present purposes, the speed with which the combined forces under study completed the ‘OODA’ loop depended upon the situation, the intelligence, and the command level deciding to act. Responding to an anti-tank emplacement or other small-scale obstacle in the path of an armoured formation, for example, did not require a major command decision. The doctrine and tactics imparted to troops usually described how to handle such problems, and execution was automatic. The ‘OODA’ loop would be completed swiftly by involved tactical formations and at that level. The unexpected presence of an armoured division in front of an offensive, on the other hand, required a major reconsideration of the plans. The ‘OODA’ loop began with intelligence being relayed up the chain of command. The accuracy and speed of delivery shaped the value of the responding action. Paradoxically, the ability to act appropriately in a rapidly changing environment required having access to available intelligence which only occurred at the higher command levels, yet the process of acting on it took longer the higher up the chain it had to go before decisions were made. The British, and to a lesser extent American, style of warfare enhanced these problems. Only efficient C3I lessened them. Where the German philosophy of warfare saw combat as inherently chaotic, the British and American philosophies saw it as more structured.12 German commanders, realizing that even the best battle plan did not survive the fog of war, employed a command style known as ‘directive command’ by which only general directives were issued to subordinates, who by virtue of their training and initiative were trusted to carry them out.13 Consequently, German forces were able to exploit fleeting opportunities far more than were the British or Americans, because the higher command levels were cut out of the ‘OODA’ loop for many battlefield decisions. They were not left in the dark, but many actions could be taken without seeking their active approval. Thus, the German army was often able to attack weak points in the Allied forces more rapidly, catching their opponent off balance or causing paralysis. A sudden attack at the decisive point (known as Schwerpunkt), provided “displacement and disarrangement of parts causing a disordered state throughout the organism containing those parts,” destroying the ability of Allied commanders to understand the battle and act effectively.14 During the first week of the ‘Crusader’ offensive of late 1941,


for example, German action so confused British forces that they could barely function except at the lowest tactical level; the inefficiencies of the British C3I system, especially its centralized system of command and control hindered its ability to react to a changing situation and a fast moving enemy. On the other hand, British C3I ultimately recovered, while German command briefly collapsed as well. The realities of fighting in the Western Desert forced the British to adopt a more effective C3I system, similar to that employed by the German forces; one which relied on verbal orders and initiative of subordinates. Verbal orders were common during ‘Compass’ and ‘Crusader’, and had become normal by the time of the Gazala offensive in mid1942. Air Marshal Coningham’s style of command was well suited to the desert environment and its requirements. One of his Wing Commanders later recalled that “except in exceptional circumstances, his instructions to me as OC 258 Wing would be in the form of general directives, often verbal, and that all detailed orders to the squadrons would be my responsibility.”15 Coningham carried this command style to the Northwest African Tactical Air Force in February 1943, from which it percolated through Allied air forces. This style of command differed from official British army doctrine as reflected in the Field Service Regulations, last amended before the war in 1935. According to these regulations, battles were to be planned in meticulous detail, and little deviation from orders was tolerated. Operational command in the field would be exercised by orders, and when necessary by instructions. Orders, issued in writing, would contain “the actual method of attaining the object…in sufficient detail to ensure co-ordination of effort.”16 Instructions, used when subordinate commanders had to be trusted to follow their own judgement, were to be used sparingly.17 Subordinate commanders were to be “left freedom of action in all matters which they [could] or should arrange for themselves”, but this was far from the German style of command, or indeed, from that developed in the Western Desert.18 The American style of command was different to that reflected in the British Field Service Regulations, but similar to that developed by the Eighth Army. The US Army Field Service Regulations 1939, action was to be based on a simple plan, communicated to subordinates through “brief, clear, and concise oral orders, or to the staff by a staff directive sufficiently complete to enable it to work out the details and issue the orders.”19 This was restated in the 1941 version of this manual, the last revision before the US entered the war, in which commanders were to issue “clear and concise orders, which gives them freedom of action

Introduction 9

appropriate to their professional knowledge, to the situation, to their dependability, and to the teamplay desired.”20 The use of simple verbal orders to communicate the commander’s intent, and allowing initiative from subordinates to carry out the operations was a common feature of the Afrika Korps throughout the North African campaigns, and of the Allied forces from 1940 onwards. Both the Eighth Army and II US Corps in Tunisia allowed more initiative from subordinate commanders. For example, during the Tunisian campaign, General Patton’s II Corps was to take the Maknassy heights in concert with an advance by Eighth Army from the Mareth position. Patton ordered the commander of the First Armoured Division, Major General Ward, to take this position, but left it to him to decide how to do so.21 When Ward failed to take the Maknassy heights, Patton “soon began to push Ward with a passion that verged on obsession.”22 Despite constant pressure, Ward was left to conduct the battle as he saw fit. This style of command was suited to the desert environment, and enabled commanders to make the best use of air support. Indeed, the Germans noted that “Air/ground cooperation, which was not good at the beginning of the campaign, had improved noticeably by the end.”23 The length of time it took to go through the ‘OODA’ loop for close air support depended upon whether it referred to pre-arranged or impromptu support. In the former case, air support depended upon the soundness of the battle plan, the pace of the battle, and the ability of pilots to act effectively. The latter case depended upon how far up the chain of command the request for support had to travel before the decision was made, and the ability of aircrew. The more command levels through which the request had to pass, the greater the delay and the more likely the target or friendly troops would move before aircraft responded. Before the war and during its early stages, the British and Americans hoped to place control over close air support at the Division level, but eventually moved it to Corps and then to Army level. The Allies were unwilling to let lower command levels control operations, as they did not have access to all intelligence. Until efficient C3I systems were developed, these problems crippled the air support system, and there were no easy solutions. Opportunities were missed because of command and communication delays. Initially, commanders refused to relinquish centralized control over aircraft due to inadequate numbers and too many demands, but soon it became evident that with efficient C3I, this was the best way to exploit the flexibility of air power. Air Marshal Coningham, the officer responsible


for the development of tactical air power in the Western Desert and later Tunisia, put it well when he described a situation where a front formation reports a concentration of 200 M.T. and accompanying arms. Its request [for air support] is turned down. Fifteen or twenty miles away, however, there is a concentration of 2000 or more, indicating an armoured division or even larger forces. This concentration we know from experience will probably affect the whole battle area perhaps 10, 18, or 24 hours later. It is this concentration which is receiving all the weight of air attack and that is why the comparatively little target on the front is ignored.24 Without centralized control, where access to intelligence was greater, the available air power may have been dispersed against the smaller concentrations, to the detriment of overall efficiency. This arrangement did not gain general acceptance in the RAF outside the Mediterranean theatre. On 6 November 1942, just before operation ‘Torch’, a study week at Camberley Staff College concluded that it was best to allot one Group to each Army, in an absolutely subordinate role.25 Curiously, a questionnaire from GHQ Home Forces to Air Headquarters, Western Desert was returned with a rejection of this arrangement, arguing that decentralization of control “would fail to produce the concentration of effort needed to achieve effective results, and denie[d] the full use of the flexibility of air forces.”26 However, this warning was ignored. The RAF and USAAF began the Tunisian campaign with air power entirely divided and subordinated to ground formations. Experience would show the centralized control of air power, with sufficiently flexible communication systems to allow rapid transmission of intelligence and orders, was the best way to employ tactical air power. At least in conceptual terms, the air support system designed in the desert shared much with its German counterpart. In response to lessons learned in the Spanish Civil War, Poland, and France, the Germans learned to apply close air support in mass attacks controlled at higher command levels with access to constantly updated intelligence from Flivo liaison officers. These officers did not request air support, as in the British and American system, but merely passed on situation reports that “could be transformed into unit attack orders within minutes.”27 The success of air support operation depended upon the ability to receive, analyse, disseminate, and act on intelligence in a timely fashion, on an air force’s ability to attack targets without suffering serious

Introduction 11

losses, and on an army’s ability to fight effectively. Until all these prerequisites were in place, air support had little effect in the land war. When they existed, air support often was essential to victory on the battlefield. Intelligence was a necessary condition to successful operations, but its multiplying role was sometimes degraded or eliminated by weaknesses in C3I systems. So too, the ability of intelligence to speed completion of the ‘OODA’ loop was degraded for similar reasons. Merely knowing of a potential target was useful only if information reached a squadron while it still could act on it. In a war of manoeuvre, aircraft conducting close air support or interdiction had to respond immediately to intelligence. If action was stalled by failures of communications or command, information might be rendered useless, opportunities lost, and effort expended in vain, or attacks striking friendly troops. A central aspect of intelligence is its role as a force-multiplier – a means to maximize the efficiency of the use of force. This value is most notable when intelligence lets one side throw its strength against an enemy’s weakness, or aids an attack on a vulnerable and essential part of the enemy’s forces. The nineteenth century military theorist Carl von Clausewitz defined intelligence as “…every sort of information about the enemy and his country – the basis, in short of our own plans and operations.”28 This definition referred to strategic intelligence, since during his time tactical and operational intelligence usually was useless. Large armies could not easily be controlled through verbal and written orders on the battlefield, nor could intelligence consistently be gathered, assessed, and acted upon in time. Consequently, Clausewitz’s definition is incomplete for modern purposes. A more precise description of intelligence refers to process as well as product – to the acquisition and interpretation of information. Before raw information could be used to guide aircraft to their targets, its accuracy had to be assessed in the context of other data, and decisions had to be reached as to the best target for attack. Intelligence could guide air support operations only if it was related to the strength, capabilities, and location of one’s own forces. Commanders needed to know where their forces were and could do, as much as they needed information on the enemy. Moreover, intelligence could act as a forcemultiplier only to a competent military force. Before 1939, the RAF divided intelligence into two forms – Pure Intelligence (pertaining to background issues) and Fighting Intelligence, the material used to guide specific operations.29 American forces used the terms War Department intelligence and Combat intelligence in a similar fashion. Modern historians use a different terminology, dividing


intelligence into three forms: strategic, operational, and tactical, and this works. All three of these forms overlapped in air support operations. Strategic intelligence referred to information on the order of battle of Axis armies and air forces, their dispositions, supply situation, possible intentions and capabilities. No single source provided all the strategic intelligence required, and each required highly skilled and experienced personnel. Instead, many sources were combined to gather all the pieces of the puzzle. Information from any source had to be confirmed to eliminate the possibility that it was wrong or deceptive. Other sources of intelligence, such as photographic intelligence, could help fill in missing pieces. An excellent example of the nature of strategic intelligence was the prediction of Erwin Rommel’s intent, based on captured enemy documents and signals intelligence, to take Tobruk on 23 November 1941. This material also confirmed the disposition of the German Afrika Korps, the locations of all major Axis formation including 15th and 21st Panzer Divisions.30 This knowledge prompted the British to launch operation ‘Crusader’, so to pre-empt Rommel’s plan. An example of how strategic intelligence could assist interdiction comes through a reconstruction of the enemy supply system, provided by captured enemy documents, circulated as Eighth Army daily intelligence summary number 46 for 10 November 1941, and HQ RAF, Middle East’s weekly intelligence summary number 74.31 The intelligence indicated that Benghazi, the railhead for Cyrenaica, received supplies by sea or road from Tripoli. Food, ammunition and petrol, off-loaded in Tripoli, were transferred to small steamers, the only vessels that unloaded at Benghazi, and sent by truck to forward dumps in standard procedures, along typical routes, and with specific schedules.32 This information let the RAF track the Axis supply system, and its accumulation of supplies, which indicated enemy of offensive action. Scholars agree that intelligence generally is the most valuable at the operational level of war. That is particularly true in air support operations, because the rapidity and flexibility of units, which can strike a succession of heavy blows based on the receipt of often banal facts. Air Forces can exploit operational intelligence far more easily and rapidly than can armies. Operational intelligence located potential targets, and predicted possible threats from enemy aircraft or anti-aircraft fire. Again, several sources supplied operational intelligence, most important of which were forms of aerial reconnaissance. When properly organized and integrated into operational planning, reconnaissance aircraft, guided by strategic

Introduction 13

intelligence, let the RAF strike the most appropriate targets with little wasted effort. An example of how operational intelligence affected close air support comes from the response to a reconnaissance report of “significant movement of enemy mobile forces eastwards, from their assembly areas, in the central sector” as the Eighth Army attempted to stop Axis forces at El Alamein in July 1942.33 In response, nine Kittybombers of No.3 Squadron dropped 2,750 pounds of bombs on “troop concentrations and enemy M.T. in the Mukheisin area, to the west of Deir el Shein.”34 Then, nine Boston bombers of No.12 SAAF and eighteen from No.24 SAAF squadrons dropped over one hundred 250-pound bombs, “scoring at least seven direct hits on enemy M.T..”35 Bombers and fighter-bombers continued the attack relentlessly until nightfall, dropping 119,500 pounds of bombs. Thus, the attack “never got going.”36 Similarly, the Operations Record Book of 285 Air Reconnaissance Wing provides an excellent example of how operational intelligence guided interdiction. On August 26 1942, reconnaissance located two convoys moving east on the road from Gambut. One “was later attacked by Beaufighters with good results.”37 Both examples show the close link between reconnaissance and tactical air power. Tactical intelligence included updated information on targets or threats transmitted to pilots in the air, and material which helped them acquire their targets just before attack. For example, in 1942, experiments in ground-to-air recognition were conducted to see if aircraft using a long range signalling lamp could attract the attention of a moving car and signal a letter to it. Thus, friendly troops could signal their location, and that of the target. This was found successful only up to a range of about half a mile and obviously could not be relied on as a ground to air emergency signal. An Aldis lamp however proved completely successful at Heliopolis in signalling to a plane at 6,000 feet and a limited number of these were immediately made available for issue to Army formations.38 Tactical intelligence also involved particular landmarks (known as a bomb-line) beyond which one could attack without fear of hitting friendly troops, and also was used to formulate tactics to maximize damage and minimize losses in combat. For example, armour initially was thought to be a poor target, but a 250-pound bomb fused for instantaneous explosion proved effective in damaging tank tracks, the sighting mechanism for their guns, and their radio antennae.39 At least


in the short term, such damage would make tanks unusable. Consequently, although armour was not the best target, still it could be effectively attacked. Each type of intelligence had its own limited period of value, after which no further return could be made from the effort expended in gathering it. Tactical and operational intelligence generally required swift processing to be useful before their value expired. Strategic intelligence had a longer lifespan. It also provided information that gauged the effectiveness of close air support and interdiction operations, and told commanders whether they were worth the expenditure of resources. Although strategic intelligence did guide aircraft to their targets, without it the RAF could not have gauged the effect of its operations, or learned of the layout, weaknesses, and capabilities of the enemy. The life of any piece of intelligence varied with the distance between landing grounds and targets, the speed of targets and that of the attacking aircraft, and the fluidity of the battle. The farther the aircraft from the target, or the faster its speed the more it might move from the place where it was originally located. This problem need not be fatal, since aircraft could simply search for the target. However, in the presence of significant enemy air strength, searching could be dangerous, while the target could move beyond reach of attack if the time delay was measured in hours instead of minutes. The requirements for C3I systems were dictated by the characteristics of theatres of operations. On the Western Front during the First World War, where defences were deep, and force-to-space ratios high, communications rested on thick layers of permanent landlines. Conversely, in the Western Desert, where the battlefield was large, force-to-space ratios were low, and operations highly mobile, communications based on landlines were extremely vulnerable to enemy action, and too rigid to meet tactical needs. In the mountainous regions of Tunisia, the terrain severely limited the range of communication equipment. Any C3I system must be tailored to meet the requirements of a theatre, and a balance always had to be struck between the conflicting imperatives of speed versus security. Although landlines were difficult to maintain and not well suited for mobile operations, they carried a larger volume of traffic and were much more secure than radio communications. Although radio was more flexible, anyone within range could eavesdrop and make use of the information. The defence against this vulnerability was a cure almost as bad as the disease. Even simple security measures could cripple communications, and thus the ability to

Introduction 15

command fighting troops. So too, cumbersome command structures also hampered the flow of orders and intelligence, yet they were hard to avoid. Every armed force required a hierarchical command structure. The ideal arrangement was one with as few intermediate levels as possible between the top levels of command and the fighting units. The more command levels that existed, the more likely that orders and directives would become confused and corrupted. Furthermore, intermediate levels of command often had their own concerns, and never saw the full picture. As headquarters became more numerous and remote, subordinates developed the belief that superiors did not understand their situation. The more convoluted the command structure the more difficult and time-consuming communications, since information and orders had to travel through each tier of the structure. At some point, the delays in transmitting intelligence up the chain of command, and sending orders down to fighting units became unacceptable.40 Equally important to C3I was the commander’s ability. Incompetent individuals in its structure could do much damage to efficient C3I systems. During the Axis’ offensive against the Gazala line in May 1942, Lieutenant-General Ritchie (commanding the Eighth Army), ordered a withdrawal of twenty miles. Instead of quickly withdrawing and reorganizing their forces, British commanders hesitated. As a South African staff officer waited for the order to withdraw, he recollected later, “Speed, I thought, must be the essence of any solution to the problem…Yet I had to wait another five hours whilst the Generals – Lumsden and Gott – considered their plans inside a huge Armoured Control Vehicle.”41 Such indecisiveness when action was imperative ruined the effort expended in developing a capable C3I system. It also caused an erosion of wireless discipline amongst the British forces, paralysing communications and compromising security. Efficient communications were particularly important to the exercise of air power. They acted as conduits for the smooth functioning of command. One could liken the relationship between command and communication to that of a human body and its nervous system. Just as the nervous system carries commands from the brain to various parts of the body to carry out certain tasks, so military communications carry orders and intelligence. An impairment of any part affects the whole. Without effective communications, and the flow of intelligence and orders it made possible, commanders could not know how a battle was unfolding, where potential targets were, or what enemy capabilities and intentions were. Good communications were worthless


without effective commanders. If one of these components failed, the effectiveness of the whole was degraded. While close air support or interdiction operations theoretically could be conducted with an inefficient communications system, doing so would have been ineffective, as much intelligence would be stale when squadrons acted on it. Intelligence traced enemy organization and movements and predicted its intentions, and let the RAF and USAAF judge the effectiveness of tactics and weaponry used during air support missions, and to adjust them so to maximize the damage while minimizing losses.42 Determining which targets were suitable for attack, and standardizing the most efficient way of doing so, improved the attack. Ironically, even without increasing damage, merely to reduce losses increased the effectiveness of air support. Efficient tactics, however, were but one necessary element in effective operations. Equally important were sufficient numbers of suitable aircraft, effective armaments, well-trained pilots, and the ability to maintain these numbers under difficult conditions. Thus, continual reinforcements and the development of efficient repair and salvage systems were central to the quantitative growth and the rise in the qualitative effectiveness of the RAF and USAAF. Without these prerequisites, the competition for resources between interdiction and close air support operations, complementary uses of air power, would have grown, and their effect would have declined. Instead, intelligence pinpointed targets for both campaigns, while command structures and communication systems allowed the most economical use of Allied aircraft, which also became more numerous. The RAF was able to draw on a long history of effective doctrine and practice for C3I and operational control of aircraft for fighter defence. From the First World War, many key British airmen were aware of the value of early warning or strategic intelligence in focusing operational intelligence gathering efforts, as well as the usefulness of effective C3I for quickly directing aircraft to their targets. Future Chief of the Air Staff (CAS) Geoffrey Salmond, for example, believed “developments in R[adio]/T[elephony] should make it feasible for all (fighter) machines in the air to concentrate at whatever height the enemy’s formations are found within two or three minutes.”43 Between 1915 and 1918, “Britain developed a sophisticated air defence system. This had an effective means of early warning – signals intelligence provided timely notice of all Zeppelin raids between 1914 and 1918 and of every airplane attack in 1918.”44 Through the main air defence system, the London Air Defence Area (LADA), could receive information from observers, alerted to likely attacks and using visual and aural means of location, to get

Introduction 17

information to commanders, who would immediately order aircraft into the air. The response times to these orders were as fast as two and one-half to five minutes.45 Strong early warning focused the acquisition of attacking aircraft, and the LADA system processed all this effectively. Thus, the RAF’s practical experience with fighter defence was a useful template for the formulation of an air support system in the desert. In the analysis of C3I for air support, two different time horizons are dealt with. The first is the longer-term gathering of strategic intelligence on the location and intentions of enemy formations, and background information on issues like the functioning of its supply system. The second relates to strike operations, where immediate and precise information is required to guide an immediate, fast, precise, and distant strike on a valuable target in the space of an hour. Ironically, the two are not as separate as might be thought. The background intelligence can focus the gathering of operational intelligence on, for example, the location of a specific supply convoy or troop concentration. Still, air force typically place less emphasis on the movement of divisions in the theatre, than they do on the location of targets for immediate strikes. In that sense, it is closer to artillery intelligence than more traditional operational intelligence. Strike intelligence (target acquisition) is a matter distinct from both tactical and operational intelligence, in the sense of the material to be acquired, and in the speed of action, the number of actions, and the significance of the targets struck. During the First World War, because of their limits as a strike platform, aircraft had a different place in the C3I loop for strike fire. Their role was essentially as a platform for imagery, to reconstruct trench maps and to acquire targets for guns, and to spot and guide artillery fire. In the Second World War, aircraft doing reconnaissance and bomb damage assessment (BDA) still fill these roles, but strike aircraft have taken on a new role in distant strike, which supplements artillery and in some ways supersedes it. But in structural terms, the overall C3I system surrounding air strike fire in the Second World War was quite similar to that for artillery strike fire in the First World War, which combined with practical experience during the interwar period, made it easier for the RAF in 1940–42 to come to terms with constructing a workable C3I system. They already knew what to do with C3I for strike warfare, and had a useful workable model for modern C3I through fighter control, and had significant practical experience in conducting such operations on the fringes of the Empire. Efficient air support, like any military operation, required the formulation of a coherent doctrine that was taught to and practised by


those responsible for carrying out missions. It stemmed from a constantly evolving process incorporating changes in technology, weaponry, and operational methodology. Before the Second World War, the USAAF and RAF lost their doctrine for the application of air support, and had to re-evolve it under the stress of battle. The RAF and British army (and later Anglo/American forces as a whole) had to overcome weaknesses in intelligence systems, command structures, communications, and in the way their forces fought. By the middle of 1942, the WDAF/Eighth Army had done so, and the power and efficiency of both British air and land power increased dramatically. Unfortunately, British and American air and ground commanders preparing for operation ‘Torch’ had absorbed few of the hard lessons. Consequently, they repeated many of the same failures, which were overcome only with experience and the adoption of the air support system developed in the Western Desert. By the end of the Tunisian campaign, however, the Allies had learned to apply air support with great success. It became one of their great tools for victory.

1 The Fall and Rise of Air Support Doctrine

In 1918 the Royal Air Force (RAF), and to a lesser degree the United States Army Air Service (USAAS), practiced air support operations with effect on the western front. However, during the interwar years most senior British and American air commanders purposely overlooked their value. Attempts by the British and American armies to absorb aviation for their own purposes worsened the situation and crippled preparation for air support. When war came, neither the RAF nor the United States Army Air Forces (as the Air Service and later the Air Corps became known in 1941) were prepared to provide air support operations as they had been in 1918. Some elements of air support were understood between the wars, but neither force had a fully developed doctrine, nor much practice in conducting such operations. Why this was so, and to what degree, depends upon the definition of the term ‘doctrine’ used. A good definition is ‘the means by which guidelines for military action are established’. It is often the blueprint by which armed forces determine their grand strategy, their operational objectives, and their tactics to attain them. General Curtis LeMay, who commanded the Twentieth Air Force which undertook the strategic bombing campaign against Japan in 1945, spelled out the importance of doctrine by arguing that at the very heart of war lies doctrine. It represents the central beliefs for waging war in order to achieve victory. Doctrine is of the mind, a network of faith and knowledge reinforced by experience which lays the pattern for the utilisation of men, equipment and tactics. It is fundamental to sound judgement.1 Although doctrine is based on a theoretical framework, it also must be reinforced by practice and experience, and thus is always evolving. A 19


doctrine based purely on theory may be totally unworkable. The aim is a rationally worked out program of how to employ armed forces, making use of their particular attributes, changing over time with experience, and sufficiently flexible to fit a variety of situations, since armed forces never get the war they want. One can learn by studying how commanders viewed the idea of doctrine, or attempted to test and fine-tune the theory behind it. Scholars call this process the ‘doctrinal loop’. It begins with statements of military objectives, broad declarations of what the military is expected to achieve based on rationally perceived threats of the day and likely military situations. These guidelines are used to formulate or revise doctrine, which, in turn, shapes the organization of military forces, their training and equipment requirements, and plans. The results of exercises or combat experience are analysed to determine the practicality of the doctrine, and to reshape the formulation of military objectives. In this way, doctrine should evolve constantly, and never degenerate into dogma – the last word on the subject. The danger of basing doctrine totally on theory was understood by British and American armed forces between the wars. Captain Mc A. Hogg of the Royal Engineers, for example, warned of the dangers of “doctrines based upon imagination, and not upon facts”.2 Frequently, however, this warning was not heeded. Several obstacles blocked the development of an air support doctrine, many prerequisites had to exist. First, the value of this use of air power had to be understood; otherwise it could not receive the necessary attention and funding. Secondly, practical exercises were required, involving staff work and actual employment of aircraft in as realistic a fashion as possible. This would demonstrate elements for a successful air support system, and hone their efficiency. Intelligence staffs had to receive realistic training and experience in evaluating and presenting incoming intelligence to commanders who, in turn, had to learn how to make rapid and correct decisions and order aircraft to attack the best available targets in the context of the larger picture. Since pilots had to execute missions, they needed constant training and practice in the tactical mechanics of delivering air support. Such training and practice would expose problems with aircraft types, tactics, munitions, organization and command, and pilot proficiency, and let the doctrine evolve rationally. Otherwise, technical innovation would matter little. The USAAC, for example, continually received new and better types of aircraft suitable for air support throughout the 1930s (such as the Curtiss A-20 Shrike and the Northrop A-17), but its ability to conduct

The Fall and Rise of Air Support Doctrine 21

effective operations remained stagnant because it lacked anything approaching a doctrine on the matter.3 Only with a rational doctrine and its associated feedback loop could air forces have predicted the type of aircraft needed for effective air support, and made full use of their potential. At senior command levels, neither the RAF nor the USAAF advocated tactical air power. Although both forces maintained small groups of aircraft to support ground forces, their training, equipment, and personnel were inadequate. Instead, both forces regarded strategic bombing as the only correct use of offensive air power. They did so because both forces aimed for independent status from the other services, in the context of shrinking defence budgets, and a focus on strategic bombing as a means to this end. In the context of the shifting strategic policies of Britain during the inter-war period, and the geopolitical situation of the United States, strategic bombing made some sense.4 This desire for independence, however, created a climate of hostility that crippled the inter-service cooperation which was central to effective air support. Some influential members of both air forces did discuss and practice air support, but their work was degraded by the lack of constant practice to train pilots and test the theories. Although their work proved useful when the time came to develop a system for the application of air support, it cannot be argued that either force had a fully evolved doctrine. In 1940, for example, defeats in Norway and France pushed the petty disputes of the War Office and Air Ministry to the margins, and forced them to develop a doctrine for the employment of effective air support. When this occurred, an air force that had no intention of providing air support found, more by chance than any plan, that it had the tools to do so. The USAAF had no interwar combat experience during the period, and little official interest in air support, despite having evolved a doctrine for the matter during the war, and possessing a champion for it in the form of General Billy Mitchell. In 1918, Mitchell produced a Provisional Manual of Operations reflecting the experience gained in the war. He recommended that attack aviation, specifically trained and equipped with aircraft suitable for ground attack, able to launch “concentrated, continuous, uninterrupted engagement at the decisive time and place.”5 Despite this promising start, American ‘attack aviation’ atrophied even further than did that of the RAF. Ironically, Mitchell would become a major champion of strategic bombing.


The evolution of United States air doctrine after 1918 reflected broader ideas on warfare. During the First World War, air power focused on protecting friendly troops from air attack, and assisting in the destruction of the enemy’s main forces through reconnaissance, gun spotting, or direct attack from the air. When the Americans entered the war in 1941, the influence of Billy Mitchell and Guilio Douhet had taken hold. The USAAF saw warfare as “the result of the persisting economic conflict among modern industrialised nations. Its purpose was seen as the elimination of rival production by destruction of economic facilities or by alteration of the enemy will to produce.”6 These goals could be accomplished through precise attacks on key nodes in the enemy’s economic structure, conducted by strategic bombers. To most key USAAF figures, any diversion of effort from this plan, such as attack aviation, was a waste of effort. Even more, aviators disliked being subordinated to ground forces whose commanders, according to General Ira Eaker, “wouldn’t admit there was even such a thing as air power.”7 Yet attack aviation did not fall from grace solely because strategic bombing offered an independent role for the USAAF. Until 1939, the American policy of isolationism, and the requirements for defence against opponents using Canada or Mexico as a base for an invasion of the United States, reinforced the belief in strategic bombing. The focus on strategic bombing accompanied a debate over who should control American air forces, often as bitterly contested an issue as in Britain. In 1926, General Pershing, the commander of the American Expeditionary Force during the First World War, held that an “air force, acting independently, can of its own account neither win a war at the present time, nor, so far as we can tell, at any time in the future.”8 Most senior Air Corps officers retorted that armies and navies were less important than before because aircraft could bypass them and strike directly at an enemy’s country. Major General Frank Andrews argued that the enemy seat of government would be “a bombing objective of high priority”, with the first blow “struck within a few hours after the decision to strike [had] been made.” Industry would be destroyed. Those “whose Air Power was second class, would acquiesce with little argument to those who had superior Air Power.”9 The USAAC clashed with the rest of the Army over the allocation of defence funding. However, the Air Corps had received a disproportionate amount of the Army’s budget, and a continual supply of new aircraft. The Air Corps Act of 1926 called for air expenditures to total almost thirty-five percent of the Army’s total budget.10 Between 1926


and 1931, the Air Corps drew 5,867 officers and enlisted personnel from other services, increased the number of pilots by fifty percent, and its total strength of aircraft from 903 to 1,646.11 At the same time, the Army still used its First World War rifles, and the Cavalry received only forty-seven tanks, while more than half of its officers were still on horseback.12 This disproportionate funding was not lost on the rest of the Army, which looked for excuses to embarrass and thus downgrade the Air Corps. A means to do so came in early 1934 through the Air Corps attempt to deliver the U.S. Mail. On 9 February 1934, President Roosevelt cancelled civilian airmail contracts on the promise from Benjamin Foulois, Chief of the Air Corps, that it could do the job. Despite Foulois’ optimism, the task was extremely complex, while navigational equipment and aircraft were unsuited to the task. A series of unfortunate accidents followed, and much of the criticism aimed at the Air Corps was motivated by Army figures who saw their chance.13 Even President Roosevelt, who declared the Air Corps had betrayed his faith, abandoned it. Roosevelt told the Secretary of War George Dern that had he known of the incompetence of the Air Corps he never would have cancelled the civilian contracts, and that the “continuation of deaths in the Army Air Corps must stop.”14 The Army Chief of Staff, Douglas MacArthur, used this incident to claim that money spent on the Air Corps had been wasted, and should instead be turned to the more traditional arms of the Army. Roosevelt’s opponents jumped at the chance to use the misfortunes of the Air Corps to further their own ends. Air Corps mail delivery halted on 1 June 1935. This incident caused Foulois’ resignation, and heightened the ill will between the Air Corps and the rest of the Army, making it more difficult to cooperate on testing air support ideas with the few aircraft allocated for the effort. During the interwar period, the USAAC operated just one attack Group of two to four squadrons with a main role of reconnaissance. The fate of this Group parallels that of attack aviation. It began with four squadrons patrolling the border with Mexico, but due to budget cuts, two of the four squadrons were disbanded. Further “cuts shaved the personnel complement of the remaining squadrons from 130 to ninety.”15 Throughout the period, American air doctrine was focused elsewhere, and there was no serious interest in attack aviation. Most military education of air and ground force officers was undertaken at the Air Corps Tactical School (ACTS) in Alabama, or at the Command and General Staff School (CGSS) in Leavenworth, Kansas. At


the ACTS, the centre for the development and propagation of strategic bombing doctrine, only one course, Aviation in Support of Ground Forces, handled tactical aviation, but even it was pervaded by strategic bombing doctrine. According to the instructor, the “most valuable contribution the air force [could] make to the ground campaign [was] the successful destruction of targets deep inside enemy territory.”16 Not only were instructors disdainful of the tactical use of air power, but the course only lasted a day, and counted for one fortieth of the final grade.17 The CGSS, by contrast, focused on the staff work associated with formations of a Corps or less. Although official opinion held that “the strategic employment of bombardment aviation form[ed] the basis for the employment of the air forces as a whole”, the school treated tactical aviation as the only relevant form of air power, and centred on combined operations between army and air forces.18 In contrast to the ACTS course, the CGSS created an atmosphere conducive to experimentation and original thinking. One exercise undertaken by Major (later Major General) Elwood ‘Pete’ Quesada, an innovator of American air support doctrine, “contemplated a fictitious corps attack against an enemy retreating toward a river, and advocated using airplanes to cut off the crossing points” to isolate the battlefield.19 The course further presaged later uses of tactical air power by indicating the fundamental nature of aerial reconnaissance, and aerial attack with armoured formations ahead of the main corps. Despite the opposition by senior airmen, this was important to those men able to keep an open mind about the potential of this form of air power. When the time came to develop and implement an air support system, and to modify it to changing situations, the experience of officers such as Quesada proved valuable indeed. Events in the Spanish Civil War, and later in Czechoslovakia and Poland foreshadowed a coming war which might involve the United States. That prospect gained air power a wider audience. Hitler’s attack on Poland in September 1939 prompted President Roosevelt to call for a “program to provide 50,000 planes and a production capacity for at least that many each year.”20 In addition, he wanted the Air Corps to protect the Western Hemisphere against Germany and Italy. However, the influence of the ACTS still held sway over the planned use of these aircraft. The Air War Planning Department, which was created to plan for the expansion of the Air Corps and to devise methods to use air power against Germany, formulated the final statement on American air doctrine before the war. It embodied the ideas taught at the ACTS. Non-Air Corps officers questioned AWPD-1, as the plan was


known, and those who had engineered it. Even General Marshall, the U.S. Army Chief of Staff, expressed doubts about the plan. Quesada considered Marshall “the fairest, most open-minded person I ever met in my life. I felt soon after I met him that he was a man who could rise above all the petty feelings between air and ground officers.”21 Yet Marshall felt the air staff “placed too much faith in the probability of success solely through the employment of bombing” and had ignored the lessons of France and the Battle of Britain.22 Despite his opposition, the plan was adopted in September 1941 virtually unchanged. It envisaged an Air Corps with ninety-eight bomber groups, but only twentysix fighter and fighter-bomber groups. Air support still ranked near the bottom of Air Corps priorities.23 In fact, this report did pay attention to events in Poland, France, and the Battle of Britain, but the lessons drawn served only to confirm the correctness of strategic bombing doctrine as envisaged by Air Corps theorists. The Chief of the Air Corps sent officers, including his two most able commanders General ‘Tooey’ Spaatz and George Kenney, to report on the European air war. In May 1940, the War Department established the Special Observer Group in London to follow technical and tactical developments.24 Rather than noting the successful use of tactical air power by German forces, and the lack of a comparable capability in their own force, the observers (almost exclusively of Air Corps Tactical School instructors) focused on the Luftwaffe’s lack of a strategic bombing capability. They reported that had Germany possessed a doctrine of strategic bombing and aircraft capable of carrying it out, it could have “reduced Britain to a shambles in 1940.”25 Again, instead of acknowledging the RAF’s advantages in the battle, including its system of fighter control, its capable aircraft and competent pilots, the reports focused on the Luftwaffe’s deficiencies. Its offensive allegedly failed not because of the power of strategic air defence, but because the Luftwaffe aircraft lacked bomb load, range, armour, and its fighters were unable to escort these bombers through the British defences.26 Not all USAAC officers held this opinion. On 20 April 1941, Quesada told his mother that the British Spitfires were “marvelous planes…and have singlehandedly defeated the Boche in the sky.”27 Most senior air figures, however, focused on the evidence that supported their preconceived ideas. Despite this bias, interest rose in the tactical use of air power, mostly from army officers but also among wider audiences.28 Meanwhile, in March 1939 the Secretary of War appointed the Air Board to make recommendations regarding the employment and


organization of air power. It correctly predicted that the Air Corps might not be able to supply air support in a major war. The conclusions were adopted by the Air Corps Board, which was fulfilling General Marshall’s request for a new statement on doctrine, in U.S. Army Field Manual 1-5 Employment of Aviation of the Army (FM 1-5) published on 15 April 1940. This manual, approved after compromise between the General Staff and GHQ Air Force (the operational component of the Air Corps), “represented a considerable attenuation of the air doctrine which had been distilled at the Tactical School, conforming rather to the more conservative general principles of airpower enunciated by the Air Board.”29 It contained fairly sophisticated ideas on tactical aviation. While arguing that attack aviation was most effective when “secured through centralized control”, the manual inferred a subordinate role for the air force commander as “the immediate assistant to the ground commander and adviser of his staff on all aviation matters.”30 The method of support depended upon the stage of operations. Close air support was viewed as secondary in importance to interdiction of supply, and attack against troops and transport behind the front. It was better to isolate the battlefield from reinforcements and supplies than to attack targets at the front. Finally, attack aviation should not be “employed against objectives which can be effectively engaged by available ground weapons” and “was poorly suited for direct attacks against small detachments of troops which are entrenched or dispersed.”31 These statements had their own problems, but were well on the right track. Experience would show that efficient C3I, and appropriate tactics and aircraft, allowed for the best target to be chosen from the available options – including close air support. However, merely publishing a Field Manual could not undo the years of neglect of tactical aviation, nor could it erode the opposition of most Air Corps officers. Indeed, one of the strongest proponents of strategic bombing doctrine, Haywood Hansell, acknowledged that he and others got “carried away somewhat with the very thesis that I did my utmost to espouse”, so much so that “we [had] decimated, we [had] emasculated our own force.”32 Often manuals reflected only theories or unsound ideas. Even manuals based on sound ideas needed practical experience or serious exercises to be translated into a doctrine. The lack of recent practical experience with air support was a handicap and meant the Air Corps might badly translate ideas into lessons.33 Here, as often, it is dangerous to interpret doctrine simply according to manuals. There was very little practical experience behind the idea of tactical aviation, and even less official sanctioning. Nothing had changed because of the adoption of FM 1-5.


In September 1940, the theories embodied in FM 1-5 were tested when Marshall ordered General Andrews and his G3 staff to study the issue. Andrews recommended joint air/ground exercises to work out the coordination of air support. Subsequently, Marshall directed Lt. General L.J. McNair, Chief of Staff of the Army’s operational command, to work out the details for air support. But the tests suffered from a resistance from Air Corps officers who were pushing for increased independence, and thought ground support was a subordinate role. Nor did matters change when the Air Support Board was convened in 1942 to address army commanders’ concerns about the continuing lack of an air support doctrine. Its product, Field Manual 31-35 Aviation in Support of Ground Forces, was less a doctrinal manual than a recitation of the need for USAAF officers to control air forces. The manual focused on the bureaucratic organization of air support rather than on battlefield operations, or priorities for targets. Its provisions were tested by a series of manoeuvres including Corps and Army size formations. These exercises all suffered from “the limited amount of previous joint training”, which left air officers insufficiently “informed of the tactics and organization of ground units; conversely, ground officers lacked a proper appreciation of the capabilities and limitations of the air arm.”34 Nor did the army seriously test the system for air support adopted from the RAF in Britain, let alone that developed in the desert. Army figures questioned the provisions for air support, and recommended further tests “involving perhaps changes in the currently published Air Support doctrines.”35 These tests occurred too late to affect arrangements for operation ‘Torch’. As American forces landed in North Africa, the USAAF possessed the bits and pieces of an air support doctrine, but with insufficient practical experience and little interest in the topic from senior officers. The USAAF, and the RAF taking part in ‘Torch’, were working with theories that were unsuited to the test of battle. By this stage, Air Headquarters Western Desert had learned how to provide effective air support, but their lessons had not been transferred to the rest of the RAF or the USAAF. During the interwar years the RAF too was obsessed with strategic bombing. However, historians have forgotten that wars on imperial frontiers kept some of the tenets of air support alive. Despite their differences in Britain, the army and RAF cooperated during air control operations and small wars on the frontier. During these conflicts, relations between ground and air forces were by necessity close. Pilots routinely responded to calls for direct support from soldiers, flew protective cover, conducted aerial reconnaissance, and transported supplies and


troops. Intelligence proved fundamental to successful operations. At the operational and tactical levels cooperation was constant between the RAF and the army, but high-level relations often were petty. Right from the Armistice in 1918, the War Office and Air Ministry fought battles over the control of air resources, with the roots stretching back into the Great War. In its bid for independence, the RAF found in Winston Churchill a staunch ally. Churchill believed that the RAF could influence the strategy of the future, and advocated the formation of an air force as part of a “unified, permanent branch of Imperial defence, composed exclusively of men who will not think of themselves as soldiers, sailors or civilians, but as airmen.”36 This support undoubtedly affected the recommendations of the Smuts report of 17 August 1917, leading to the amalgamation of the RFC and the Royal Naval Air Service under the control of a separate Air Ministry, but did not stop Churchill from drastically slashing the budget and size of the RAF when he became Air Minister in January 1919.37 From a strength at the end of the Great War of 291,170 officers and men and 22,647 aircraft in 188 combat squadrons and 15 flights, the force fell to 25 squadrons and fewer than 27,000 officers and men by the end of 1919.38 However, this was the reality of post-war Britain. The army and Royal Navy experienced similar financial stringency. It was in the context of shrinking budgets that the army and RAF clashed; the RAF attempted to ensure its own long-term survival by taking roles and funds from the army, which sought to absorb the RAF so to meet its own air requirements and usurp its budget. Thus, “the struggle for money began.”39 During the RAF’s initial bid for independence, Churchill, as Secretary of State for Air and the Chief of the Air Staff (CAS) Hugh Trenchard argued that the RAF could maintain order on the North-West Frontier of India and in the new mandates far more cheaply than could the army. Sir Henry Wilson, Chief of the Imperial General Staff (CIGS) from 1918–1922, retorted that a separate RAF was prohibitively expensive. To sum up, we want as much Air Force and as little Air Ministry as we can get for our money, and I think we have a right to ask that before any change is made in the direction of entrusting further warlike operations to the Air Ministry, a searching examination should be made of the financial effect entailed.40 It also would be beneficial to put “an end to the Air Ministry’s unnecessary duplication of Naval and Military services and establishments”.41


The Quartermaster General echoed this sentiment in a letter to the Secretary of State for War. He complained that the Air Force when it comes down out of the sky must clearly have its territorial requirements provided for by the Army…this separation, which has been growing in strength during the last few months, is wrong in principle and wasteful in practice.42 Naturally, these statements incensed Trenchard. He fired back a memorandum that conveys a sense of the hostility between the two services for the entire interwar period. I have read Sir Henry Wilson’s note of the 28th September (C.I.D. 150-C) with considerable surprise. He admits that the General Staff memorandum of the 25th May…went far outside its terms of reference, but none the less proceeds to indulge himself in a still more discursive attack on the integrity of the Royal Air Force. I shall wholeheartedly welcome any proposal for an independent and searching examination of defence expenditure, provided such examination includes the Army…I am confident that the results will support my contention that the air arm is our cheapest form of defence, and that, if only we are prepared to move with the times and leave the ruts of an obsolete dogmatism, the gradual transfer to the Air Ministry of certain functions hitherto vested in the War Office will make for economy.43 Thus the war over the substitution of army formations by air force took on new intensity. Churchill and Trenchard used a scheme of air control over Iraq so to further their own ends, which the British government adopted as an economical means to retain possession of Mesopotamian oil reserves. This success ensured the RAF’s survival as a separate service.44 The main tenet of RAF and USAAF belief during the interwar years revolved around strategic bombing, at least in part because it was a role unique to air power. The RAF also argued that it must develop an independent strategic bomber force as the only possible deterrent to the threat of air attack by a hostile European power – the overwhelming superiority of the French air force and the mixed state of Anglo-French relations forming the most serious danger until the rise of Hitler. Strategic bombing became a doctrine, or more accurately, dogma in both forces. Trenchard called strategic bombing “the Air Force Faith.”45 In fact, this doctrine was supported by little evidence, and less practical


experience. Still, the RAF clung to this theory, because it was an alternative to protracted trench warfare, and attracted funding from politicians. Not merely did all senior airmen overstate the value of strategic bombing but, even worse, they grossly underestimated the role of armies and navies with but a few exceptions, although significant ones. As Air Officer Commanding in Iraq during 1922–1923, an operation that was the key learning experience for almost all middle and senior RAF officers, John Salmond learned many important lessons on the requirements for effective air support. Though many vitriolically denounced it as a path the RAF should follow, all understood how it could be made to work, and a significant minority accepted it as a future role demanding appropriate attention. Thus, John Salmond conducted an able air/ground campaign against Turkish cavalry and Kurdish insurgents, while Edward Ellington argued that the RAF’s main task over the next decade should be army support. Salmond was CAS in 1929–1930, and Ellington between 1931–1935, which shows that a sizable minority in the RAF accepted, in theory, the idea that air/ground warfare might be useful in practice, however these attitudes bore little fruit. Interesting contradictions existed in the RAF’s Manual of Combined Operations as late as 1938. By this time, single seat cantilever monoplane fighters could fly as high and faster than bombers, and possessed offensive armament deadly to bomber formations. Fighter aircraft were designed to possess a high offensive value in air fighting. In defence of vulnerable points they are employed in conjunction with guns, searchlights and other components of an anti-aircraft defence organization to make enemy attacks so expensive that they cease to be a profitable enterprise. In addition they operate directly against enemy fighters and reconnaissance aircraft to preserve the freedom of action of our own aircraft, and to deny air reconnaissance to the enemy.46 However, the same paragraph also stated that the “main strength of an air force lies in its bomber squadrons, the aircraft of which combine a high offensive bombing power with an ability to beat off defending fighter attacks by means of the machine guns with which they are equipped.”47 In addition to such blatant contradictions, almost no realistic effort was made to translate the strategic bombing hypothesis into a sound doctrine or an effective fighting force. It was accepted as fact without any supporting evidence. Elementary matters regarding defence against fighters, pilot training, or bombsights were misunderstood. When war


came in 1939, RAF squadrons in Egypt and North Africa were equipped with aircraft unsuited for any role, especially support to ground forces, and quickly found that bombers were vulnerable to modern fighters. Soldiers and airmen also fought the debate over the proper role of the air force in the journals of the day. This featured a polarization of opinion along service lines. Air force officers insisted that only airmen who, through their familiarity with air power, understood its potential and limitations, which of course centred on the bombing of key industrial targets deep in enemy territory, not as an arm of the army in a futile battle of attrition.48 Army officers countered that no victory could be attained unless the enemy’s army in the field were destroyed, and “it was as an auxiliary arm in close cooperation with the naval and military forces that the best work of the Royal Air Force was carried out.”49 However, some RAF figures argued in favour of the types of air support that would become common during the Second World War, and understood the operational requirements of doing so, notably Wing Commanders Trafford Leigh-Mallory and J.C. Slessor. Leigh-Mallory’s greatest contribution was to emphasize that air superiority was fundamental to the success of a land campaign, and to show how aircraft could guide armoured forces to their objectives and communicate intelligence to them. Moreover, “an attack of bombers and fighters on an enemy column” could delay it long enough to let armoured forces catch and attack it.50 This quite revolutionary talk, especially from so senior an RAF officer, reflected his experience at the army’s Camberley Staff College as the Air Force member of the Directing Staff – a position at which Wing Commander John Slessor would succeed him.51 Like Leigh-Mallory, Slessor was a member of Hugh Trenchard’s staff, and Trenchard admired Slessor’s scholarly ability, as he used him as a ghostwriter for many of his speeches and articles well into the war years.52 Slessor, nonetheless, had his own opinions concerning the capabilities of air power, as evidenced in his influential book Air Power and Armies, and his gold medal essay in the Journal of the Royal United Service Institute in 1937. When his Air Ministry tour was cut short in 1930 by illness, Slessor took up a position closely associated with the army, spending the next four years on the directing staff at the Camberley Staff College. During this period he wrote the Army Cooperation Manual and Air Power and Armies. He then put many of his principles into practice when posted back to India commanding No.3 (Indian) Wing during the Kaisora operations in Waziristan during 1936–1937. During 1930–1940, he worked first as Deputy and then Director of


Plans working for the CAS on the development of RAF policy and for the Chiefs of Staff as Air Member of the Joint Planning Committee.53 Slessor’s broad views on land/air warfare, on “direct support of armies by air forces as opposed to mere reconnaissance and observation for artillery” were worked into writings, lectures, and a book Air Power and Armies that bordered on official heresy.54 Land and air operations, he argued, should be planned by army and air force officers acting in conjunction, each as the expert in his own area, not with the Air Force as a subordinate arm. Air forces possessed the flexibility to react quickly and concentrate in operations, but only if handled by air force officers with technical competence and experience. This idea perhaps was nothing revolutionary, but his thoughts on how to aid the army during battle were unique. The army should hold the enemy on the battlefield, creating a situation where an “intensive flow of reinforcement and supply is vital.”55 The air force would block enemy air attack, and this would create “the opportunity for their comrades on the ground to progress unchecked to the point where their action becomes decisive.”56 Moreover, the purpose of air support was to attack the communications serving the enemy’s army, to disorganise and delay the reserves coming in to support his forward troops, and to prevent traffic bringing up food, ammunition, and the mass of other material essential to their continued resistance.57 Slessor’s ideas were reflected in the Manual of Army Cooperation which he authored in 1930. Despite the narrow topic suggested by the title, the manual outlined the principles for the employment of all types of aircraft in a variety of situations. It stressed the importance of good communication between army and air force units, and the need for effective intelligence and the ability to communicate it in a timely fashion. Indeed, had this manual been applied to planning, the RAF would have been well suited to conduct air support operations in 1940. It was not implemented, however, because the principles were not officially believed, and the required inter-service cooperation was not forthcoming. The relationship between the RAF and British army remained poor through the interwar period. Given the overlapping tasks and divergent theories concerning the role of air forces, disagreements were bound to occur. However, the virulence of the hostility between the army and RAF was even worse than those conflicts over the control of Naval aviation, and completely precluded any serious consideration of the provision of air support.


The army’s Field Service Regulations acknowledged that bombers could “combine the direct support of the military operations with the assistance of the maintenance of a favourable air situation” by bombing “the vital centres in the system of command and maintenance” and columns of “troops and transport, especially if concentrated in defiles.”58 Such operations, however, required close relations between the RAF and army, and experience in translating theory into reality. Otherwise, the independent bomber force was unlikely to aid the army’s efforts. The only squadrons that the army could count upon, and the only aircraft which figured prominently in its plans, were the Army Cooperation squadrons. These squadrons, one for each allotted per division and one per corps headquarters, were to provide reconnaissance and photography and to drop supplies to troops.59 Only exceptionally would they be called upon to attack ground targets, for which Army Cooperation aircraft were unsuited. From the standpoint of air support, one squadron of Lysanders per division was inadequate, and any additional support uncertain. During the interwar period, flying with an Army Cooperation squadron was “a nice, gentlemanly business.” Manoeuvres involving army and RAF units were rare, and inadequate for developing the mechanics of air support.60 The Army Cooperation Report for 1927 remarked that the experience this year has shown that the fighter squadrons which have been detailed to provide cooperation do not generally understand the principle of attacking troops on the ground. This lack of knowledge is due to the small amount of practice which has been afforded them.61 The following year’s report noted that fighter squadrons worked in close cooperation with ground forces only in an experimental fashion, and might not be available for this purpose in time of war.62 The only RAF officers to attend the War Office exercises during 1928 were from Army Cooperation squadrons.63 Often, these exercises were conducted without troops – just staffs were involved – and RAF staff officers attached to army units “found that these officers had little opportunity of obtaining useful experience because the army staffs were fully employed in their normal duties complicated by the short duration of the exercises.”64 Therefore, if RAF staff officers were “to be attached during future exercises, these attachments [should] be to RAF units and formations only.”65 In 1934, the CAS, Ellington, told the Chiefs of Staff Sub-Committee that the army only interacted with the air force through its Army Cooperation squadrons, while “their contact with bomber and fighter


units only took place at certain times during higher training exercises.”66 These training exercises generally occurred on Salisbury Plain (one of the few places in Britain with sufficient space for Divisional manoeuvres) over one or two days. Fighter and bomber pilots were not only ignorant about how to offer air support, but also of the other service’s staff. Inter-service communication was discouraged, and the only contact was too limited to offer serious lessons. Moreover, the bad climate between the Air Ministry and War Office added to this spirit of disunity. Interservice relations in Africa, NorthWest India, Iraq, or Palestine, however, were often close, but never as bad as those between the CAS and CIGS in Britain. Egypt was the site of some useful training schemes, which “led to the development of a close cooperation by bomber squadrons with the various Army Formations within the command”, and an “increased number of schemes in which bomber squadrons provided all forms of reconnaissance, practised the dropping of supplies by parachute and added message picking up and dropping to their normal inter-communication methods.”67 The General-Officer-Commanding the British Troops in Egypt during the early 1930s, General Sir Jock BurnettStuart, was on of the ‘voices in the wilderness’ who favoured close relations with the RAF. He thought RAF officers best knew how to employ aircraft in support of the army. In 1937, he denounced the army’s manual Employment of Air Forces with the Army in the Field, for recommending that the Air Officer Commanding RAF units work “purely in an advisory capacity so far as operating is concerned, a procedure that is contrary to all army principles, and likely sooner or later to break down in war.”68 He foresaw later conditions in the Western Desert when he indicated that communication between Divisional Headquarters and aerodromes may “seldom arise, and certainly not at the outbreak of operations.”69 In a 1931 training memorandum, General Burnett-Stuart clarified his views of how Army Cooperation squadrons and independent bomber and fighter squadrons should support the army. Although 208 Army Cooperation Squadron was “at our disposal”, the rest of the RAF was ready to assist, provided specific missions were requested.70 It was important to give your airman as much help as you can; tell him what you expect him to see, and where you expect him to see it, what your own intentions are and what area or roads or defiles…you want him to investigate; or if it is a matter of bombing, or fighting, give him an objective.


Don’t just ask him to go out and scout, or to go a-bombing – give him a definite mission.71 This spirit of cooperation was typical of Egypt, and of every fringe of the Empire where air support was operationally required. In these areas, the principles defined in the Manual of Army Cooperation were implemented, and the experience gained by men like General Bernard Montgomery, General Sir Claude Auchinleck, Jack Slessor, Air Marshal Coningham, and Marshal of the Royal Air Force Lord Tedder proved important when Britain had to evolve an effective air support system during 1941–1942. After the armistice, Tedder was given command of 274 (later 207) Squadron, which he took to Turkey as part of the British Expeditionary Force deployed during the Chanak Incident, gaining him valuable experience in working with the army and navy. He also continued a close association with Slessor, and received copies of his writings about air support.72 These ideas, combined with Tedder’s experience and personality, let him function smoothly with army figures, with the understandable exception of Montgomery. He understood the value of combined operations and the need for army and air force commanders to be in close contact, especially during operations.73 Thus, when Tedder took command of the RAF in the Middle East in May 1941, he moved his headquarters next to those of the army. When the time came to implement methods of delivering air support to the army, Tedder’s beliefs, experience, and personality served Britain well. Similarly, Arthur Coningham gained valuable experience in skirmishes with the Turks on the northern border of Iraq in 1922. He and his fellow squadron members “cooperated closely with ground forces by dropping supplies and keeping them informed about enemy strength and movements”, and also bombed and strafed Turkish invaders.74 So much practice was gained during these operations that the leader of the rebel force, Sheik Mahmoud, was dubbed “the Director of Training.”75 Coningham came to share John Salmond’s beliefs about the experience gained in Iraq. Salmond told the Air Ministry in 1924 that “in direct attack on ground targets by providing covering or supporting machine-gun fire; they disperse hostile forces and, when necessary, impede the escape of those forces by attacking bridges, fords or mountain defiles.”76 Coningham also concluded that such air support was impossible without intelligence, communications, supplies and close relations with the Army Commander. These beliefs and experience made it easier for the RAF to provide air support in the Western Desert.


Other traits that would serve the British well in the desert campaigns were evident early in Coningham’s career. On 22 August 1923, Coningham, recently promoted to Squadron Leader and appointed to command of 55 Squadron, led six aircraft on a reconnaissance of the Iraqi frontier with Syria and Turkey. At Rumelian, west of Mosul, Coningham directed the remaining five aircraft towards the Turkish frontier, while he decided to land.77 The hostile attitude displayed by the locals, who though his aircraft was one of those that had recently bombed them, convinced him to depart. However, he returned the next day “in order to clear up the situation” and in his words “establish our prestige.”78 Having again been mistaken for a French aircraft involved in bombing them, the locals fired on his aircraft while he landed. Coningham, after calmly climbing out of the cockpit and inquiring about all the fuss, quickly impressed the tribal leader with his composed firmness – so much so that he “wrote a message of goodwill in Arabic on the cowling of the aircraft.”79 Those who served with Coningham throughout his career continually noted his composure, self-confidence, and determination during dangerous situations.80 John Slessor also put into practice his theories about air power when he took command of No.3 (Indian) Wing in 1936. 20 Squadron at Peshawar organized a system of attack known as the V.B.L. (Vickers-Bomb-Lewis), in which aircraft dived at its target using its forward Vickers machineguns to keep down enemy fire, and dropped bombs on the target while the rear-gunner used Lewis guns to suppress anti-aircraft fire during the egress. The equipment and tactics used during these operations differed enormously from those of the Second World War, but the key point was the genuine attempts to find workable methods of offering air support, and the understanding of the matter. The lessons learned during these operations, incorporated into a Manual of Frontier Operations and a brochure entitled Close Support Tactics – Provisional, Slessor claimed “may be recognised as bearing at least a close resemblance to some of the principles of land/air warfare which crystallised in the Desert fighting of 1942 and 1943 and served us so well in the great campaigns in Italy, France, and Germany.”81 These principles included an independent air force commander who would act when necessary to “bring down his fire when it is obviously wanted, with the minimum of delay”, adequate communications between air and ground forces, and between airfields and command headquarters.82 Facilitating the flow of intelligence and orders, was “the crux of the whole matter”.83 These documents identified the weaknesses of existing signals equipment and means of target identification, and means to solve the problems, including up-to-date W/T and R/T sets, and the


use of smoke shells to identify enemy troops and orange strips for friendly ones. These were precisely the same systems that were later used in North Africa. A truism in imperial policing is that intelligence was vital to operations. A memorandum entitled “Tactical Methods of Conducting Air Operations Against Tribes on the North-West Frontier of India” stressed that accurate intelligence was essential to the “successful application of air power in frontier Operations.”84 Before and after operations, intelligence determines the correct amount of pressure required to force compliance with the government’s orders, and checked the effectiveness of attacks.85 In the fighting at Bajuar, air photographs taken of each attack and at the end of each day’s bombing were used to gauge the effect and based on this information it was determined whether to continue the bombing. In one instance, photographic intelligence showed that “considerable damage had been done and that any further bombing would be a waste of effort.”86 Thus, further bombing raids were cancelled. Even in Palestine, where Air Control operations ultimately failed, the relationship between the army and RAF was generally good, and much experience was gained. The suggestion by Churchill in 1921 that the RAF, supplemented with a local Gendarmerie and some armoured cars, could replace the 7,670 imperial troops in resisting opposition to Jewish immigration, began these operations.87 By 1925, there was only a single cavalry regiment remaining, replaced by a company of armoured cars and a single squadron of aircraft. The cost had been reduced from three and a half million pounds to less than half, but by 1929, the attempt to police Palestine from the air was found wanting, and “three battalions of British foot were rushed to Palestine; and a brigadiergeneral assumed temporary command of all forces in the country.”88 In 1936, after a period of relative calm, an influx of Jewish refugees fleeing anti-Semitism in Germany and Poland sparked another round of strikes and armed attacks “on communications and on the oil pipeline to Haifa.”89 Although the RAF contributed to defeating this revolt through close support and supply dropping, the guerrillas abandoned the resistance because they could not resist the ground forces deployed against them. In this campaign, Lieutenant-General Archibald Wavell, who was later the Commander-in-Chief Middle East, was impressed with the speed of RAF response to calls for support.90 The experience of the imperial policing, whether it succeeded or failed, provided a vital base when British officers realized the need to provide air support in 1941. They learned the basic requirements of air support – efficient communications, good intelligence, a close relationship


between army and RAF officers, and the centralized control of a competent force of aircraft under air force officers technically competent to make use of the flexibility of air power. Although the scale and scope of operations during this period bore little resemblance to those in the desert and Tunisia, the principles still applied. Nonetheless, in 1939 the RAF as a whole did not possess an air support doctrine based on these experiences. The operations generally were of a limited nature against poorly armed defenders. Although many important lessons were learned, they were contained in a box by hostility against this type of operation. The Air Ministry did not intend to divert aircraft from other purposes to answer calls for support. Thus, in 1939, General Ironside, the CIGS, stated his disgust “with the way in which the R.A.F. treat[ed] the cooperation of the Air Force with the army.”91 That statement indicates the level of the schism between the RAF and the army at the outset of the Second World War. Consequently the RAF could not offer the air support required by the British Expeditionary Force in the Battle of France. The official view of the Air Staff was reaffirmed in a memorandum issued in November 1939, “Bomber Support for the Army”, widely circulated through RAF squadrons and army units. It argued that “neither in attack or defence should bombers be used on the battlefield itself, save in exceptional circumstances…All experience of war proves that such action is not only very costly in casualties, but normally uneconomical and ineffective.”92 Thus, the Air Staff and the General Staff were divided over the correct use and control of aircraft, and neither was willing to accommodate the other. The folly of this institutional myopia would become evident in May 1940. The disastrous campaigns in France demonstrated problems of command, control, communications, and intelligence in the RAF and British army. These failures and the meagre provisions for air support shaped the rapid defeat of a British army by qualitatively superior German forces with a fully evolved air support doctrine. Air support vastly superior to that available in France probably would not have turned defeat into victory, as the doctrinal, material, and structural flaws prevented the British army from competing with the fast-paced war the Germans imposed. But snatching victory from the jaws of defeat is an unrealistic criterion with which to judge air support. At best, it was a necessary condition for victory, never a sufficient one. Fast moving German armoured columns wrecked the communication system and command ability of the British army and the RAF, making air support impossible. The inefficient and fragile communications of the British forces collapsed in this


style of warfare. Quickly, the British Air Forces in France were out of touch with army formations. Calls for air support had to be arranged by telephone or telegraphic from the British Expeditionary Force through the War Office in London.93 After the 19th of May, the RAF component was withdrawn from France, leaving the army to its fate. Failures in communication prevented the army from requesting any support from the Army Cooperation squadrons that remained. The events in France in 1940 provided the impetus for army/air cooperation that had not existed in Britain throughout the interwar period. Since 1919, the need for an air support system with “the speed and efficiency comparable to that of the GAF” was obvious.94 On 2 August 1940, a joint Air Staff/General Staff meeting decided to conduct a series of trials to determine best methods for close air support. The lessons of the trials, which occurred in Northern Ireland from 5 September to 28 October, were summarized by Lieutenant-Colonel J.D. Woodall and Group Captain A. Wann.95 Many of the principles they advocated were those routinely practiced during the frontier wars, but were utterly new to the rest of the RAF. While it is not entirely clear whether the imperial policing experience influenced this report, it seems likely that it did. The report refuted the Air Staff view that close support by aircraft was useful only in exceptional circumstances; instead it had been “made essential by the speed of modern military operations.”96 It supported the frontier practice of placing headquarters next to military headquarters, and the placing of all air force units entirely under air force command. Thus, the flexibility of air power could provide maximum fighter cover for the army, with which it was obsessed following the defeat in France, and direct support. Liaison between the services was vital to operations, as were efficient communications. So too was intelligence. Fortunately, the RAF had an effective approach toward command, control, and communications, and a history of effective use of intelligence. In 1940, Fighter Command led the world in C3I, and its system of fighter defence was adopted and modified by the RAF in North Africa.97 The RAF also understood the need to have trained personnel quickly able to analyse the raw information, and communicate their findings to those who could act on them. Although technical and organizational problems plagued the system for the first year or more of the desert campaign, the key element of C3I was understood from the beginning. Thus, the learning curve in air support was surprisingly steep. This was fortunate, given the low level at which it began, and the problems at hand.


Conditions in the desert challenged every tenet of strategic bombing theory. There was no economic infrastructure or industrial base, or advanced lines of communication. Air forces in the theatre hardly ever could strike the population centres of Italy, and never those of Germany. Consequently, air effort in the Mediterranean theatre was directed toward direct support for land operations, air defence, or destroying supplies on their way to the front. Both the RAF and USAAF had some experience with air support, and an understanding of its requirements. The RAF had the elements of an air support doctrine, and equally important, practical experience by key officers in conducting air support operations. The USAAF had little practical experience, but again some elements of an air support doctrine, and key officers who had championed its use in the interwar period were close at hand in Tunisia. This template was drawn upon when the time came to develop an air support system for the desert in 1941, and in less than a year, an exceptionally powerful system was in place. Moreover, this system was transferred to the RAF in Tunisia swiftly by officers involved in its development, and put into practice by USAAF officers who understood the key elements of it from their interwar experience. Thus, the air support system in the desert and Tunisia developed quickly to become the most powerful weapon available to the British and their Allies – far quicker and far more powerful than the existing historiography indicates.98

2 Air Support from ‘Compass’ to ‘Crusader’

The RAF’s early attempts to provide air support suffered from a lack of a fully developed air support doctrine, and insufficient practical experience in conducting such operations. Initial efforts were weak and inefficient, but against a largely unmotorized and qualitatively inferior Italian army in the desert, they were surprisingly successful, and out of proportion to the effort involved. The constant bombing, both day and night, even of a small number of British aircraft, had a telling effect on the morale of the Italian army, and hastened its collapse. This success was cut short by the entry of the German Afrika Korps into the theatre, which forced Britain to fight a rapid mobile war for which it was unsuited. Its entire approach to air support had to be re-thought, including the introduction of more efficient and rapid procedures for dealing with incoming intelligence so to enable it to direct attacking aircraft. However, these changes mattered little until the British army learned to fight effectively, and to integrate air support into its battle plans. Developing such a system was time consuming, costly, and had to be accomplished at a time of great stress. These problems stemmed from a loss of an air support doctrine between the wars, but the practical experience of Air Control operations also proved important to its redevelopment. The RAF was able to use a tested template to improve air support, and, largely by coincidence, senior air and army commanders in the theatre during 1940–1942 supported that idea because of personal experiences in imperial policing. None of these conditions held true in Britain, where developments lagged. There was no shortage of difficulties in Egypt, which were not overcome until mid-1942, but then the RAF’s power to conduct air support operations improved dramatically. However, air support is by nature closely connected with the ground campaign, and the RAF alone 41


could not overcome failures on the ground. This chapter will trace the changes to British C3I systems in response to lessons learned during operations in 1940–1941, the effect of these changes on the RAF’s ability to deliver air support, and the latter’s effect on the ground battle. On 22 June 1940, with the signing by the Compiégne armistice between France and Germany, the Italian forces near Tunisia joined those facing the British on the Egyptian frontier. The British estimated the total number of enemy troops in Libya at about 80,000, with 120 tanks, with 327,000 Italian troops in Africa as a whole.1 The British forces in the Western Desert, roughly 31,000 men and 275 tanks, faced a numerically superior enemy, but one that was largely unmotorized, possessed inferior armour, and showed “little enterprise or power of manoeuvre.”2 Field Marshal Erwin Rommel described the effect of unmotorized infantry as being of “practically no value against a motorized enemy, since the enemy has the chance in almost every position, of making the action fluid by a turning movement round the south.”3 While this claim does not always hold true, any assessment of the success of the British advance in December 1940, and the role of air support, must note the difference in composition and quality between British and Italian forces.4 The British were fortunate that this was so, as operations against Italian forces were run with a confused command structure, poor communications, few and generally obsolete aircraft, and very little operational and tactical intelligence. Strategic intelligence, because of its longer life span, was better, but staffs at all levels were lacking in experience. For years before 1939, the Government Code and Cipher School (GC&CS) at Bletchley Park, England, had broken and was reading the traffic of the Italian colonial and diplomatic services, of the secret service in Spain, as well as the high-grade ciphers used by the Italian army, navy, and air force in the Mediterranean, East Africa, and Libya.5 That Italian armed forces communicated entirely by radio in ciphers they could not easily change and on frequencies the British were able to monitor, eased the job.6 Thus, the British noted the transfer of 17,000 troops to Libya in late May 1940, and the move of an additional 122 bombers to Sicily.7 In the first months of the war, prior to the entry of Rommel’s Afrika Korps, the British had virtually unlimited access to its enemy’s codes and ciphers in what has been described as a “perfect (if rather miniature) example of the cryptographers’ war.”8 The impact of this access to the enemy’s secret transmissions was significant. Operationally useful information often was too stale to guide air support operations, but information on the enemy’s order of battle,

Air Support from ‘Compass’ to ‘Crusader’ 43

supply state, and serviceability rates were helpful in planning air support for offensives. The link between strategic intelligence and air support was indirect, but important to success. The exploitation of high-grade communications was not the only form of signals intelligence. The British also intercepted low-grade Italian signals. This activity, commonly known as ‘Y’, is less well studied and understood than Ultra; it provided strategic, operational, and even tactical intelligence, and aided many military efforts, including close air support and interdiction. ‘Y’ operators required a great deal of training and experience to function effectively. For example, ‘Y’ units dealing with Wireless Telegraphy (W/T) “demand[ed] a sizeable, highly skilled team whose training and experience need to have been extended over a period of at least one year before any reliable intelligence [could] be expected from them.”9 Radio Telephony (R/T) interception units, conversely, were smaller, because their material was short-range voice transmissions of a shortterm nature, and “codes used [were] comparatively simple and [could] be immediately exploited by linguists who [had] undergone the shorter period of training required.”10 The British organization of ‘Y’ initially was primitive and less well organized than its German counterpart, but by 1942 it had become more complex and was integrated into operational planning to a point where it could aid air support operations. During operation ‘Compass’ in December 1940, one main station functioned for the RAF, manned by Nos.50 and 53 Wireless Units, located in an old Museum building at Heliopolis. Also housed in this building was a small Army establishment of two smaller units; one dealing with Italian communication, later augmented by another attacking German Army communication. The commanding officer of these two army formations also was in charge of the Combined Bureau Middle East, essentially a satellite of Bletchley Park.11 During 1940, army field ‘Y’ consisted of No.2 Special Wireless Company, along with reinforcements from India. The total of 80 men were organized into four mobile sections, each containing three receivers. Before Rommel’s first offensive in early 1941, only one mobile section covered Cyrenaica, with intermittent assistance by the two units in Cairo.12 Lack of experience and poor C3I systems degraded the operational usefulness of ‘Y’ intelligence until mid-1942, but then ‘Y’ became a central feature of RAF/Eighth Army operations in the desert. Signals intelligence was not the only source for strategic intelligence. The Long Range Desert Group (LRDG), formed in June 1940, consisting


initially of volunteers from the New Zealand Division with British officers in command, provided operational and strategic intelligence and undertook hazardous missions well behind enemy lines. Throughout the campaigns in the desert and Tunisia, this force provided reconnaissance on enemy movements and standard procedures, rescued Allied airmen and prisoners, provided wireless links with other forces, prepared advanced landing grounds, planted misleading information, and provided detailed information on terrain which aided in selecting routes of advance. In 1943 the LRDG guided the New Zealand Division around the Axis flank “during their ‘left hook’ operations at El Agheila and again at Mareth.”13 A third important source of strategic intelligence was the interrogation of prisoners of war. This practice, one of the oldest sources of intelligence, was the only one that could consistently show the effect of both interdiction and close air support on enemy morale. Signals intelligence only supplied indirect evidence on such matters, because they were rarely discussed openly on wireless. Prisoner of war interrogations also provided an admirable means to reconstruct the enemy’s organization and standard operating procedures, and to gather technical intelligence. For example, British interrogators were asked to determine the speed of German U-boats when submerged. Although a captured U-boat Captain initially lied to the interrogator, stating that the maximum speed was ten knots, a recorded conversation between the Captain and another prisoner revealed, “actually eight was the maximum.”14 Interrogation of prisoners of war fell broadly into three main categories beginning with interrogation in the field for “information of immediate tactical value.”15 This consisted of identification of a prisoner’s unit, probing for information on its objectives and intentions, and the preparation of reports documenting information given by the prisoner to be used during the detailed interrogation. The next category was the detailed examination of selected prisoners to obtain operational and strategic intelligence for General Headquarters’ requirements. The final category was the long term “strategical and technical examination of selected prisoners which [was] designed to obtain information required on a War Office or U.S. War Department level.”16 In August 1940, the ad hoc arrangements for interrogation ended with the establishment of a Combined Services Detailed Intelligence Centre (CSDIC) at Maadi, some six miles from G.H.Q., Middle East.17 Intelligence officers from all three services were attached to CSDIC, which was a copy of the one in London, to extract intelligence from prisoners. Its objectives were to record conversations between prisoners through


carefully concealed microphones (referred to as ‘X’ intelligence), and to carry out direct interrogation. For these purposes, CSDIC in Cairo was divided into three identical huts, each with an exercise area, but one of the huts was “bugged” so intelligence officers could eavesdrop on prisoner conversations.18 The “bugged” hut was wired to the Operations Room, which was a series of rooms each with a listening table connected to a microphone. The process of listening to and recording prisoners’ conversations was tedious, and watches were limited to two hours.19 The huts each held twenty prisoners, though there were rarely more than thirty at any time.20 The average length of time spent at CSDIC was six days, after which prisoners were transported to permanent camps. The standard procedure was to accommodate new prisoners alone in their cells until the initial interrogation, after which they were “paired off with either the object of listening-in to the prisoners’ conversation or with a stool pigeon primed with the information required from the prisoners.”21 Stool pigeons were prisoners who, in exchange for cooperation, received a sum of two pounds a week and aliases to protect their true identities.22 The RAF made considerable use of stool pigeons, but not the army. Air prisoners tended “to be more security conscious” and thus stool pigeons were a useful supplement to regular interrogation.23 However, security checks using hidden microphones were made to ensure the loyalty of these individuals, and on “several occasions a stool pigeon was found to be a double agent.”24 The establishment of this centre was an important first step towards effectively exploiting this intelligence source, but not until ‘Crusader’ in November 1941 would the system really provide useful intelligence. By this time, intelligence staffs had gained experience, enabling them to utilize the source more fully.25 The most valuable sources for operational intelligence quickly proved to be photographic and visual reconnaissance. Tactical and strategic reconnaissance located targets and helped to illuminate the enemy’s standard operating procedures. Photographic intelligence provided damage assessments of RAF raids, and aided in target location, when procedures were instituted for rapid assessment and dissemination of intelligence. Moreover, the RAF used reports from aircraft engaged on other missions to augment their reconnaissance, though these were not as good as from specialist pilots. Again, not until the summer of 1942 were these efforts coordinated. Until then, aerial reconnaissance remained uncoordinated and inefficient as both the RAF and British ground forces controlled their own reconnaissance units. The result


was a costly duplication of effort. Moreover, in 1940 there was no serious provision for the acquisition of photographic intelligence useful for operations. The “photographic cover [that] was obtained was interpreted by untrained ALOs and intelligence officers at GHQ Middle East.”26 In December 1940, a RAF Photographic reconnaissance interpretation section arrived at RAF headquarters to deal with interpretation, but it was detailed only to interpret the static defences at Bardia and Tobruk.27 Access to strategic intelligence through the exploitation of enemy signals communication was important for planning major offensives, but initially could not aid British operations in a consistent fashion. Intelligence staffs were inexperienced, and intelligence received from various sources was not coordinated to maximize their effect. Moreover, even had this been done, the cumbersome command structure and unreliable communications would have squandered much of it. In 1940, combat troops on the frontier of Egypt were organized as the Western Desert Force, under the command of Lieutenant General Richard O’Connor. Prior to the attack on Bardia on 3 January 1941, this formation was renamed XIII Corps. Meanwhile, an unnecessary command level, British Troops in Egypt (BTE) under General Sir Henry Wilson, was interposed between XIII Corps and GHQ Middle East. This new structure, however useful for administration, caused problems for O’Connor, who received contradictory orders on several occasions. For example, on 25 January, O’Connor met Wilson to discuss the possibility of “a proper advance [being] carried out instead of a raid” on Benghazi.28 Subsequently, however, O’Connor “received a number of telegrams from HQ BTE in Cairo indicating that no arrangements were being considered for an advance of any sort on Benghazi”, from fear of losing what had been gained.29 O’Connor was confused as these messages, communicated without Wilson’s knowledge, were at variance with Wavell’s ideas. O’Connor contacted HQ BTE for an explanation, as he “found it difficult to carry on with two different policies”.30 In future he “should work directly under GHQ owing to the difficulty of HQs BTE exercising control outside the frontiers of Egypt.”31 The cumbersome command structure which, even worse, was circumvented by Wavell when convenient, resulted in confusion on the ground that would have proven disastrous against the German army. The general relationship between the army and air forces in the Western Desert remained relatively constant between 1939–43. The only air assets not under the direct control of the RAF were the Army Cooperation squadrons that provided corps headquarters with tactical reconnaissance and during operations could be sub-allotted under leading divisions.32


While Army Cooperation squadrons “…act[ed] in close cooperation with corps H.Q. and [were] under army control” the commanding officer of the Advanced Wing advised the army commander on their employment.33 The rest of the RAF operated independently. Yet in practice, both services had to cooperate closely, and operations by one often were planned to improve the position of the other. The course of land fighting often turned on air support, and success on the ground determined the placing of forward air bases. Prior to the entry of Italy into the war, No.208 (Army Cooperation) and No.33 (Fighter) Squadrons were detailed to provide close support to the army. These aircraft initially were intended to be operationally controlled by 253 Wing, but just before Italy’s entry into the war it was disbanded and its equipment and personnel absorbed by 202 Group. Operational control of close support aircraft, exerted by “a small Air Liaison Section consisting of 1 Group Captain and 1 Squadron Leader” at headquarters Western Desert Force, was the first instance of a joint army/RAF headquarters.34 This method of control could not have withstood serious strain, but proved successful because of the limited operational front and “the absence of any administrative responsibility connected with the units.”35 This section commanded other bomber and fighter squadrons which were detailed for close support as required. The general organization within the RAF in the Mediterranean area also changed early in the war. In the operational plans produced by HQ RAF Middle East in 1939, the Air Officer Commanding-in-Chief, RAF Middle East was to determine the strength allotted to each role of the RAF. In practice, because of the huge area of responsibility of RAF Middle East, “the actual operations and choice of targets [was] to be the responsibility of A.O.C. Egypt Group” (later No.202 Group).36 Similarly, the ancestor of the Western Desert Air Force, Air Headquarters Cyrenaica, was formed at Barce on 25 February 1941, renamed 204 Group on 12 April 1941, and on 9th October 1941 finally became Air Headquarters, Western Desert.37 Opposing the RAF was the Regia Aeronautica, which had a considerable advantage in overall numbers, but failed to use them effectively. The figures for its numbers vary greatly, but the most accurate assessment shows that the Italians had 313 aircraft, of which roughly half were serviceable at any time, with another 1000 aircraft in Italy that could have been called upon to support operations, but were not.38 Against this, the RAF in the Middle East had 205 serviceable aircraft in June 1940. When the Italians advanced on 13 September 1940, the British army offered little resistance, instead retreating to the prepared defences at Mersa Matruh. This location was chosen largely because it was the

48

Map 2.1

Wavell’s Offensive 1940–41.39


terminating point of the railroad, allowing the easy delivery of supplies. However, the defence was not intended to be a passive one. On 21 September General Wavell issued orders “for a counter-stroke to be prepared against the enemy, so soon as he became engaged with the defences of Matruh.”40 Reflecting typical RAF views, air support during the retreat to Matruh consisted largely of reconnaissance, “but also called for the bombing in conjunction with attacks by ground troops of enemy strong points threatening a safe withdrawal of British forces from the frontier.”41 The Italian army, however, did not attack Matruh. Rather, it dug in near Sidi Barrani, eighty miles to the west, and showed no interest in further advance. Despite his serious numerical disadvantage, Wavell began to “consider the possibility of an early offensive action” to exploit the faulty defensive arrangements of the Italian army.42 Its defences consisted of a series of camps between Maktila and Sofafi, which were not mutually supporting and lacked depth.43 In conjunction with Wilson and O’Connor, Wavell planned an early offensive code-named operation ‘Compass’. The plan called for the Support Group of the 7th Armoured Division to prevent the enemy forces in the camps around Sofafi from intervening in the battle, while the remainder of 7th Armoured Division and the 4th Indian Division passed through a gap between the Nibeiwa and Sofafi camps, cutting the Italian defences in two. A brigade “of the 4th Indian Division with the 7th battalion R.T.R. [Royal Tank Regiment] was then to attack Nibeiwa camp from the west, while the Armoured Division covered the attack and prevented any intervention from the enemy to the north.”44 After Nibeiwa camp was captured, the Tummar group of camps would be attacked from the west, again supported by armour. The qualitative difference between forces, combined with the high degree of motorization of the British army, let the British run the operations according to plan. All objectives were taken quickly with little loss. Despite a fragile C3I structure, the British forces could complete the ‘OODA’ loop far faster than their Italian opponents. This success led to and was extended by the decision to press on Sidi Barrani. The 7th Armoured Division was employed to prevent the escape of forces at Sidi Barrani, which the 4th Indian Division attacked. The situation “at nightfall on 10 December was that Sidi Barrani had been captured and the 2nd Libyan and 4th Blackshirt Divisions destroyed.”45 The remaining enemy forces quickly withdrew to Bardia, but the initial campaigns had seen the destruction of five divisions, with 38,000 prisoners, over 400 guns and 50 tanks. British casualties were only 133 killed, 367 wounded and eight missing.46


The attack on Bardia was delayed for sixteen days to allow supplies of ammunition to arrive from the railhead at Mersa Matruh. The plan called for the 6th Australian Division (which had replaced the 4th Indian Division) to attack west of Bardia, seizing a bridgehead and allowing engineers to fill in the anti-tank ditch circling the perimeter. Once this task was accomplished the tanks were to drive into the perimeter to the southeast and prevent the escape of the garrison, while the 6th Australian Division continued the assault. On 3 January 1941, the attack began. Like previous battles, it ended quickly with few British losses. By 1745 hours on 4 January, Italian forces in Bardia surrendered. The British netted 45,000 prisoners, 462 guns, 117 light, and 13 medium tanks.47 These dramatic successes were due to the planning, secrecy, and execution of operation ‘Compass’, and the qualitative inferiority of Italian forces to the Western Desert Force and the RAF, yet the latter had problems of their own. Flawed C3I systems prevented the RAF and the army coordinating their efforts much beyond the planning stage against targets which were fixed and easily located, where the position of British troops was well known. Inefficiencies in command structures and communications, as well as a lack of suitable aircraft, crippled responses to calls for support. Weaknesses in the C3I systems of the RAF and army prevented the application of consistent air support, especially when forces were engaged in battle. Few aircraft were available to do so and tactics had not evolved to maximize the effect while minimizing losses. Despite this, RAF air support worked. During the attacks on Sidi Barrani, Bardia, Tobruk, and Benghazi, RAF heavy bombers attacked military objectives by night, giving enemy troops no chance to rest. Medium bombers were “employed in a similar role to the heavy bombers both by day and night and at other times attacked enemy aerodromes.”48 Fighters were used to cover British troops, provide reconnaissance, and “make low flying attacks on mechanical transport on the enemy’s lines of communication.”49 Air support kept the pressure on a demoralized Italian army while heavy artillery was moved forward. An aerial assault on Bardia preceded the ground attack. On the night of 1 January, Wellington and Bombay bombers dropped “over 20,000 lbs. of bombs on enemy defences and troop positions.”50 This attack was continued during the day by Blenheim medium bombers, followed by another night assault that dropped a further 30,000 pounds of bombs on Bardia. Over forty tons of bombs were dropped during these operations.51 Although accuracy often left much to be desired, this constant attack took an enormous toll on the thin veneer of Italian resistance.52 The overall effectiveness of RAF support was magnified by poor Italian


morale. During the attack on Fort Capuzzo, for example, an RAF raid in which no bombs landed inside the target area induced the garrison to surrender.53 Some prisoners from the Sidi Barrani offensive reported that RAF bombing attacks “had caused great disorganization, mainly through its moral effect.”54 A senior Italian prisoner of war said that before the assault on Bardia the “RAF had harassed the defending units by day and night, robbing them of sleep and reducing their morale until when the assault came…they were reduced to a state of utter helplessness.”55 However, the British C3I system showed problems that would prove costly against the Wehrmacht. Against an Italian army that could not react quickly to British attacks, these difficulties did not surface to any great degree, but still some British losses were suffered. During the battle for Sidi Barrani, 202 Group headquarters was situated alongside the advance headquarters BTE, 110 miles behind the battle area, while its aircraft were employed in bombing and strafing attacks. XIII Corps headquarters, which was really commanding operations, asked to control air action in the tactical area so to direct aircraft as accurately as possible. This request was refused. Confusion in the transmission of orders from XIII Corps through HQ BTE to No.202 Group resulted in an attack on friendly troops by RAF Hurricanes.56 Providing tactical intelligence to pilots so to ensure they hit the target and not British troops proved as valuable as operational intelligence. To achieve this end, attacking aircraft could be directed to the target either from the ground or the air. In the latter case, they would rendezvous with reconnaissance aircraft, which led them to the target. This required excellent coordination between Army Air Support Control (AASC), the Air Officer Commanding Air Headquarters, Western Desert, and the RAF squadron involved. This coordination often failed. During ‘Compass’, the AASCs were ad hoc, consisting of one Australian and one New Zealand unit commanded by a British officer.57 Pilots had difficulty in identifying friendly and enemy forces. Once over the target, pilots looked for identification signals from those troops, and responded in turn. Several methods were attempted, but no complete solution to this difficult task ever was found. Indeed, even in the most recent conflicts, heavy casualties have been inflicted through ‘friendly fire’. Initial attempts at providing attacking aircraft with tactical intelligence from the ground were similar to those developed during air control operations between the wars. In 1939, the procedure was for attacking aircraft to drop one or more practice bombs in the area in front of ground forces, which were to fire a Verey light of a prearranged


colour in response. The aircraft would then reply by firing two Verey lights of their own. At night, the procedure was the same, except that aircraft were to drop one or more flash bombs. If ground units did not respond within one minute, the pilots would assume they were hostile and attack.58 These methods, unreliable and time-consuming, were changed before the ‘Crusader’ offensive in November 1941. Communication difficulties degraded the effect of impromptu air support. The standard allotment of radio sets in the British army of the time gave Corps’ headquarters two or three of them, and Army headquarters between six and nine.59 Often Corps headquarters had to command several divisions through one link. British divisions possessed one set each for lateral and rear communication, and one further set for forward communication to brigades. Brigades had one link to battalions or armoured regiments, but battalions had no forward links at all, although armoured car squadrons, artillery batteries, and tanks were equipped with radio.60 During the Sidi Barrani offensive in 1940, the 4th Indian Division had only one unreliable radio set to handle all its administrative traffic.61 Although this system sufficed against the Italian army at this stage of the campaign, the aggressiveness and tactical competence of the Afrika Korps would shatter it. Even against the Italian army, difficulties arose through technical faults with equipment, and poor signals discipline. Thus, O’Connor’s headquarters lost touch with Selby Force, garrisoning Mersa Matruh, because this unit changed frequencies without authorization – even worse, to one being used by 4th Indian Division, making it impossible to communicate with either formation, or locate them.62 The RAF was almost totally out of the ‘military picture’ once forces became engaged. During the initial assault, when the enemy withdrew in the face of increasingly heavy bombing attacks, Air Headquarters often could not locate friendly ground forces. Indeed, frequently “the first indication of the position of Army formations” came when they called for air support.63 The RAF’s communication system experienced similar growing pains, if on a much smaller scale than those of the army which relied more heavily on radio. The RAF used R/T well for tactical traffic, but it relied more on landlines for operational communication. The Air Staff held that communication between fighter and bomber wings and their squadrons should be primarily based on D.8 cable, while “Fighter Wing Headquarters would also be within D.8 distance of Advance Ai Headquarters.”64 In order to keep up with mobile operations, Air Formation Signals laid D.8 cable between Advanced Air Headquarters and Wings, and between Wings and their squadrons after every move forward.65


The RAF did not rely solely on landlines for communication, as it had weaknesses just like radio. The practice of “MT traffic following signal lines in order to be assured of arriving at their destination”, combined with desert conditions, forced maintenance parties to work continuously to keep the lines in working order.66 During the ‘Crusader’ operation, maintenance parties working twenty-four hours straight still “found it difficult to keep the lines in working order.”67 Unless landlines were kept in optimum condition, they “cause[d] exhaustion to vocal chords” and messages could be misunderstood with disastrous results.68 Lines also tended to become overloaded by administrative traffic. This problem was not overcome until February 1942, when it was “found necessary to provide separate channels of communication and organizations for operational, administrative, ‘Y’, and air reinforcement route services.”69 Just like wireless operators, those handling landline communications needed to be highly skilled. Where this ability existed, the “telephone saved a considerable amount of signalling, especially to the Fighter Wings, and so improved the facilities for co-ordination between Bombers and their Fighter escorts.”70 In the absence of such ability, relayed messages were found “most unreliable” because of errors committed by the operators.71 These extensive W/T links required good equipment and skilled personnel. Until such prerequisites existed, the RAF could not respond quickly to calls for support. Prearranged air support was all that could be expected. Aided by the RAF’s ability to harry retreating Italian forces by day and night, the British advance continued through Tobruk and Benghazi to El Agheila. General O’Connor wanted to continue the advance through to Tripoli, but met resistance from the Prime Minister, the Secretary of War Sir Anthony Eden, and Wavell, who hoped to check German incursion into Greece, Crete, and the Balkans.72 This type of political interference at the expense of military operations, a common feature of the campaigns in North Africa, eventually claimed the commands of both Wavell and Auchinleck, and eroded British military and air strength.73 By this stage, British forces were nearly exhausted, and might not have been able to reach Tripoli had they tried, but the decision prevented the possibility from being tested. On 20 January 1941, a War Cabinet Defence Committee meeting defined the policy for continuing operations. The priorities were to clear “Cyrenaica and secure Benghazi…[then] Cyrenaica could be held with a comparatively small force, thus freeing the greater part of the Army of the Nile, and our air force in the Middle East, for action elsewhere.”74 With this decision, the British advance was halted. Its air and land strength was


weakened by the removal of “the New Zealand and the 5th Australian Divisions, an armoured brigade, corps and reserve troops, and 10 RAF squadrons” in the attempt to aid Greece against a German advance.75 This diversion was particularly troubling for the RAF, which was suffering from a serious shortage of suitable aircraft for operations. During ‘Compass’, Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Longmore, the commander of RAF Middle East, was concerned by the lack of RAF aircraft in the Middle East and the difficulty in maintaining serviceability.76 In early 1941, Prime Minister Winston Churchill, equally disgusted with the RAF’s poor serviceability rates, sent Air Vice Marshal G.G. Dawson to organize and improve the maintenance facilities. Dawson became “Chief Maintenance and Supply Officer with the job of receiving, modifying, distributing, salvaging, and repairing the aircraft and spares in the Middle Eastern Air Command.”77 He focused on two distinct issues, repairing battle damage and recovering downed aircraft. Each approach saved thousands of aircraft for the RAF. Air Marshal Tedder was very impressed with this organization, whose real effect would be felt in 1942, especially the “much improved…rate of serviceability”.78 Between May and November 1941, the number of serviceable aircraft rose from 200 to nearly 600. Although some of this rise was due to increased reinforcements, Dawson’s work was a major factor in preserving these numbers in combat-ready condition.79 The Luftwaffe and Regia Aeronautica typically had serviceability rates of just over fifty percent throughout the campaign, whereas RAF rates were typically as much as eighty-five percent.80 Despite increasing numbers of serviceable aircraft, the methods of delivering air support that had worked against the Italian army proved inadequate against the fast-moving, qualitatively superior German army, which began to arrive in January 1941 and were advancing by late March. With the arrival of German forces, Ultra became the best source of strategic intelligence. It was invaluable for planning major operations, for determining strategy for the theatre, and for interdiction on the Mediterranean, but only when intelligence staffs had the proper experience for dealing with it. Ultra intercepts did help the British to understand how the war against supply (both on land and at sea) was affecting the morale and fighting ability of the Axis forces, as well as helping to predict forthcoming enemy offensives where air support would be required. In mid1941, however, Ultra noted the arrival of German forces, but “intelligence reports from Italy and Libya were so scanty and so few aircraft were available for reconnaissance that [the British] remained very much in the dark as to the enemy’s real strength or intentions.”81 Intelligence staffs were


still inexperienced and were for some time unable to predict accurately Rommel’s intentions or capabilities. Compounding the problem, Ultra had limited success against German army Enigma.82 Through 1941–42, most Luftwaffe traffic and some Italian naval traffic were read, but German army traffic was regularly vulnerable only from May 1942 onward.83 Hence, Ultra always provided a good picture of enemy supplies entering North African ports and of the Luftwaffe’s disposition, serviceability, and capabilities, but not until the ‘Gazala’ operation did it provide much consistent material on the German army. This information let the RAF focus its reconnaissance aircraft in areas where enemy activity was expected and the need for air support likely. Knowledge of the battlefield and how operations might unfold increased the ability of the RAF to provide such support easily and cost-effectively. This ability improved as access to German army Enigma improved. Ultra had little operational value for air support operations. It could not be used to guide aircraft onto targets, despite the fact that Ultra intercepts often contained operationally useful information. The difficulty came through the delay in the transmission of decrypts from the GC&CS to Middle East commands. Initially, the intelligence selected by the GC&CS was paraphrased before it was signalled via an RAF W/T link to Cairo. When this information arrived in Cairo, the director of Combined Bureau Middle East distributed it to a limited number of recipients in the three services.84 Ultra’s usefulness to Middle East commands initially was limited by the delay imposed by these security procedures and the inexperience of GC&CS personnel. The delay was made worse by reluctance among intelligence branches in Whitehall to let the GC&CS select the information transmitted to the Mediterranean. This reluctance faded by February 1941, when experienced intelligence officers were posted to GC&CS to amplify, to modify, and to comment on GC&CS’ signals.85 A more serious problem, the lack of wireless channels to the Middle East, was overcome by the middle of 1941. With experience, ‘Y’ personnel were able to determine the enemy’s order of battle and location with surprising accuracy. They also served to locate individual enemy aircraft that were out of radar range, thus preventing them from threatening RAF aircraft, as well as tracing patterns of air operations, forming a symbiotic relationship between signals and radar. ‘Y’ was of particular value in “mobile warfare in which locations and conditions [were] continually changing and information about the enemy [was] consequently becoming out of date almost daily.”86 As with Ultra, ‘Y’ was hampered by a lack of experience that on occasion affected its ability to provide reliable intelligence. On 5 May


1941, for example, RAF ‘Y’ noted that Lt. Gen. Romniel was the commanding officer of the newly arrived German forces.87 However, given the increasing familiarity with the enemy’s organization, procedures, and personalities, largely provided by Ultra and prisoner interrogation, the value of ‘Y’ increased dramatically. Experience also honed the ability to confirm and enhance intelligence from one source through that obtained from another. Yet in 1941 two key sources failed simultaneously. Reconnaissance could have made up for the lack of army Enigma on the disposition and capability of German forces, but it was plagued by its own difficulties. Chief among them was the hazardous nature of reconnaissance missions due to the enemy’s air force and anti-aircraft defences. Local air superiority was necessary for effective reconnaissance. Where fighter escort was not available, reconnaissance sorties often were cancelled, and operations that relied heavily on reconnaissance were degraded.88 Even well armed reconnaissance aircraft were vulnerable, since their pilots were absorbed in looking at the ground for targets instead of scanning the sky for enemy aircraft. Equally detrimental to reconnaissance efforts was a lack of suitable equipment and poor coordination between units. For example, the Chief of Cyrenaica Command (established after the capture of Benghazi and El Agheila) had on average only three Hurricane sorties daily for tactical reconnaissance, and at one time had no aircraft capable of photographic reconnaissance.89 Broadcasting the results of reconnaissance missions was problematic because of difficulties with the high-frequency (HF) radio band.90 Despite the increased number of frequencies with this band, other characteristics degraded its usefulness under some operational conditions. A wireless exercise conducted on 12/13 August 1941 reported R/T range at “up to 100 miles…between No.23 sets using good aerials and No.9 sets using vertical rod aerials, provided that the frequency chosen [was] fairly interference free.”91 This performance was achieved during the day only. Experience in the Western Desert proved that interference was worst during the hours of darkness on frequencies “between 2000 kc/s and 6500 kc/s. Except in cases of dust storms interference of a static nature is seldom experienced on any frequencies during the hours of daylight.”92 This interference was experienced by both R/T and W/T using HF. Much practice was required to change “from day to night frequencies and vice-versa when fading [took] place.”93 The Chief Signals Officer of the RAF Middle East, Group Captain W.E.G. Mann, indicated that “the aircraft R/T set in use, the T.R. 9D, worked on H.F., with a rather noisy background and a poor range in comparison with the distances over which

Map 2.2

Rommel’s First Offensive in 1941

57


our aircraft were called upon to operate”, while really “effective ground control of these aircraft was not possible during 1941.”94 These technical limitations created serious operational consequences. Once aircraft moved outside the range limit or interference became too great, they could not receive updated tactical intelligence or be vectored onto targets. Moreover, tactical “reconnaissance R/T reports during flight were rarely made, partly on account of the poor performance of the T.R. 9D wireless equipment and of the even less adequate ground stations associated with it.”95 In early 1942, it was recommended that the Collins No.18M replace the No.9 and No.11 sets because of their poor performance.96 This change reduced the problems associated purely with the radio set, but not those related to the frequency band. In late 1940, very high frequency (VHF) radio sets were brought into use in England, but not in the Middle East until mid-1942.97 At roughly the same time, reconnaissance was reorganized to fulfil its vital role in tactical air operations. British C3I systems had far to go before they would control air support operations effectively. Moreover, RAF pilots lacked sufficient numbers of aircraft suitable for damaging air support missions. Air support had proven its worth against the Italian army, but with the arrival of German forces, the weaknesses in the British C3I systems would quickly become evident. Indeed, the British were stunned by the speed and competence of German forces. With a somewhat sketchy picture of German dispositions, Wavell held “that an enemy attack was unlikely before the middle of April 1941 at the earliest, and [he] hoped it might not take place before May”, by which time British strength in Cyrenaica would rise.98 This failure to accurately predict Rommel’s intentions was a serious and continual problem for the British, while signals insecurity and confusion often caused a paralysis of command during the fluid operations against the Afrika Korps. As orders and intelligence were unable to flow with sufficient speed, air support could not be applied smoothly. Many historians put the success of the Afrika Korps squarely on the shoulders of Erwin Rommel, and even more praise his abilities as a General. Much praise is deserved. He was an inspired leader of troops who often displayed a remarkable grasp of the tactical situation that let him make the most of fleeting opportunities, but at the expense of operational success. He frequently left subordinates to command the Afrika Korps while he led his armour from the front. This style of warfare allowed the Afrika Korps to complete the ‘ OODA’ loop much faster than the British and exploit their command problems, but often


left Rommel ignorant of the true state of his army. Rommel’s success stemmed as much from the unsuitability of British forces to mobile operations as to his own ability, which was more suited to commanding an armoured Corps than an army. Once the British overcame their C3I deficiencies and could force the enemy to fight the way they wished, so evaporated the myth of Rommel and the invincibility of the Afrika Korps. This did not happen until late 1942. With only one full German division, including just one Panzer regiment, Rommel began his offensive on 24 March 1941. It immediately forced the retreat of the British forces.99 During the retreat, ground units often lost contact with each other and the air units providing support. This confusion led to false deductions being made “from air reconnaissance reports with grave results for the retreating forces” in the form of attack by friendly aircraft. This demonstrated the need for a more efficient C3I system, including a better means of air-ground recognition to avoid friendly fire casualties.100 The need for these improvements was very evident in the early battles against the Axis forces. Apart from operation ‘Brevity’, the abortive offensive using Ultra intelligence, the first British operation against the combined Axis forces was operation ‘Battleaxe’, in June 1941. This offensive aimed to relieve the besieged port of Tobruk and recapture the airfields in eastern Cyrenaica.101 Major General Sir Michael O’Moore Creagh, commander of the 7th Armoured Division, had misgivings about ‘Battleaxe’, as the “whole operation was staged in a great hurry; in fact some of our new tanks had to calibrate their guns on the way to the start line.”102 To give as much air support as possible, Tedder stripped the rest of his command of every available aircraft.103 Senior RAF commanders understood that the best use of their limited air strength was in an interdiction role. Hence, they focused on attacking road supply convoys between Benghazi and Derna before 12 June, and similar convoys between Tobruk and the front between 12–14 June.104 Despite understanding of the most effective uses of air power, with most of the RAF’s strength involved in the battle, however, it was too weak to matter. When the offensive opened, on 15 June 1941, the Germans had more than enough shells to make “effective use of the German 88 [anti-tank guns] against the infantry tanks supporting the infantry assault.”105 In three days, a qualitatively superior German army blunted ‘Battleaxe’, and drove the British forces back to their start lines. This victory stemmed from excellent command, the superb work by German ‘Y’ that exploited poor British signals security and betrayed the aims of the offensive, as


well as the deployment and disposition of the British forces, and the British army’s lack of practical experience in mobile warfare.106 Even had the British been able to deliver air support as they did in mid1942, the offensive still would have failed. Yet this operation showed the many obstacles to be overcome before air support could work well. British aircraft and tactics were unsuited to air support, there was no adequate system for the control of calls for air support, C3I systems could not keep pace with the battle or guide aircraft to their targets, nor could British ground forces stand against the Afrika Korps in a mobile battle. The army still desired air support, but the “full measure which the RAF might have given was not brought to bear owing to a breakdown of ground to air communication, and later difficulty of locating [British] troops.”107 It took time to overcome these hindrances. The C3I systems of the RAF and Eighth Army improved between operations ‘Compass’ and ‘Crusader’, taking major steps towards an efficient air support system, which was operating well by May 1942. The rate of these changes owed much to the interwar combat experience shared by Coningham and Tedder. They acted well and fast because they already knew what to do. The system they developed became a standard part of the Allied inventory after Tunisia. Their actions merit detailed analysis. The recognition of the separate but interrelated nature of the army and large portions of the RAF had developed during previous battles. Winston Churchill formalized this relationship on 7 October 1941, by ordering that when a battle was expected or in progress the Air Officer Commanding-in-Chief would give the military commander “all possible aid irrespective of other targets however attractive.”108 Thus, in theory air support was the RAF’s main priority. The fulfilment of this directive, however, presupposed good relations between the RAF and army, which did not always exist. For example, prior to the ‘Crusader’ offensive, Eighth Army commander Lieutenant General Cunningham sought operational control of RAF aircraft. General Auchinleck, who had replaced Wavell as Commander-in-Chief Middle East, realized, as Cunningham did later, that RAF resources were insufficient to allow decentralization of control and overruled him.109 Moreover, on 4 November 1941, on the eve of ‘Crusader’, Coningham was astonished to learn that Cunningham had not even received his air plan for the operation.110 Tedder also feared for the competence of the Eighth Army and the consequences of another failure. If “the next show goes well and the soldiers do their stuff, then one should be fairly secure for some months, but if they make a mess of it again there is no question at all


but that I shall be made a scapegoat.”111 Many systemic obstacles stood in the way of making the ‘next show go well.’ Among these were the most basic forms of signals and security. Even by early 1942, RAF and British army officers required “further training in the use of R/T and the R/T code to ensure security [was] not broken.”112 General lack of security, such as the tendency to refer to units by Christian names such as ‘Billy’s Boys,’ made the reconstruction of British orders of battle a simple matter for the Germans.113 Also, the RAF did not change their call signs at short intervals and therefore whenever the RAF [had] a W/T set at or near an Army formation HQ, the security of the Army call sign at that station [was] at once jeopardised, and the effort of changing call signs by the Army [was] really wasted.114 Repeated German exploitation of poor signals security forced the British to adopt protective measures, which were slow in coming. Until the middle of 1942, British communication systems were extremely fragile, while security measures were found to be timeconsuming, and therefore avoided. For instance, during ‘Crusader’, Cipher traffic often blocked communications and delays became so great that to send any important message by cipher was quite out of the question. One cipher message from 8 Army to 30 Corps marked “MOST IMMEDIATE” took 12 hours before it reached [30 Corps] in the clear. This was due to a flood in messages both at Army and Corps HQs., with which the cipher staffs could not compete.115 Poor signals discipline also delayed transmission of information ‘in the clear’. Again, during key stages of the battle, the Commander of XXX Corps “was kept waiting a considerable time on the Army Commander’s set at [his] HQ by lengthy conversations, with many repetitions, between Staff Officers of XIII Corps and Eighth Army.”116 To combat the problems of security versus speed, it was suggested that commanders use “a mixture of Urdu and Veiled English, which no enemy can interpret.”117 Although this suggestion had its dangers, it did reflect an understanding of the problem and a desire to fix it. ‘Crusader’ was marked by communication failures that often paralysed all levels of command. During operations, because signals personnel were few and headquarters constantly on the move, transmission delays of hours routinely crippled the value of messages.118 But still, the Eighth Army’s communication system was better than in the


spring of 1941, and was improving. Yet even good ideas took a long time to implement. In July 1941, the Air Ministry authorized the construction of specialist signals vehicles in the Middle East. They would replace existing vehicles that were “both cumbersome and unsuitable for operations in areas where good roads were lacking”, because they were too light, too high off the ground, and did not possess any lowpressure sand tires.119 Far-sighted measures such as these proved their worth, but not until late 1942. Liaison between the services also improved. At GHQ, the weekly C-in-C’s committee dealt with important operational and administrative questions, while an Inter-Service Intelligence Staff Conference and an Inter-Service Operational Staff Conference met daily.120 Air force officers with wireless links to their own service, were attached to division, corps, and army headquarters. They sent the RAF any information of interest coming though army channels. Army officers attached to air force units had the same task.121 Much rested on the proficiency and professionalism of Air Liaison Officers, whose importance made it necessary to ensure that “only officers of the right calibre and with proper training [were] employed in these duties.”122 Their value “to disseminate within the army a knowledge of the work of the RAF” was understood as early as 1933.123 Not, however, until 1941 were liaison officers attached to RAF units outside Army Cooperation squadrons. The delay in ensuring adequate liaison hampered both services. The better the liaison, the easier the coordination of operations and passing of intelligence from one service to another. Equally important were squadron intelligence officers, “the funnel through which all branches of intelligence reach[ed] the aircrews.”124 These officers presented intelligence in a form usable by aircrews, and briefed them before missions about the nature and location of targets. If available, photographs were used to show the target and known antiaircraft emplacements. Intelligence officers also debriefed aircrews after missions, and relayed the results (including damage estimates, resistance encountered, and losses suffered) to Wing Headquarters, Air Headquarters Western Desert, and HQ RAF Middle East.125 The ALO was present during these debriefings, and relayed relevant information to the army. Much rested on the performance of members of the C3I structure. The chain was only as strong as its weakest link, and frequently slow communication and uncoordinated intelligence prevented optimum efficiency. In August 1941, the increasing proficiency at the GC&CS, combined with a new system for disseminating Ultra intelligence, increased its value for military commanders. This new link consisted of Special


Communication Units to relay intelligence, and Special Liaison Units to disseminate it effectively and securely. Recipients of Ultra also were indoctrinated about the source, enabling commanders to get the most out of it. But even Ultra could acquire only information which was signalled and decrypted. Other sources were required. A change to the system for the interrogation of prisoners improved its value to close air support and interdiction, which required swiftly processed intelligence. In previous battles, when CSDIC Cairo and Army headquarters were more than 100 miles apart, detailed interrogation reports “could not be supplied by C.S.D.I.C. base because of the time interval involved in sending [prisoners] back to base.”126 Moreover, the best time to interrogate prisoners about morale and the effect of close air support and interdiction was immediately after capture. Over time, prisoners tended to increase their claims for the effect of such attacks to provide an excuse for their surrender.127 Consequently, CSDIC Cairo employed a mobile unit near the front line so prisoners could be interrogated for tactical information immediately after capture.128 However, though better tactical information was provided, poor communications often hampered swift processing and dissemination. The mobile unit also screened incoming prisoners, searching for those likely to produce important information. The latter were immediately transported to CSDIC for a more detailed interrogation.129 Since a maximum of sixty prisoners were housed at CSDIC, this function was crucial to the unit’s success. The initial performance of this unit during the ‘Crusader’ offensive proved disappointing. Although technically, “the unit operated quite satisfactorily”, poor liaison between the selecting parties and the unit’s commanding officer caused a poor selection of prisoners.130 These problems, however, did not shake the faith in the value of this unit, or of prisoner of war intelligence. Captured enemy documents also provided strategic intelligence on enemy intentions and capabilities. Initially, this source was poorly exploited, but like all others, became more important once its value was proven and intelligence staffs gained proficiency. By the time of ‘Crusader’ intelligence officers had gained much valuable experience that allowed better exploitation of this source. A captured enemy operation order during ‘Crusader’ revealed enemy intentions to abandon its position at Agedabia on 7 January 1942. The plan of withdrawal was completely outlined, showing the positions of and axis of withdrawal of individual units. For example, the 90th Light Division was to hold the defile west of Marsa Brega, Agheila, Ras El Aali and the defile west of El Mugtaa until relieved by other elements of the Afrika Korps.131 This knowledge


prompted tactical reconnaissance missions to areas known to contain suitable targets for air attack.132 The best and most numerous targets were selected by aerial reconnaissance aided by strategic intelligence. Both the RAF and the army controlled their own reconnaissance aircraft, causing a costly duplication of effort, made worse at times when few aircraft were available. By November 1941, both Corps of the newly formed Eighth Army “controlled one A.C. [army cooperation] squadron armed with 16 Hurricane I aircraft” for tactical reconnaissance, while Eighth Army headquarters controlled another which reinforced the Corps’ squadrons when needed.133 These fifty odd aircraft operated up to seventy miles behind the front. The RAF’s strategic reconnaissance began approximately where tactical reconnaissance ended, and continued further depending on the information sought and the limitations of the aircraft.134 Originally, the tasks of the six aircraft of the Strategic Reconnaissance Flight were strategic, but they were often required to undertake operational objectives as well.135 Both forms of reconnaissance brought back photographs and intelligence potentially useful to ground and air operations, but poor coordination of effort and communications difficulties rendered much of it useless. To reduce losses, which sometimes were alarmingly high, reconnaissance aircraft worked in pairs. One aircraft reconnoitred the target while the other (known as a weaver) watched for enemy anti-aircraft emplacements or air attack.136 This method was better than sending aircraft out solo, but also reduced the number of possible reconnaissance flights. In any case, unless reconnaissance reports were received and quickly acted upon, aircraft could not be dispatched in time to attack. Tactical and strategic reconnaissance squadrons did not provide just visual observation. They also conducted oblique photographic reconnaissance, while No.2 Photo Reconnaissance Unit took high altitude photographs.137 Photographs were more useful than visual observation for judging the impact of close air support and interdiction. Pilots travelling faster than 300 miles per hour were not always accurate or thorough in their observations, far less so than photographs properly interpreted by experts. Moreover, as the war diary of Panzer Army Africa noted, RAF photographic operations were intended to determine which areas contained targets for attack.138 The drawback to photo reconnaissance was the time involved in developing and interpreting images. This did not degrade the value of photographs for judging the effect of operations, but did pose serious problems for target location. In order to use photographic intelligence for operational purposes, film had to


be developed, assessed, and the information signalled through the command structure in real-time. Moreover, until the summer of 1942, effective aircraft and photographic equipment were in short supply. These problems were not overcome until the summer of 1942. Again, in order to develop photographs, the technicians at the RAF’s Strategic Reconnaissance Flight needed quantities of water unavailable around Tmimi where this unit was based in late 1941.139 Consequently, once removed from an aircraft at Tmimi, film had to be flown to rear headquarters at Maaten Bagush for processing, and the results carried back to advance headquarters. The results, “due to the water problem, were always therefore very late and often uselessly stale on receipt.”140 Coordinating all reconnaissance efforts in a favourable location would have eliminated these problems. An important part of the C3I system for air support of the RAF and army for the application of air support was the AASC. The arrangements for these units changed between ‘Compass’ and ‘Crusader’. For the first two years of the war the mechanism for requesting and providing support was primitive. In theory, an AASC was employed to accept, modify or reject requests for support, and to concentrate attacking aircraft at the decisive point. Although the procedures for doing so were defined before the ‘Crusader’ offensive, there was no fully trained AASC in the desert until January 1942, and it did not function properly until two months later.141 During ‘Crusader’ air support was controlled by the Air Officer Commanding Western Desert, aided by the Direct Support Section at army Battle Headquarters.142 The latter passed requests to RAF Operations by telephone, to obtain approval or rejection. If the mission was accepted, Air Officer Commanding RAF Western Desert signalled the Wing concerned, which contacted squadrons.143 To reduce the time taken in transmitting calls for air support, targets were described by “means of a Reconnaissance Code and authorised abbreviations. The number of aircraft required was decided at Control H.Q. on the basis of the type of aircraft, availability of aircraft and other demands.”144 So to facilitate multiple sorties against one target, or to respond to numerous calls for support, Wings or landing grounds informed AASC headquarters of the return of their aircraft, and the numbers available for future operations.145 The system including means to specify suitable targets for air support was adapted in response to lessons learned during combat. A combined Army/RAF memorandum issued on 30 September 1941, just before the ‘Crusader’ offensive, outlined which targets would be accepted for attack by the RAF. Concentrations of troops or vehicles


that could “be surprised in close formation and which would have difficulty in dispersing” were ideal for attack.146 Headquarters and signal centres not under cover, artillery positions in the open, crossing points over obstacles, and supply columns could be attacked with effect. Conversely, dispersed or sheltered infantry or vehicles, or motorized transport columns that could disperse easily and rapidly, were considered poor targets.147 This framework guided the acceptance of targets for impromptu and prearranged air support. In theory, this system could provide rapid air support. In practice, it often failed. A signals exercise conducted to test the air support system before ‘Crusader’, revealed major problems. Even during relative calm, signals to the landing ground took twenty minutes to clear, and the formation requesting support was never told if the RAF had accepted the mission. Consequently, when aircraft arrived overhead, recognition signals were not displayed, and pilots could not be sure of their target.148 In actual missions, these resources would have been wasted, and pilots and aircraft put at risk for no gain. In this exercise, attacking aircraft arrived over targets more than an hour and a half after the request was made. Any support arriving that late would “not be in time to be of use and may only complicate operations and endanger our own troops.”149 To lessen the possibility of attack by friendly aircraft, methods for identifying targets and friendly troops were enhanced. Initially, each forward link, called a tentacle, was given white cloth arrows fifteen feet in length. The arrow was pointed towards the target, while bars placed on the sign indicated distance from the target. White St. George’s crosses were painted on vehicles, later superseded by RAF roundels, as pilots were used to scanning for such markings on aircraft. In late 1941, fourfoot black flags surmounted by a white ‘T’ were issued to armoured vehicles for the ‘Crusader’ offensive, but in small numbers. Crews, however, were unable or unwilling to stop and display the flags, while the common practice of using captured vehicles degraded the usefulness of such measures.150 On 29 October 1941, a joint RAF/Army instruction on ground/air recognition codified all the methods tried to date. Bombers, flying at or above 6,000 feet to avoid enemy flak, were to fire a white illuminating cartridge. Ground units would respond using their own illuminating cartridge, a smoke bomb or canister, or a large ‘T’ ground strip, and place a large ‘V’ sign on the ground to direct bombers to the target. Ground strips were placed fifteen minutes before the prearranged time of attack and kept out for thirty minutes. When aircraft were four to five miles away,


smoke and illuminating cartridges were lit.151 The RAF air support system was improving in all areas, but the effect was not felt until after ‘Crusader’. The RAF received its next opportunity to affect fighting on the ground in November 1941. At this point, Axis forces held the Libyan side of the Libyan-Egyptian frontier, with the Italian Savona division holding the fortified towns of Bardia, Sollum, Capuzzo and Halfaya. The Bologna, Pavia, Brescia, and Trento divisions invested Tobruk, with the mechanized corps, the Ariete and Trieste divisions, near Bir El Gubi. The Afrika Korps, consisting of 15th and 21st Panzer Divisions and the 90th Light Division, was grouped between Gambut and Sidi Rezegh, in a position to assault Tobruk or counterattack against a British assault.152 ‘Crusader’ aimed to pre-empt Rommel’s plan to attack Tobruk, destroy the entire German and Italian armies in Libya, and to eliminate the Axis base in Africa. The British XXX Corps had the task of destroying the enemy’s armoured forces, and protecting the left flank of XIII Corps.153 XIII Corps was ordered to surround and capture all static defences between Sollum and Sidi Omar, while XXX Corps’ armour crossed the frontier south of Sidi Omar and engaged the Afrika Korps’ panzers. Then, XXX Corps was to join up with the Tobruk garrison, advance through the Axis forces at Gazala, and regain Cyrenaica.154 Thus, Britain would seize the Libyan province of Tripolitania. With the Germans pushed out of Libya the British could then form their main front at the Northern, instead of the Western, extremity of the Middle East Command, and block a German drive through the Caucasus.155 Air power figured prominently in the campaign plans. Coningham’s air campaign began over a month before the ground operation, with attempts to gain air superiority and prevent the enemy assembling weapons and supplies. While doing both, RAF pilots also assisted in fixing the location of enemy formations, especially armoured divisions, minefields and other defensive works.156 In the six days up to and including the 18 November D-Day, the effort was intensified, and was remarkably successful in masking the concentration of British forces.157 In some areas, the RAF was better prepared to conduct tactical air operations than it had been during ‘Battleaxe’. RAF air strength grew continuously from the summer of 1941. By November 1941, the RAF surpassed the Axis air forces in gross numbers of aircraft, and even more so in operational numbers. It had just over 600 aircraft, as compared with just over 500 for the Axis, of which 550 were operational,

68

Map 2.3

Operation ‘Crusader’ 1941


compared with 270 for Germany and Italy.158 The RAF had also begun to receive aircraft well suited to multiple operations. The first squadron to use fighter-bombers in combat was 80 Squadron. Its new Hurricane fighter-bombers each carried eight forty-pound bombs, added a new and flexible dimension to air operations.159 Reflecting the close interaction between defence and attack in this theatre, these aircraft could be used in close air support, interdiction, and air defence operations, provided C3I systems were flexible enough to allow it. Conversely, intelligence and communication systems, although improving, still could not guide air operations in a consistent fashion to let the British use their resources to anywhere near full efficiency.160 Because communications systems became slow and overloaded once ground operations began, intelligence and orders could not flow through the command structure in time to guide precise strikes. Ultra still provided little consistent information on the German army, ‘Y’ organizations were small, inefficient, and not integrated into the intelligence system, while strategic and tactical reconnaissance were unfocused. Air support was slow, with the average time for response to calls for support at three hours.161 Consequently, land-based interdiction and close air support in the ‘Crusader’ offensive were inefficient, but still they were fundamental to British victory in a close run affair. ‘Crusader’ was an extraordinarily confused battle, marked by major errors of command and a complete collapse in communications on both sides. It was a battle both sides deserved to lose. The British attack caught the Germans by surprise, and quickly penetrated the Axis defensive system, capturing or encircling large enemy formations.162 Then, British armoured forces drove to engage the enemy armour while New Zealand infantry moved along the coast to relieve Tobruk. Here, however, British luck ended. When the anticipated armoured battle did not take place, British commanders were unsure how to proceed, their armour stalled, only to be smashed by a German counterattack at Sidi Rezegh.163 Rommel, in turn, failed to make proper use of this victory. Instead of destroying the paralysed and temporarily fragmented British forces before him, he gathered the entire Afrika Korps around him and made his famous dash for the wire – straight toward Egypt.164 For several days, the British and Axis forces in Libya were intermixed. Confusion reigned supreme as troops from both sides overran the rear echelons and landing grounds of the other. RAF air support could not function, because communications collapsed, and thus command. British units were out of touch with each other and the RAF, making recognition of potential targets extremely difficult. Moreover, air defence against


Luftwaffe attacks, which was a big part of Coningham’s job, became far more difficult to conduct. The repeated and rapid moves forward and back during ‘Crusader’ prevented the effective use of the available mobile radar sets. However, on rare occasions, air support did prove its potential. For example, during a minor engagement before the start of ‘Crusader’, intelligence tracked a column of tanks and motorized infantry from Quburet El Sabaya moving south to Alawat Talata. Because of confusion and communication problems, RAF took over two hours to attack. By a stroke of luck, however, the battle had not shifted during the delay. The RAF attacked these concentrations of armour “with great effect”, causing a number of fires amongst the refuelling party and the explosion of an ammunition lorry.165 Photographic reconnaissance confirmed that the total damage, with no loss to British aircraft, was one Mark III tank, four petrol lorries, two ammunition lorries, one Mercedes Bentz staff car, and three Opel-Blitz lorries destroyed. In addition, two four-wheeled armoured cars, one 30 cwt vehicle, and thirteen medium tanks were put out of action but recovered by the enemy. Pilots also estimated that twenty Axis soldiers were killed and between fifty and seventy were wounded in the action.166 Despite such occasional successes, air support made no consistent impact on ‘Crusader’. Ultimately the British won the battle, for several reasons. The New Zealand Division over-ran the Afrika Korps’ headquarters and came close to relieving Tobruk itself, forcing Rommel’s forces to fall back hastily from the frontier. The Afrika Korps drove the New Zealanders away from Tobruk, but at a very heavy cost to both sides. By early December 1941, the Axis realized that British armour had recovered, while their own military position was too compromised to allow anything other than a retreat or a stand up fight. Moreover, Rommel slowly realized that the battle had turned to one of attrition that his supply state would not allow him to win. The RAF was fundamental to this failure. During these operations, it focused its efforts primarily on interdiction. Very similar to Luftwaffe doctrine, during the preparatory phase of the ‘Crusader’ operation, the RAF’s priorities were to “weaken the enemy air force, and to prevent supplies from reaching the enemy air and military forces at the front.”167 During the battle, the RAF targeted the road between El Adem and Acroma, inflicting heavy damage on vital supply convoys. In one raid, a squadron of Hurricane fighter-bombers escorted by three squadrons of Tomahawks and Hurricanes “made two successful attacks on a large column of enemy M.T.” on that road, followed by two formations of


twelve Blenheims each. An estimated 100 vehicles (including ten petrol tankers) were destroyed, blocking the road in several places.168 A large supply dump was also located and attacked. The second Blenheim formation attacked by twenty Me109 fighters, lost two Blenheims with two more damaged.169 Also, Beaufighters from No.272 Squadron, Hurricanes from No.33 Squadrons, Tomahawks from No.2 Squadron SAAF, and the Hurricane fighter-bombers of No.80 Squadron, struck transport vehicles.170 The ability of RAF pilots to attack such targets had improved in response to experience, and to training instituted under Coningham’s direction. At the beginning of the war, fighter pilots practiced ‘hosepiping’ against concentrations of vehicles or tanks.171 Pilots flew directly down the length of a column, spraying machine gun fire at every target. Intelligence brought back by attacking pilots and reconnaissance reports revealed the inefficiency of this approach. Given the high speed of the aircraft, most bullets ‘hit the brown’ between the targets, while the enemy could ‘fire a vertical barrage with effect’ against aircraft flying down the length of the column.172 Since the fighter-bomber was introduced during ‘Crusader’, their pilots had to go through the same process of determining effective tactics, which was done by mid-1942. When not engaged in active operations, Coningham insisted his pilots conduct training to improve their shooting abilities. Captured enemy pilots were impressed with the flying abilities of Coningham’s pilots, but not with their shooting. To overcome this, Coningham preferred ‘shadow firing’ (shooting at the aircraft’s own shadow on the sand) than in firing at towed targets.173 In addition, Coningham insisted his pilots receive intensive navigation, formation and escort flying, and ground attack training.174 These measures, combined with improved tactics, did much to improve the effectiveness of air support operations. So too did the adoption of suitable aircraft types. Twin-engine Bristol Beaufighters, called by Axis soldiers the ‘Order of Dread’, proved especially deadly to thin-skinned motorized transport. Usually, when attacking such targets, the aircraft were usually employed in pairs, and “went out over the sea, keeping at least thirty miles off shore to avoid RDF detection.”175 They then turned inland to attack their target. Both aircraft flew alongside the road at below fifty feet until the target was sighted, at which time they pulled up to 300 feet, picked their own target, and fired at it. After delivering a short burst, another target was selected, and progressed along the road by means of a corkscrewing motion from side to side of the road “with the pilot pulling up to 300 feet before making each attack.”176 Only very rarely,


however, could aircraft make more than one pass over the target area, due to the risk of anti-aircraft fire. These aircraft were so effective that on 27 November 1941, Air Marshal Tedder asked the Air Ministry to despatch some Beaufighters to Malta, so to attack road targets from Tripoli to Benghazi. This route had “shown heavy traffic with petrol tankers, etc.”, crucial to the enemy’s petrol supply.177 A dramatic example of what even small numbers of these aircraft could do came on 2 January 1942. During a road-strafing mission, four Beaufighters “shot up about 60 M.T. between AGEILA and SIRTE, destroying twelve including one petrol tanker, damaging thirty.”178 The Beaufighters suffered no losses and inflicted considerable damage. Such attacks reduced enemy supplies to a very low level, and threw its air forces on the defensive.179 The credit for this success must be shared between the RAF and the Royal Navy’s sea interdiction campaign, which reached its peak of efficiency and effect during the ‘Crusader’ offensive. During November 1941, only 37.6 percent of the supplies dispatched from Italy reached Libya, though this was the exception to the rule.180 During the whole of 1941, 88.9 percent of supplies dispatched from Italy arrived in Libya.181 Because of the sea interdiction campaign, the Axis supply situation was precarious when the Eighth Army began its offensive, and soon worsened by the RAF’s landbased interdiction.182 The damage from air and sea interdiction meant Rommel could not hold his front. On 4 December 1941, he ordered a general retreat, leaving 13,800 German and Italian soldiers in Sollum and Bardia to their fates.183 ‘Crusader’ was an Axis defeat, in which air interdiction was a British trump card, and air support occasionally proved to be one. A battle which was being lost by British commanders and British armour was saved by the RAF, the Royal Navy, the New Zealand Division, and Erwin Rommel. As the British pursued the retreating Afrika Korps, however, the RAF’s power to conduct close air support or interdiction declined because British forces ran into supply difficulties of their own. In particular, the “extent of direct support during the latter stages of the ‘Crusader’ offensive was…limited by the fuel shortages at the advanced landing grounds.”184 Chased by the British, the Germans withdrew until they consolidated their position at El Agheila in January 1942. Both armies paused to replenish their supplies. Victory in the next round was decided by the side first able to amass enough supplies to continue the offensive. The withdrawal eased the Axis supply position, with their main forces now only 500 miles from Tripoli, instead of roughly 1,000 miles


at Bardia. The British “line of communications was now ominously long in proportion to the available transport.”185 Men, equipment, and reinforcements had been removed from North Africa to Malaya, Burma, and India, while British forces were 1,000 miles from their main supply base in Cairo. The RAF was unable to continue large-scale operations because of supply and deployment difficulties. For example, “half the fighter force had just moved back to Msus”, some 200 miles behind the front, and could not take part in the battle.186 Hence, ironically, the pursuit after ‘Crusader’ turned the tables on the British, unable to overcome their logistical problems or to prevent the Germans from solving their own. Despite the failures of air support, its successes were appreciated. Auchinleck wrote that an important feature of ‘Crusader’ “has been our complete air supremacy and excellent cooperation between ground and air.”187 It was “no exaggeration to say that but for the unfailing and complete response of the Royal Air Force to all demands and requests made by the Eighth Army, the relief of Tobruk could not have been accomplished.”188 Aside from purely material damage, the mere presence of aircraft overhead “in all probability affected the enemy’s future action, but above all cheered our own troops enormously.”189 The commander of XIII Corps hoped “our airmen recognise the tremendous uplift of morale which such effective and close support air action gives to the forward troops; it is worth more to them than any number of accounts of indirect air support.”190 Although largely ineffective, air support operations showed signs of destructive potential and cost-effectiveness, which the ground forces appreciated. Just a few months later, in the middle of 1942, the ability of the RAF to affect land battle through tactical air power would increase dramatically, as the elements of the system came together.

3 Air Support between ‘Crusader’ and the Consolidation of the El Alamein Line

Changes to C3I systems, instituted in 1941 as a result of lessons learned during operations against Axis forces, and the increasing competence of intelligence personnel, combined to improve the RAF’s ability to meet calls for support by mid-1942. At the same time, aircraft better suited to air support operations arrived in the Middle East in increasing numbers, and RAF pilots developed tactics to maximize the effect of their attacks while minimizing losses. This chapter will show how these developments multiplied the RAF’s ability to provide air support. However, all forms of air support depended upon the army’s performance, as forward airfields were very close to the front. When the army held its front, aircraft could operate over that space, and beyond. When the army failed, the RAF had to withdraw as well, crippling its ability to conduct operations. Without the ability to receive intelligence on the battle, and to predict accurately the timing and thrust of Axis attacks, British commanders could not complete the ‘OODA’ loop quickly enough to counter the Axis forces. The result was chaos on the ground, and often defeat. For example, on 21 January 1942, General Auchinleck commented that “the improbable occurred, and without warning the enemy began to advance.”1 Unprepared British forces were quickly defeated, but as the Germans advanced they soon out-distanced their protective air cover, and the RAF once again attacked Axis supply convoys. The efficiency of this campaign was degraded by the constant need to abandon airfields and retreat eastward, but its effect was notable. As the Germans advanced, they once again ran into supply difficulties which the RAF made worse. The German advance halted at the Gazala line, roughly thirty miles short of Tobruk, because of “resistance on the ground, resistance in the air, and sheer malnutrition.”2 74

Map 3.1

Rommel’s Second Offensive, 1942

75


RAF close air support again lacked in punch, but was showing signs of improvement. The Operations Record Book of the Desert Air Force records an interesting feature of operations in February 1942: “the switching, after bombing, of fighter-bombers onto strafing targets found by Tac/R whilst the fighter-bombers were still in the air.”3 That is, for the first time, aircraft in the air could be guided to, or redirected from, targets by commanders on the ground, with complete access to intelligence. A mature C3I system with the ability to acquire intelligence thoroughly and rapidly, and use it in real-time was at hand. Not until March was the newly arrived No.2 AASC functioning properly in the Western Desert, but because of the evolution of efficient C3I arrangements, and the work of Major McNeill (the commanding officer of No.2 AASC), the teething pains were quickly overcome.4 The rate of Britain’s learning curve rose remarkably. McNeill remarked that with “fighter bombers available, direct air support may become a reality at last and not a political gesture.”5 He arranged several exercises to train fighter-bomber pilots in proper tactics based on recent experience, and pushed the adoption of the newly arrived VHF R/T, superior to HF because distant interference was eliminated.6 This produced more reliable and clear communications, but since the ionosphere did not reflect VHF radio waves, reception depended upon being within the line of sight of the transmitter.7 By March 1942, VHF R/T equipment was tested and the “refitting of aircraft equipment was well under way.”8 The efficiency of fighter and tactical reconnaissance aircraft substantially improved. Tedder wrote that on 31 May 1942, “when No.73 Squadron were airborne with orders to strafe a certain position, the Army captured the point; within fourteen minutes the Squadron had been successfully re-directed by V.H.F. R/T to another target.”9 The RAF now could apply power with precision. RAF signals speed and security was further enhanced by a signals plan instituted in early 1942. It provided two operational and one administrative W/T channel from Wings to Advanced and Rear Air Headquarters respectively.10 Rear Headquarters was responsible for communicating with units in the rear areas, and Advanced Headquarters for “all forward independent unit communications, such as Advanced Air Stores Parks and Repair and Salvage Units.”11 This reform increased the efficiency and speed of RAF communications, although such extensive W/T links required good equipment and skilled personnel. Finally, they were available. The introduction in 1941, of specialized wireless vehicles proved its value by May 1942. A steady flow of general-purpose W/T vehicles was

Air Support between ‘Crusader’ and the Consolidation of the El Alamein Line 77

delivered to the RAF, providing excellent mobile communications. This let the RAF remove signals equipment and staffs from squadrons, and reorganize them into mobile units under the command of major units, making the system more flexible, streamlined, and effective.12 Problems remained with communication during operations, when wireless operators could not handle securely the volume of traffic. The RAF moved towards overcoming this problem in October 1941, by establishing a Middle East Cipher School to augment the inadequate supply of trained cipher staff from the United Kingdom.13 Even so, this school failed to meet requirements, especially when the signals organization was expanded following the stabilization of the Gazala line. To improve the general proficiency of cipher operators and their numbers, the Middle East Signals School was opened in March 1942. It had the dual purpose of training new signals personnel on the equipment they would use, and providing refresher training for current personnel.14 Another major development in mid-1942 was the construction of the Telecommunication Centre, Middle East, designed to relieve the pressure of the main HQ signals station. The facilities, used on an “inter-Service ‘common user’ basis”, were staffed by both army and air force personnel. Some fifty W/T and fifty teleprinter circuits handled an average of 450,000 cipher groups per day.15 This first truly ‘joint’ centre ensured the rapid transfer of orders and intelligence from army and RAF sources. By the middle of 1942 the RAF’s signals personnel achieved proficiency, about the same time that those of the Eighth Army’s did so. By Rommel’s Gazala offensive in May 1942, dedicated “R/T and W/T circuits linked all connections of Eighth Army command between formations and down to armoured car, tank, artillery regiments, and infantry battalions.”16 Operational and administrative links were separated in May 1942, with beneficial results, while main and rear divisional headquarters each had direct contacts with main and rear corps headquarters.17 No longer did advance divisional headquarters have to handle all traffic to both main and rear corps headquarters.18 Meanwhile, the forward R/T link from division to brigade, which “often had some sixteen or more stations on it and could not possibly cope with cipher traffic or long written messages”, was augmented with W/T links.19 By February 1942, there was more concern over a paucity of frequencies than radio sets.20 Given the importance of signals to mobile operations, RAF air support could not have been efficient before this point, no matter what improvements occurred in intelligence or other matters. However, improvements in these other areas also were under way by 1942, and further enhanced the air support system.


The RAF’s ability to provide air support depended upon a close working relationship with the army. The relationship had its roots with Cunningham and Coningham, under the direction of Tedder and Auchinleck.21 The headquarters of Eighth Army and RAF, Western Desert were sited alongside each other, and those RAF squadrons, although independent, were ready to support operations. As Air Chief Marshal Sir Kenneth Cross, one of Coningham’s Wing Commanders in the Western Desert and the man chosen to command 242 Group in Tunisia, later recalled, in General Sir Claude Auchinleck, Tedder had as a colleague one of the most intelligent Generals on the British side in the entire war. He saw very early on the virtues of centralised control of air forces by the Air Officer Commanding located alongside the Army Commander.22 This relationship was fundamental to providing rapid close air support. Although Montgomery evolved this principle to an art by El Alamein, its roots predated his arrival in Africa. The command structure and communication system had evolved so they could facilitate air support by passing intelligence and orders with minimal delay. Strategic, operational, and tactical intelligence could then focus British air resources at the best available targets. The value of Ultra, meanwhile, improved substantially. The first three months of 1942 were characterized by intermittent success against Axis Enigma keys. German air and Italian naval decrypts gave some indication of the supply state of the Axis forces, but not until May did success against German army keys increase.23 In May, a series of decrypts revealed Rommel’s planned offensive, but not where the blow would fall. For example, one decrypt consisted of a request by Panzer Army Africa for lorries to support “coming projected operations.”24 GHQ Middle East predicted the date of the offensive, but both LieutenantGeneral Ritchie and Auchinleck felt it more likely that Rommel would drive through the British line towards Tobruk.25 Nothing in Ultra persuaded them otherwise, which was more a failure of interpretation than the source. British ‘Y’ became more complex and important to tactical air operations in mid-1942. By May 1942, army ‘Y’ comprised 1,300 all ranks, which had increased to 2,400 by October 1942.26 RAF ‘Y’ also grew rapidly during 1942, employing 1,000 people by the end of the year.27 In addition to illuminating enemy order of battle, ‘Y’ sometimes inter-


cepted vital information concerning supplies. For example, on 20 May 1942, RAF ‘Y’ learned that the total stocks of aviation fuel in the whole of Libya was only 3,283 tons.28 Such information was used to confirm information from other sources and fill in missing pieces of the puzzle. In the context of increasing familiarity with the enemy’s organization, normal procedures, and even personalities, largely provided by Ultra and prisoner of war interrogations, the value of ‘Y’ increased in 1942. The value of prisoner of war interrogation improved because of experience from previous operations. By 1942, the New Zealand Military Forces estimated that “at least 40% of our intelligence has been obtained in this way while most essential confirmation of that obtained from other sources has also been obtained from prisoners of war.”29 It was discovered that a skilful interrogator could obtain often crucial information from prisoners. One prisoner provided details “of the entire German sabotage organisation,” and warned of planned sabotage raids on the railway near Mersa Matruh.30 Another provided a description of the German Enigma cipher, the procedures for its use, and the schedule for changing the key.31 Although some interrogations revealed startling information of this type, generally CSDIC supplied a constant stream of small bits of reliable evidence information, which, added to intelligence from other sources, could confirm suspicions and answer important questions. Such material was very important to air support operations because it provided a constant picture of the German supply situation, accurate information on results of RAF raids, and indications as to how interdiction and close air support were affecting German morale.32 For example, captured documents were used to aid in the interrogation of prisoners, and helped to gauge the effect of close air support operations. For example, a captured document revealed that in addition to the extensive material damage caused, the effect on morale was also great. The spirit of the troops was considerably depressed owing to the totally inadequate German fighter cover. Incessant night attacks in particular served to reduce the degree of readiness for action of both officers and men (no sleep, continual waiting for the next bombs, dispersal of units etc.)33 The same report detailed that a series of RAF attacks had killed ten officers and 100 NCO’s and men, wounded another five officers and 300 other ranks, destroyed 170 vehicles including one tank, and temporarily put out of action 270 vehicles and two tanks.34


Captured documents also assisted interdiction operations. In May 1942, summaries of the German supply system showed the distances and rough location from Derna of its ammunition, the fuel and motorized transport, and rations depots.35 Again, captured documents and prisoner of war intelligence outlined the procedures followed in transporting supplies forward. For example, stores of food, ammunition and fuel were driven in convoy on the main coastal road from Tripoli to forward dumps without re-loading.36 The travel time was “from 0600–1600 hours daily”.37 On the loaded Eastward journey, the southern road between Barce and Giovanni Berta was used, as was the northern one on the empty westward journey.38 Additionally, the forward delivery points for all stores were known. Captured documents “as amended by air photographs and recent P.W. [prisoner of war] statements showed that the munitions delivery point and ordnance store was 28 kilometres west of Tobruk.”39 Since the British knew where the forward dumps were located, reconnaissance could easily locate important fuel and ammunition convoys. This detailed knowledge of the enemy’s supply system helped to focus interdiction operations, and improve their cost-effectiveness. The importance of aerial reconnaissance for air support had been proven in ‘Compass’ and ‘Crusader’. To make reconnaissance worth the expenditure of fuel and the risk to pilots and aircraft, however, the information obtained had to reach quickly its users. By the middle of 1942, this finally was happening. Upon completion of all reconnaissance sorties, pilots were de-briefed by the Squadron Intelligence Officer and the Air Liaison Officer (ALO). Urgent information was immediately flashed over R/T links up the chain of command to interested parties, minimizing delays between the receipt and transmission of intelligence.40 After the debriefing was completed, a full report was sent out over the rear W/T link.41 The Liaison Officer signalled information relevant to the army. The ALO from an army cooperation squadron phoned the G3 Air at Corps headquarters, who passed the information to other Corps and Eighth Army headquarters.42 From there, it was signalled to Air Headquarters, Western Desert and the appropriate squadrons. The squadron intelligence officer of the Royal Air Force’s Strategic Reconnaissance Flight relayed the information to Wing headquarters, and then to Air Headquarters, Western Desert, and HQ Royal Air Force Middle East.43 Decisions were made on the information, and orders transmitted to squadrons. Although this procedure functioned tolerably well, it had obvious problems. Intelligence of a limited life span could not be used until the


aircraft made its return journey, the pilot was de-briefed, and the information signalled to those who could use it. This problem became worse, when communications frequently became overloaded. In such cases, one expended precious resources and risked the loss of others, but gained nothing. Until more rapid methods of transmitting information were developed, reconnaissance efforts were inefficient, and so too operations which relied on them. The introduction of VHF R/T in early 1942 reduced this difficulty by letting reconnaissance pilots transmit their findings while still in the air. Although an improvement over previous procedures, this too had problems. When tactical reconnaissance aircraft flew at fifty feet, the range of their radio sets was fifteen miles.44 To overcome this obstacle, pilots began to signal through the AASC, whose sets were farther forward. This let intelligence flow more rapidly and safely, as aircraft did not have to climb and risk detection in order to transmit their reports. This became standard practice by April 1942.45 Not until late 1942, conversely, did photographic reconnaissance receive the material and structural reorganization needed to function effectively. During Rommel’s offensive at Gazala in June 1942, the army’s chief request for photographic reconnaissance was the location of enemy armour, “a difficult and frequently impossible task due to the fact that, although 36″ lenses were in use in the United Kingdom, the best that could be provided in the Middle East was the 20″ [lens]”, unsuitable for the task.46 From the middle of 1942, however, both the structure and the equipment of photographic reconnaissance units began to improve. Twelve ‘D’ Spitfires arrived in February, in time to play an important part in stopping Rommel’s advance at El Alamein, and in later battles. The RAF used its Photo Reconnaissance Unit for target location and damage assessment. Its procedures for the production of intelligence had improved by mid-1942. Film was collected by the ALO on the landing ground and developed by detachments of the Middle East Interpretation Unit (MEIU) at Advance Air Headquarters Western Desert.47 First phase interpretation was telephoned to the Senior Intelligence Officer Air Headquarters Western Desert, who if possible arranged for attacks against potential targets.48 The full written report on the photographs was sent the next morning to “GSI Eighth Army and SIO Air HQ WD” by hand, and to the two Corps “via G (Ops) Eighth Army by LO or next fastest means.”49 Aside from the three flights of No.2 Photo Reconnaissance Unit (one based in the Western Desert and two at Heliopolis), No.60 South African Survey flight and the Strategic


Reconnaissance Flight from Air Headquarters Western Desert handled photographic reconnaissance for the RAF.50 Army cooperation squadrons handled much photographic reconnaissance for the army, with procedures for producing and transmitting intelligence like those of the RAF. Photographs were developed and printed at the squadron and the results interpreted by a detachment of the Army Air Photographic Interpretation Unit (AAPIU) at Eighth Army headquarters.51 First phase interpretation results, dealing with time-sensitive operational intelligence, were telephoned to G3 Air at Corps and G2 Air at army headquarters, or over wireless, including the AASC link for urgent information. A more complete interpretation was distributed by the quickest means available from the AAPIU to Corps headquarters and GSI Eighth Army, and distributed onwards to the RAF as required.52 To have two services control and conduct reconnaissance did allow the army and RAF to meet their own reconnaissance needs quickly, but remained a costly duplication of effort. The lack of a centralized controlling formation caused confusion, wasted resources, and inefficiency. The Army Cooperation squadrons, in effect, were independent units that moved with their Corps headquarters; difficult to administer and often “completely out of touch with the air situation.”53 The army’s desire to ensure that reconnaissance needs were met is understandable, but the refusal to trust the RAF to do so is in contrast to the efforts towards streamlining the C3I system. It is reminiscent of the inter-war struggles in Britain over which service should control air forces, and is their legacy. The AASC began functioning in the desert in March 1942, replacing the earlier improvised structure. As in ‘Crusader’, the control of air support aircraft continued to be vested in the Air Officer Commanding at the combined Battle Headquarters of Eighth Army and Advanced Air Headquarters, Western Desert. Though the AASC could be positioned at Corps, where it would sift the requests for likely targets from tentacles and reconnaissance aircraft and pass them on to the AOC, more commonly it stood at the combined Army/Air headquarters.54 This layout became typical for the remainder of the campaigns in the Mediterranean, and central to the flexible use of tactical air power. The AASC had two distinct elements. The first consisted of two army staff officers and a small staff, and a wireless organization consisting of seven tentacles (increased to nine in 1941, and later to twelve) for communication to the Control headquarters.55 These tentacles were given to forward infantry Brigades and Divisions depending on the


perceived need for air support. The second element was an RAF commander and a small staff, and a wireless organization with eight sets known as Forward Air Support Links. These sets in theory were to receive aerial reconnaissance intelligence and control air support aircraft in the air, but initially were not so used in practice, because “conditions of air superiority, and the degree of training of army commanders and staffs and of RAF formation leaders, were not at that time suitable to the decentralisation of control.”56 However, Coningham reversed this practice in 1942.57 In addition, two wireless sets known as Rear Air Support Links were joined to RAF units on their landing grounds.58 The system was designed to have the AASC order air support missions, but was never used in this fashion. It was regarded as a specialist communication network that notified the RAF of requests for air support and distributed intelligence, but was not used as a control.59 Changes in the method for delivering tactical intelligence to pilots also changed with experience. At the start of the fighting in North Africa, bomb-lines were denoted by military grid reference on maps, instead of using features on the ground. This changed in early 1942, when the definition of a bomb-line became “the estimated position of forward troops for the next two hours”, and was described by ground features instead of grid references.60 Ground units would send a description of the bomb-line in code or Air Support Syllabic cipher with their request for support.61 Any change in bomb-line was “passed to G(Ops) for information and correction of the operations map,” but the GSO2 at AASC was responsible for keeping the bomb-line up to date on the operations map and informing Wings of changes.62 Ground units also sent regular position reports to their Corps headquarters. One scheme of early 1942 called them to forecast planned movements in the forward area two hours ahead, and when moving to signal their positions hourly via the AASC.63 Delays in encoding or enciphering bomb-lines, and in signals degraded the efficiency of the system and increased the possibility of attack on friendly troops by RAF aircraft, but given improved communications, these measures improved previous attempts. In addition, by 1942, the flow of aircraft from Britain made the RAF superior in numbers of aircraft, while repair and salvage methods kept its operational strength vastly superior to their enemy. These aircraft could be provided only through a roundabout and dangerous process. The most common reinforcement routes were by shipping aircraft in crates around Africa to the Suez or Port Sudan, or by the Takoradi route. During the first two years of the campaign, the best means for receiving aircraft was the Takoradi route, a 3,697-mile cross-continent


flight from Takoradi, a port in present day Ghana, to Abu Sueir in Egypt.64 Claims that “victory in Egypt came by the Takoradi Route,” overstate the case, but it was important in establishing RAF strength.65 In mid-1941, Tedder predicted the total number of aircraft arriving in Egypt from all of these routes would be “six hundred per month.”66 Although this estimate was somewhat optimistic, between 11 February 1942, and 10 March 1942, 410 aircraft arrived in Egypt through the various routes.67 RAF front-line strength steadily grew, almost doubling between November 1941 and November 1942. Aircraft, however, often were lost along the Takoradi route. Salvage units were ordered to recover and bring them and aircraft lost in action back to be repaired. This difficult task paid handsome dividends in 1942. For example, during one 17-week period of hard fighting in the desert more than 1,000 damaged aircraft of all types were scattered over some 100,000 miles of desert…But during that period more than 800 of them were brought back to the various base depots, repaired and made operationally serviceable and flown back into the war.68 By mid-1942, three rear salvage units (one for bombers, one for British fighters, and one for American made fighters) were operating in the Western Desert.69 These fully mobile units also conducted airworthiness inspections on incoming aircraft before passing them to squadrons, “did minor repairs, engine changes and major inspections on squadron aircraft.”70 In addition, one advanced party formed from elements of the three rear salvage units, worked in the forward area to locate downed aircraft, perform light repairs to enable them to be flown back to the rear units for more extensive repair. If this was impractical, the aircraft either were dismantled and taken back for collection by the Base Shuttle Service, or if damage was too extensive for recovery, the guns, certain instruments, and wireless equipment were removed to be used again, and deny the enemy valuable technical intelligence.71 Once salvaged, properly organized and supplied maintenance facilities were essential to return aircraft to service. Each squadron possessed its own mechanics, an engineering staff, and equipment to perform maintenance and repair battle damage, but their powers were limited. Dawson established more elaborate maintenance facilities, dispersed into protected locations. Engine repair facilities were located in the Mokattam hills in the artificial caves created millennia before by the removal of stone to construct the pyramids at Giza.72 The whole system


of repair and salvage was organized under number 206 Maintenance Group, created and commanded by Dawson. This arrangement ensured that RAF squadrons got every aircraft possible, and better serviceability rates than their enemy. Supporting this system was the Air Stores Park, which oversaw reserves of fuel and spare parts, was organized into a fully mobile advanced section to provide supplies to squadrons on the move, and was supplied by a rear section.73 A similar Air Ammunition Park provided ammunition to squadrons, drew its supplies from the railheads and ports, and making “convenient dumps according to operational requirements; squadrons drew from these dumps.”74 Providing recovery, maintenance, and good supply was central to the RAF’s ability to deliver air support in a cost-effective and continuous fashion. Equally important were tactics that delivered munitions on target and let aircraft escape without prohibitive losses. By the middle of 1942, again, the RAF had come a long way with great speed in this area. Apart from the moral effect of air support operations, the British wished to assess the material damage inflicted during operations, so to determine if the impact was worth the cost. Pilots received guidelines to help them more accurately assess damage. Certain criteria had to be met before a vehicle was considered destroyed. It had to be seen to burst into flames, explode or disintegrate, receive a direct hit from a bomb, or be hit while moving at a high speed, causing a loss of control which wrecked the vehicle. If the vehicle emitted black smoke or steam, or was hit by repeated strikes from a cannon or machine-gun, it was considered damaged.75 A tank or armoured vehicle could be claimed as destroyed if it was “seen to explode or catch fire, emitting flames, as a result of a hit by a bomb or other projectile”.76 It was claimed as damaged if a heavy calibre bomb missed but landed within approximately ten feet. An armoured vehicle could be damaged by “a near miss (i.e. approximately 50 ft.) or by several strikes by cannon or M.G. fire.”77 Despite these criteria, pilots engaged in operations were understandably inaccurate in their claims, and photographic intelligence was employed to gauge the actual damage inflicted. Before the Gazala offensive, tactics evolved to suit the new types of aircraft being received. Fighters possessed the high speed and manoeuvrability needed to press home attacks at low level, allowing “sufficient surprise to counter light A.A. fire”.78 They approached targets “from the direction of the enemy’s bases as this [gave Allied] fighters a quick getaway in the direction of friendly territory”, and often convinced


Axis forces the aircraft were friendly.79 When attacking troops, fighter formations split in half, one part acting as a decoy cover for the attacking aircraft, while the rest descended to ground level for the attack. Their final approach to the target depended on the terrain. Attacks in a line abreast formation most alarmed ground troops, providing the terrain permitted it. If not, a line astern formation was used, though such attacks were less troublesome and encouraged troops to fire at the lead aircraft “in the expectation of one or more planes flying into the zone of fire.”80 When attacking a moving MT convoy, fighter formations again manoeuvred into position for a surprise approach, with half the force covering the attackers, which descended to low level. The final approach again depended on the terrain. If the aircraft could approach perpendicular to the column, each pilot selected a different vehicle to attack and, as it came into range gained altitude for a diving attack. The aiming point was right behind the driver’s cab, to maximize chances of killing the driver and destroying his cargo. If the attack could not be made perpendicular to the column, a rough line astern formation was adopted and again each pilot picked a different vehicle.81 Dispersed vehicles were a difficult target because their irregular shape did not allow them to “be attacked equally well from any direction”, while heavy antiaircraft fire often was encountered.82 Despite this, the pattern of attack was the same. Pilots approached in line abreast, picking an individual target and firing at it. Although troop concentrations and MT columns were ideal targets for ground strafing, some success was possible against armoured cars and tanks, provided correct tactics were followed. Exercise ‘Rommel One’, held on 3–4 February 1942, for example, indicated when attacking armoured formations, fighters and fighter-bombers should stop the leading tanks, while bombers should “afterwards…attack the concentrations thus formed.”83 Even moving tanks were easy to hit with machine-gun fire, but aircraft were to “avoid attacking a tank from the direction towards which the tank guns are facing”, to avoid a danger from the tank’s gunners.84 Surprise also was a critical factor. The easiest way to achieve surprise was to approach out of the sun from the direction of the enemy’s own aerodromes, or using natural features as cover. The noise generated by a running tank engine made surprise particularly easy to achieve. A tank or armoured car was best attacked when it was in the open, or climbing a steep hill, when its speed was reduced and it could not turn.85 A pilot had to remember that he may receive “cross fire from every tank he [was] not attacking”, and thus it was best to


attack only “tanks on the flank or stragglers.”86 A steep climbing turn, making the aircraft a difficult target for anti-aircraft gunners, was the best method of leaving the target area.87 During ‘Crusader’, it was found that fighter-bombers could carry the same bomb load as many light and medium bombers, but were significantly faster and better able to handle enemy fighters. For example, the P 40 Kittyhawk could carry 2,000 pounds of bombs a short distance, even though it was never designed to do so. Fighter-bombers also were more cost-effective in terms of weight of armament delivered versus resources expended. In one intensive day of work, the Kittyhawk fighter-bomber could fly three squadron missions a day, carrying 54,000 pounds of bombs to the target. The ground and aircrews required to accomplish this effort were 243, giving a factor of 222 pounds of bombs delivered per person involved.88 The Baltimore light bomber, by contrast, could fly two squadron missions a day, carrying 36,000 pounds of bombs to the target. This effort required 349 people, giving a factor of 104.89 The ease of maintenance, armaments loading, taxiing and dispersal of fighter-bombers, let them fly three missions per day as opposed to only two with bombers.90 Fighters could be switched from an air superiority role to close air support or interdiction very quickly, letting them react rapidly to incoming intelligence (far more so than light, medium, or heavy bombers). Fighter-bombers also were much more versatile in the types of targets they could successfully attack, with the exception of area bombing. Indeed, it was acknowledged in late 1943 that the fighter-bomber’s versatility, hitting power, and powers of selfdefence it made the “most important single factor which consistently contribute[d] to success on land.”91 Bombers proved less flexible in close air support, but were useful for night attacks. Bombers, lacking the speed or agility of fighters, needed different means to accomplish their missions while avoiding enemy fighters and anti-aircraft fire. Bombers flew at medium altitude in close formations, consisting of “a box of six, nine or twelve aircraft” each separated into elements of three aircraft, so to concentrate their defensive fire, and to present the “minimum area for fighter attacks.”92 Although this protected bombers to a degree, it did not provide immunity from enemy fighters. Sleek, hard to hit fighters, hammered B-17 Flying Fortresses in such formations over Germany. The bomber crews who flew close air support in North Africa, however, usually had fighter cover varying from eight aircraft to three full squadrons. Otherwise, the lightly armed Wellingtons and Marylands would have been easy prey for German fighters. British fighter protection was so proficient that during the 1941


campaign in Libya, No.11 and 14 Squadrons “completed over 1,000 aircraft sorties and did not lose one aircraft as a result of enemy fighter action.”93 However, enemy fighters were not the only threat to aircraft. The most deadly German anti-aircraft gun, the 8.8 cm gun (or ‘88’) had a maximum vertical range of 32,500 feet, and an effective range of 17,000 feet. It could fire fifteen to twenty rounds per minute.94 More common, but no less deadly, was the 20mm light anti-aircraft gun. These anti-aircraft guns usually were located on high ground surrounding defended positions. Their maximum range was 7,000 feet, but its effective range was 250–2,500 feet.95 Experience showed that bombing from “heights above 4,000 feet provide[d] relative immunity from A.A. damage”, whereas fifty percent of aircraft lost to anti-aircraft fire were shot down below 2,000 feet.96 On occasion, bombers had to conduct low level attacks, and faced anti-aircraft fire. This form of attack improved accuracy and often achieved surprise, a difficult task in the desert, but at a price. Such aircraft never climbed above fifty feet, and used available topographical features to attain surprise, but unless the exact position of the target was known and clearly discernible from low level, this form of attack was useless. Furthermore, unless complete surprise was achieved, casualties from anti-aircraft fire were heavy. Consequently, higher altitude attacks were preferred, and were more common.97 An example of a typical bombing mission came on 14 September 1941, when 12 Squadron South African Air Force attacked “dispersed enemy M.T….near El Hamra.”98 Eleven Maryland bombers flew the mission, each aircraft carrying eight 250-pound general-purpose bombs fused to detonate on impact.99 Aircraft from ‘B’ Flight, first into the air, flew to “Sidi Haneish…at 4000ft to pick up fighter escort.”100 After a bombing run at 6000 feet, they returned to base. The six aircraft from ‘A’ Flight, mirroring these procedures, arrived on target ten minutes after ‘B’ Flight had left.101 Cameras recorded the bomb damage.102 This almost perfect mission, in technical terms, had little tactical effect. Anti-aircraft fire was encountered over the target, but no losses were experienced. Thirty-eight of ‘A’ Flight’s forty bombs fell in the target area, causing two fires. ‘B’ Flight dropped forty-four out of fortyeight bombs in the target area, causing one additional fire. The Senior Intelligence Officer 12 Squadron SAAF, however, could not confirm any considerable damage beyond the three fires reported. Since the target vehicles were dispersed, probably just three trucks were destroyed.103 In order to achieve this result, the RAF expended eighty-eight bombs, the


fuel for eleven Marylands and their fighter escort, and risked their loss. In this instance a tolerably capable C3I system let aircraft locate and strike with efficiency a target, but because the bombers were not well suited to the operation, no considerable damage was inflicted. At best, this was a marginally cost-efficient operation for the RAF. Any attempt to gauge whether close air support missions flown by bombers were cost-effective must consider the supply situations of the Allies and their enemies. Since the Allies enjoyed more consistent and reliable supply than the Axis, an even expenditure of resources was to their benefit. Using bombers for close air support in the desert probably was worth the effort, and many types were used throughout the campaign. The standard of bombing was good and often very “profitable results were reported”, but bomber missions expended more resources with poorer results than fighter-bomber missions.104 The lessons of the superiority of fighter-bombers in close air support, shaped operations until 1945. The desert campaign was a testing ground for all aspects of close air support missions. By mid-1942 fighter-bombers conducted most close air support missions.105 Aircraft like the Hawker Hurricane I ‘Hurribomber’ were fitted with hard points that could hold external bombs. As bomb loads depended upon the target, intelligence was central to success. Forty-pound bombs dropped from 1,000 feet and fused to explode on contact proved to be the best for attacking motorized transport convoys, whereas “the 500 Lb. G.P. [General-Purpose] or M.C. [Medium-Capacity] bomb [was] preferred” for attacking troops, because larger bombs produced “better results than an equal weight of smaller bombs.”106 Intelligence also was important to the selection of appropriate targets. It was preferable to bomb moving MT columns, while dispersed vehicles were “not considered a profitable target” due to the irregular shape and heavy anti-aircraft fire.107 In either case, tactics evolved to improve the results of bombing, while minimizing losses. Early in the desert war, aircraft approached the target at between 7,000 and 9,000 feet, and dove down to 3,000 or 4,000 feet to release their bombs. However, this altitude was too high for accuracy.108 Hence, aircraft moved to approach targets at low level, allowing “sufficient surprise to counter light A.A. fire”.109 Individual bombs or salvoes were released over the target, the pilots allowing for height and winddrift. “Very little practice [was] required before becoming adept in this method”, so few resources were wasted in making a pilot proficient.110 The break away was accomplished by flying low and fast until beyond anti-aircraft fire, when aircraft could return to strafe the target, preferably in line abreast formation perpendicular to the target’s direction of


movement. Depending upon resistance, these attacks could continue until all vehicles were destroyed, or ammunition was exhausted.111 Because fighter-bombers had some ability to defend themselves, fighter escort was provided only when enemy fighters were known or expected to be operating in the target area, or near the end of a ‘shuttle service’, a continual series of attacks against a particular target.112 Typically, six or eight aircraft were employed in any close air support or interdiction operation, with fighter cover flying 500 to 1,000 feet above.113 Fighter-bombers conducted interdiction and close air support missions with good results. For example, on 17 January 1942, three Hurricanes attacked MT on “NOFILLA-MERSA AUEGIA road, inflicting about 30 casualties on personnel, damaging 14 vehicles, and starting two fires.”114 Similarly, on 26 January 1942, a formation of ten Kittyhawks swept the Antelat-Msus road in a highly successful ground strafe, destroying twenty to twenty-five vehicles and killing twenty personnel.115 Both missions were accomplished without friendly losses. Thus, by mid-1942 all the factors necessary for the efficient use of air power were in place. The RAF had come a long way with great speed. Its operational air strength was dramatically greater than that of the Axis, it had aircraft well suited to the job, with tactics evolved to maximize their potential. The RAF’s C3I system had improved greatly since ‘Crusader’. Organizations and personnel had achieved a level of competence that let them receive, process and transmit intelligence with a minimum of delay, and to guide operations in real-time. Ultra and British ‘Y’ organizations provided regular information on the German supply network, and the deployment, disposition, and intentions of Axis forces. This information, supplemented with improvements to radar, enabled Coningham to determine when and where enemy air attacks were likely to occur, and to plan his fighter sweeps accordingly to break them up.116 Tactical and strategic reconnaissance still suffered from a lack of coordination, but still could guide close air support and interdiction operations better than before through VHF R/T. This decreased the time needed to process aerial reconnaissance reports, which, in most cases, resulted in attacking aircraft arriving over the target thirty to forty minutes from the time of request for support.117 Once over the target, pilots could hammer a variety of targets. Planned or impromptu close air support was reaching the stage where it could directly alter the course of battle on the ground. Efforts to get aircraft to the theatre, and maintain their operational status once there, combined with an effective air defence system, which exploited many of the same intelligence sources

Gazala 1942

91

Map 3.2


as the air support system, offered British ground troops some protection against Luftwaffe attacks. Thus, by mid-1942, the development of a controlled C3I system weakened the advantages of the German system and strengthened the virtues of the British system. In short, the RAF was ready to support the Eighth Army’s next battle. Unfortunately, the latter proved unready to fight it. During the spring of 1942, the Luftwaffe waged an all-out bombing offensive against Malta, the perceived thorn in the side of Axis ambitions in North Africa. This let Italian supply convoys cross the Mediterranean with impunity, and caused Churchill to pressure Auchinleck for an offensive. Rommel’s intelligence once again learned of British preparations, and he decided to strike first. Rommel planned to forestall the British assault by attacking and destroying its forces between Bir el Gubi – Tobruk – Ain el Gazala – Bir Hacheim – forty miles from the present front – and possibly advancing to the Egyptian border. The Eighth Army, meanwhile, adopted a static defence from the coast to the stronghold of Bir Hacheim, some fortyfive miles inland. Extensive minefields covered the length of the line, but were more densely concentrated in the northern and central sectors. Further inland, British infantry brigades were grouped into several boxes, each “provided with powerful artillery, infantry and armoured car units, and abundant supplies.”118 British armoured brigades were positioned behind the line to aid the infantry in attack or defence. To call these defences a ‘line’ was misleading, because few British forces were deployed on the forty-five miles north of Bir Hacheim, while the left flank was open. Rommel believed that in “any North African desert position with an open southern flank, a rigid system of defence [was] bound to lead to disaster”, because the enemy could drive around the open flank and deliver a ‘right hook’.119 This was exactly what he planned to do. The Italian Sabratha, Trento, Brescia, and Pavia Divisions would mount a diversion towards Gazala, halfway down the line to Bir Hacheim, while Rommel led the Afrika Korps and the Italian XX Corps, consisting of the Ariete Armoured Division and the Trieste Motorised Division, around Bir Hacheim and the left flank of the British line.120 Then, Rommel planned to turn north and engage British armour while the Italian X Corps pushed through the centre of the British line, allowing his supply columns to pass.121 Finally, he would destroy the Tobruk garrison, and capture its port. To accomplish these tasks, Rommel allotted merely four days.122 The first round of Rommel’s offensive worked well. On the opening day of the offensive, 26 May 1942, the Afrika Korps passed Bir Hacheim

Gazala ‘The Cauldron’ 1942

93

Map 3.3


quickly. However, Rommel’s unrealistic plan quickly produced a prolonged battle of attrition, instead of a quick and clean victory, and left his forces to fight from a desperate supply situation. Ariete failed in its attack on Bir Hacheim on 27 May, leaving the Afrika Korps without supplies behind British lines. Trieste failed to create supply corridors through the line. The failure of Rommel’s plan marooned the Afrika Korps behind British lines. It could be supplied only by trucks carrying supplies around Bir Hacheim or by small parties crossing the minefields. They were ideal targets for the RAF, which ‘let loose the hounds’, proving its ability to attack a number of different targets with speed, flexibility, and power. Fighter-bombers exploited “the lack of protective air cover for the enemy M.T. columns” and continuously attacked them.123 For the first time in the war, a German army fought without air superiority, and a British one had air supremacy. The Afrika Korps war diary for 29 May 1942 indicated the enemy had “evaluated the supply difficulties of the German spearhead correctly.”124 During thirty days around Bir Hacheim, RAF attacks and French sorties dispersed the supply transports intended for the Afrika Korps, and destroyed 1,050 motorized transport, almost one third of the total Axis strength.125 Similarly, repeated attacks by fighter-bombers engaged in close air support helped to bring the ‘Cauldron’, a defensive position where Rommel had gathered all his armour with its back to the British minefield, to the boil. Pilot reports told of tremendous confusion as vehicles were bombed, shelled, and ran onto mines. On 30 May 1942, two attacks by fighterbombers, “operating from 6,000 feet but bombing from 1,000, were much remarked upon by our ground forces: both reduced some fifty or so enemy vehicles to blazing wrecks.”126 On 3 June, calls for support to aid an infantry attack against the east gate of Bir Hacheim were “answered with fighter-bombers who saw the [target] indicator put out and did much damage.”127 Incoming intelligence, relayed to RAF commanders in real-time, allowed a change of air policy. Later the same morning, the bombs were removed from the fighter-bombers which turned to intercept a Stuka attack, destroying seven of them in one raid on Bir Hacheim.128 Later, “strafing and bombing tactics were resumed and much damage was done in the area [southeast] of Hacheim.”129 This policy continued on the next day, prompting the signal from the Free French Garrison at Bir Hacheim “Bravo, merci pour le RAF”, Coningham responded “Merci pour le sport.”130 On 1 June, Tedder congratulated Coningham on his handling of his aircraft. He said “Your decision to give close support to the Army at all costs was right and has been fully justified by results.”131


For the first time, British C3I allowed for the flexible use of air power against several different targets. At each phase of the fighting, the RAF could throw its whole weight against the most immediate threat or profitable target. Strategic intelligence illuminated, and let the RAF focus its operational intelligence gathering efforts. The improved communication system allowed operational intelligence rapidly to reach commanders who, in the context of all available intelligence, could make reasoned decisions on it. The admirable efficiency of the system, however, was still tied to the ability of ground forces to fight effectively. Air power, combined with British and Free French raids against Italian convoys passing supplies across the minefields, struck hard against the Axis weaknesses and prevented the enemy from deploying its strengths. Had the British army been able to hold its position at Gazala, the RAF could have kept the pressure on supply and exposed enemy concentrations, and bled the Afrika Korps to death. Yet the British lost. The turning point in the battle came in early June when the British concluded they could not continue the, admittedly costly, attacks on the Italian Trieste Division, German forces in the ‘Cauldron’, and Axis supply routes through Bir Hacheim, and abandoned that position and those raids. With this stroke, the British eased the pressure on enemy formations and supply, abandoned their best and most cost-effective way to maintain the initiative, freed enemy forces from a desperate position, and let them fight as they wished. Once this happened, the British army again could not compete in a mobile environment, causing retreat, confusion, and the inability of the RAF to provide close air support or interdiction with any effect. Senior British commanders must take responsibility for the failure at Gazala. Their inability to act quickly to maximize their opportunities, or even to understand what they were, passed the initiative to the Germans. At a time when quick action was required, British commanders took hours to reach decisions that should have taken minutes, so negating the considerable effort directed at improving the C3I systems of the RAF and Eighth Army.132 In the midst of such confusion on the ground, wireless discipline and communication broke down. This further eroded the British ability to complete the ‘OODA’ loop, as commanders could not receive intelligence and issue appropriate orders. On 11 June, Auchinleck ordered the Eighth Army to abandon the Gazala line, and withdraw just twenty miles to the Acroma-El Adem-El Gubi line.133 However, Lieutenant General Ritchie, commanding Eighth Army, had already ordered the South Africans and 50th Division back to the Egyptian frontier, along with the remains of 2nd and 22nd Armoured Brigades.134 This supposedly orderly withdrawal


immediately became a rout. During the Gazala battle, and the flight into Egypt, the Eighth Army lost much of its equipment, and the key supply base at Tobruk. As the Eighth Army fell back and consolidated its position at the El Alamein line, failures on the ground forced the RAF to spend its energies evacuating its own airfields. Thus, it could not provide much close air support, or continually attack Rommel’s increasingly vulnerable supply columns. However, on occasion Coningham showed his ability to comprehend a chaotic situation and take advantage of fleeting opportunities. On 17 June, Coningham learned of the evacuation of the El Adem airfield, which left his current position at Gambut untenable.135 Rather than immediately retreating, Coningham continued to receive reconnaissance reports, which showed that the Luftwaffe had moved fighters forward without protective flak guns. Coningham immediately sent all available fighters to attack, and destroyed twenty enemy aircraft on the ground.136 Despite such occasional successes, the RAF was unable to provide much consistent air support. During the retreat, “from Gazala, when many units of the Eighth Army were in desperate straits, Coningham received only twelve requests for air support: all other attacks made by his squadrons were planned on information which they themselves had gathered.”137 By the time the RAF was ready to strike back, air power finally could be used to its full potential for the first time. The Germans could no longer fight a war of manoeuvre. The Eighth Army had a new commander who intended to adopt a new style of warfare, one better suited to his forces. The German victory at Gazala, ironically, solved the British supply problem. El Alamein was relatively close to the British logistic centres in Egypt. As Axis forces moved deeper into Egypt, conversely, their supply lines became perilously long, and exposed. In order to mount this advance, the Axis had to reduce their pressure on Malta, which soon served again as the base for a sea-based attack on Axis logistics. Of course, the capture of Tobruk brought a sizeable amount of British supplies including stacks of tinned beer, huts bursting with pure white flour, cigarettes, tobacco and jam; gallons of whiskey, priceless tinned food of all kinds; and tons of Khaki clothing…More important still, as Rommel’s staff soon discovered, considerable stocks of water and, above all, vehicles and petrol had escaped demolition.138 The harbour facilities at Tobruk were in some disrepair and limited in size, however, far below the supply requirements of the Panzer Army,


which still relied heavily on motorized transport.139 Supplies unloaded at Tobruk had to be driven over 375 miles to reach the front, those from Tripoli roughly 1,300 miles, and those from Benghasi approximately 800 miles. As a result “thirty to fifty per cent of all the fuel landed in North Africa was wasted between Tripoli and the front.”140 Furthermore, the Axis forces had few vehicles. The RAF’s offensive, combined with normal desert wear and tear, depleted German M.T. stocks to almost nothing.141 As General de Guingand, shortly to become Montgomery’s Chief of Staff, later put it, the failure to hold at Gazala enabled Rommel to have a go at capturing Cairo and the Middle East base; but it also stretched his communications to the breaking point and, at the same time, allowed the Eighth Army and Desert Air Force to fall back on their supplies to end up like a coiled spring to be released at Alamein.142 Yet only hard fighting, during which RAF close air support was fundamental, was the line held at all. During the crisis in June and July 1942, when the possibility of losing Egypt was greatest, the entire RAF was devoted to supporting the army. All serviceable aircraft averaged seven sorties per day. MajorGeneral L.H. Brereton, commanding a USAAF contingent attached to Coningham, wrote that “No account of the British stand which stopped Rommel can fail to record the fine part played by the RAF and the New Zealand Division…These two undoubtedly saved the 8th Army from complete defeat.”143 The War Office agreed that there “can be no doubt but that the RAF saved the Eighth Army.”144 The Western Desert Air Force’s (WDAF) fighters, fighter-bombers and light bombers flew continual and damaging close air support operations. Two Fleet Air Arm Albacore Squadrons, Nos.821 and 826, acted as pathfinders for the close support missions flown by No.205 Group’s medium and heavy bombers by night.145 This constant air assault hamstrung the Axis advance, and forced Field Marshal Rommel to announce on 4 July 1942 that Panzer Army Africa would go over to the defensive – only 80 miles from the main British naval base at Alexandria and 170 miles from Cairo itself. All the fighting from May to July 1942 showed that the air support system was worked admirably. Not only did Ultra provide regular and reliable intelligence on the German army and Luftwaffe, but prisoner of war interrogation and captured documents were exploited more


fully, while army and RAF ‘Y’ provided consistent intelligence on enemy order of battle and movements. Although photographic and tactical reconnaissance were not as focused as they soon would be, new procedures for dealing with incoming intelligence still raised their value. The force-multiplying effect of intelligence was felt, and the force itself was more competent than before. Previous combat experience enabled the RAF to design effective tactics for the increasing number of aircraft suitable for tactical air operations, which increased the costeffectiveness of close air support and interdiction operations by enabling aircraft to hit their targets hard and escape without excessive losses. All that was missing was a commander able to bring all the elements together in an environment where they would work. The environment existed at El Alamein. The person who brought it together was Lieutenant General Bernard Montgomery.

4 Air Support during Alam Halfa and El Alamein

The El Alamein position made possible the static style of warfare that suited British forces and their new commander. The British adopted a series of deep defences whose flanks were anchored by impassable obstacles. To the north was the Mediterranean. Overwhelming air and sea attack would destroy any attempt to land troops behind British lines. To the south was the Quattara depression, a salt marsh impassable to vehicles. Along the front, the British prepared deep minefields. The static position made for better communication, and facilitated the control of subordinate formations. Montgomery chose to fight high intensity set piece battles with a continuous front. The Axis forces could stand this approach only if they could replace heavy losses of men and material at the front. They did not understand that the rules of desert war had changed, and that they must lose unless they could counter Montgomery’s war against their logistical and material weaknesses. Montgomery, and General Alexander, the Commander-in-Chief Middle East, decided that the Eighth Army was to fight where it stood. Montgomery told his officers on 13 August 1942 that the Eighth Army “will stand and fight here. If we can’t stay here alive, then let us stay here dead.”1 His preference was to wear down and exploit the British soldier’s greatest strength – tenacity. Whatever might be said for or against this approach in general, at El Alamein it was perfectly suited to accentuate Axis weaknesses, and exploit British strengths. In such a position, the British could complete the ‘OODA’ loop as fast, or faster, than their enemy, which often found that movement drew attack from the air. Air power thus removed mobility as an Axis trump card. To support this plan, Tedder moved forward squadrons detailed for the defence of Egypt, and began using most of No.205 Group’s medium and heavy bombers on night bombing of tactical targets located by 99


reconnaissance and signals intelligence. This blended well with Montgomery’s aim to slow the pace of battle to suit the capabilities of British forces, and force Rommel into a premature attack on his terms. Montgomery appreciated the value of his inheritances, Antipodean infantry and the RAF, and relied heavily on them. For the first time, air support was integrated effectively into the battle plans of the Eighth Army, which finally could fight the way it wished against an enemy that was increasingly vulnerable. Montgomery initially feared that the RAF and Eighth Army were “tending to drift apart”. 2 He reunited them at a combined headquarters, and educated Eighth Army commanders on the true functioning of air power, which he thought was seriously lacking.3 Once the battle of El Alamein was won, he and Coningham expressed ideas about the relationship that had existed between the British Army and the RAF since the beginning of the desert war. The soldier commands the land forces, the airman the air forces; both commanders work together and operate their respective forces in accordance with a combined Army/Air plan, the whole operations being directed by the Army Commander. – Air Marshal Coningham.4 Lessons learned during operations showed that the commander of an Army in the field should have an air headquarters with him which will have direct control and command of such squadrons as may be allotted for operations in support of his Army. Such air resources will be in support of his Army and not under his command. – General Montgomery.5 With the important exception of operation ‘Torch’, these command arrangements, central to the ability to deliver effective air support, governed cooperation between Allied army and air forces for the remainder of the war. This understanding prevented the dissipation of air resources into penny-packets, “with each packet working on its own plan”, such as had been demanded by British and American armies during the interwar years and until 1943, while also meeting their justified demands for air support.6 By keeping air assets united, they could be used with maximum efficiency, whether at fleeting targets of opportunity, or overwhelming blows. The alternative was a degradation of air strength. Lower levels of command, never completely privy to all intelligence regarding enemy movements and intentions, and

Air Support during Alam Halfa and El Alamein 101

naturally concerned with what was happening before them, used their aircraft to deal with immediate threats at the expense of overall efficiency. United air assets, controlled from a Headquarters that received in all available intelligence in real-time, could be used in the most effective way possible. In no other way could effective close air support or interdiction be possible, nor be helped much by intelligence. To enhance his ability to control a changing situation, Montgomery made extensive use of smaller headquarters during battle. To avoid confusion and communication overload, advanced headquarters handled operations, while the rear headquarters handled administrative requirements.7 Both the RAF and the army adopted this arrangement early in the war, although the army’s advance headquarters, termed main headquarters, was capable of further subdivision. During operations, “Main H.Q. [could] throw off a Tac H.Q.”, consisting of just a few officers responsible for directing operations.8 Montgomery’s Tac H.Q. at El Alamein, for example, included himself, two Aides de Camp, a GSO 2, two GSO 3s, and a signal officer.9 The main headquarters, possessing a large staff, was responsible for planning operations, as well as coordinating with other services. This structure continued to the end of fighting in North Africa, and combined well with the increased practice of issuing verbal instead of written orders. This improved the speed of completing the ‘OODA’ loop. This development was not lost on the Germans, who noted its effect.10 Another important improvement in the army’s communication system was the introduction of a Staff Information Service, or ‘J’ service. This organization, created by Hugh Mainwaring of Montgomery’s staff, intercepted signals from friendly forward units and relayed them to Army and Corps headquarters. Receiving wireless sets listened to “division, brigade, and armoured corps forward controls and broadcast the information obtained”, drastically reducing the time lag between the signalling of information from forward troops, and its receipt at higher headquarters.11 Montgomery felt that ‘J’ gave a higher commander a good indication of the fighting spirit of his troops and, incidentally, although this was not its prime purpose, it could also help by spotting obvious breaches of security. It had the overall effect of tightening the entity of the Army; bringing it closer together.12 ‘J’ improved Montgomery’s understanding of his Army’s state, as important a matter as good intelligence on the enemy, and helped to determine how the battle was unfolding.


Under Montgomery Ultra also came into its own. In the opinion of Sir Edgar Williams, whom de Guingand attached to Eighth Army to focus intelligence during Rommel’s Gazala offensive, under Auchinleck Ultra “never seemed to get put to any purpose.”13 This statement is unfair to Auchinleck, as Ultra began to provide a constant stream of useful information on the Afrika Korps only in July 1942. In particular, the breaking of the Scorpion key used by air liaison officers attached to army formations, provided a more accurate and complete picture of Panzer Army’s intentions, order of battle, and state of deployment and supply than ever before.14 Under Montgomery, the increasing flow of Ultra material was used effectively to reconstruct enemy dispositions and intentions. For example, in mid-August Ultra revealed Mussolini’s pressure on Rommel to make “rapid preparations for a renewal of the offensive”, the supply difficulties of Axis forces, and the details of Rommel’s preparations and plans.15 He noted that enemy air superiority made a night attack necessary, and the only night with a full moon was 26 August.16 Thus, Montgomery knew the enemy’s intentions, its need for quick action, and the likely time and direction of the attack, though he had guessed much of this beforehand. This intimate knowledge of the enemy situation continued before and during the El Alamein battles, when the British had access to the enemy’s own tank, aircraft, and manpower returns.17 Intelligence personnel also were sufficiently skilled to use other sources to confirm this intelligence. October 1942, Eighth Army ‘Y’, which had grown to 2,400 personnel by October 1942, was fully integrated into the operational intelligence process.18 It produced such a flow of tactical intelligence about the enemy’s smaller units that it was often considered more valuable than Ultra.19 The RAF ‘Y’ units were 162 Squadron, which investigated enemy radar facilities, and the much larger 276 Wing, that handled both W/T and R/T traffic analysis. 276 Wing was created on 1 August 1942 to control the six field units already existing in the theatre.20 It quickly expanded to ten mobile field units, two of which were under the operational control of 211 Group RAF.21 Having ‘Y’ units under the control of this fighter Group ensured the rapid transmission of any important intelligence to pilots. Meanwhile, in July 1942, all reconnaissance units were gathered under 285 Air Reconnaissance Wing. Its objectives were to “absorb all recce Units in the Western Desert”, and to direct and coordinate “recce policy so that duplication was reduced to a minimum and the maximum


use made of the flexibility of the Air arm.”22 The Wing had its own headquarters, and controlled (both administratively and operationally) the Photo Reconnaissance detachment, Strategic Reconnaissance Flight, the South African Air Force’s survey squadron, the Middle East Interpretation Unit, and the Army Air Photo Interpretation Unit.23 In theory, 285 Wing also controlled the Army Cooperation squadrons; but in practice they continued to receive direction from their Corps headquarters, and retained small photographic interpretation sections.24 Despite some unavoidable teething pains, the new formation functioned smoothly, and reduced the duplication of effort. Aerial reconnaissance moved from being an unrefined to a mature intelligence source. Close air support and interdiction operations gained from the changes to C3I and the static battlefield. Tactical reconnaissance was increasingly reliable, as were reports from bomber and fighter sorties, and the ‘Y’ services reconstruction of the Axis order of battle and deployment. Signals intelligence provided better information on the strength, disposition, and supply state of Axis armies and air forces. Aircraft easily could operate over the whole front. Sorties routinely arrived over targets within thirty to forty minutes from the time of request, as opposed to an average of three hours during ‘Crusader’.25 By the end of August 1942, steps were taken to reduce the likelihood that the RAF would attack friendly troops. Of particular importance was the use of Aldis lamps and coloured smoke to signal the location of friendly and enemy troops. When a formation was informed that air support was on its way, a code letter was assigned, which troops would signal to the lead bomber or fighter-bomber, in addition to displaying ground strips and firing illuminating cartridges. Coloured smoke was issued to be fired at the target for close air support, and to identify friendly troops. Reducing the instances of friendly fire improved the relationship between the services and the reputation of close air support amongst front-line soldiers and generals. Coloured smoke, used because white smoke was not easily visible in the desert, still remained in short supply before El Alamein.26 The use of night bombers in close support at El Alamein kept continuous pressure on the Axis troops, but added a new dimension to the problem of distinguishing friendly from enemy troops. Albacore and Wellington aircraft were guided by night landmarks “in the form of an illuminated letter” to enemy concentrations located by intelligence.27 The AASC supplied the letter and the period during which it was to be kept alight, while the ground formation defined the location of the


landmark, which the AASC passed on to the appropriate Wing. Such landmarks were to be “at least 1000 [yards] in dimensions with a flare every 20 yards. The simplest way of making a flare [was] to fill a petrol tin with sand and oil or petrol.”28 These measures reduced the likelihood of friendly fire, and increased the probability that attacking aircraft would find their target. None of these measures were foolproof, and all were complex. Attempts to use coloured smoke so to direct Hurricane IID’s from No.6 Squadron SAAF onto “small parties of German tanks and Armoured Cars patrolling in the HIMEIMAT area” had only moderate success, and RAF aircraft sometimes bombed and strafed friendly troops.29 Still, the situation had improved markedly. By the time of El Alamein in October 1942, the RAF was the most important weapon of the British army. It had roughly 1,200 aircraft, of which nearly 1,000 were operational.30 However, without effective C3I, RAF operations would have been unfocused, inefficient, and ineffective. The British had travelled along a steep learning curve in a short time. Although problems remained, they had forged an instrument that would serve them well throughout the remainder of the war. The ability to exploit the flexibility of air power increased its destructive potential, and its cost-effectiveness. Intelligence was crucial to this ability. The Luftwaffe, conversely, experienced a continual drain of air resources from the Mediterranean to other theatres, particularly the Russian front. Looking back on July 1942, Field Marshal Albert Kesselring wrote: What with the resurgence of British sea and air activity against Axis convoys and the restrengthening of Malta, particularly since the attack had to be abandoned, coupled with the ever-increasing demands on the Luftwaffe, German supremacy in the Mediterranean was gradually crumbling away.31 By late 1942, the Axis air forces consisted of 650 aircraft of which only 380 were operational.32 Even at their worst, RAF serviceability rates were far better than those of the Axis. During the battle of El Alamein, they reached eighty-five percent, far above typical Axis serviceability rates.33 By 24 November 1942, Axis serviceability fell to forty-nine percent – the Luftwaffe had just thirty-eight single engine fighters in Cyrenaica, of which just twenty-one were operational.34 The RAF had also learned how to use its aircraft in a coordinated fashion. For example, on 1 September 1942, 7 and 127 Squadron SAAF


provided fighter cover for three tank-buster Hurricanes engaged in close air support. Eight Hurricane II B’s of 7 Squadron provided medium cover, while 127 Squadron provided top cover.35 Dividing the cover for bomber and fighter-bomber missions into medium and high altitudes was far better than keeping it at one. Aircraft at high altitudes could see enemy fighters farther away, allowing more time to plan an intercept. If all fighters gathered at medium altitudes, the enemy could launch a diving attack, perhaps out of the sun. If every fighter stayed at high altitudes, low flying enemies might intercept bombers before their attack. These arrangements were so effective that “the enemy rarely broke through [the] fighter escort”.36 Merely knowing that fighters were covering their back allowed pilots to focus on the attack. Such coordination of fighter cover with attacking aircraft was difficult and time-consuming, but essential. It was eased by the adoption of a larger percentage of fighter-bombers, which simply were fighters with external bomb racks. Indeed, Air Marshal Coningham believed every fighter should be a fighter-bomber, “with jettisonable tanks and bombs interchangeable”.37 Attacking fighter-bombers and their escorts were located at the same base, requiring only one briefing for the entire attacking force, and reducing the time required to organize the formation because pilots flew both escort and attack missions, each understood the other’s problems. Fighter cover was essential to all close air support operations, but particularly for the Hurricane IID tank-buster because its 40mm cannon, firing 2lb. solid shot which could cut through tank armour, and a 20mm cannon used to sight the main guns, drastically reduced its performance.38 In “no way can the IID be considered as a normal fighter, the extra weight carried, and the harmonization of its guns alone precluding this.”39 Moreover, much of the pilots’ attention was focused on map reading and navigation in order to locate the target. Effective results could be achieved only if complex procedures were observed. Intelligence from reconnaissance or other sources pinpointed possible targets, which the AASC would pass to the senior RAF officer at the joint Army/Air Headquarters. If approved, the attack order was sent over the rear air support links. This procedure was streamlined in September 1942 by the introduction of ‘J’ at Army/Air headquarters, tuned in to the Divisional net, with a liaison officer listening for potential “tank-buster” targets.40 Ideal targets were tanks separated from their supporting motorized transports by more than half a mile. Attacks on many isolated tanks achieved far better results than attacks on a few tanks supported by their motorized transport, which could mount heavier flak.41


Usually, three to six Hurricane IID’s were employed on a mission, escorted by a “squadron of medium and high cover.”42 They flew in loose three aircraft ‘Vic’ formations, approaching the target at 4,000 feet, out of range of small arms fire and below the level of Bofors bursts. Their speed increased from 180 to 200 miles per hour when the target was sighted. Then, altitude was reduced to 1,500 feet, and each ‘Vic’ changed to line astern.43 They struck the target at fifteen to twenty feet above the ground and 240 miles per hour. When the leader turned into the target, the formation moved inside him and formed a loose echelon, each pilot selecting a different target. Each began firing with all guns at roughly 700 yards, and continued until roughly 200 yards away. Experienced pilots could “get in 2–3 shots with each gun before pulling out,” as each burst deflected the aircraft downwards by 2 degrees, forcing the pilot to re-aim.44 At 200 yards a weaving breakaway was performed to avoid flying splinters and anti-aircraft fire. Only if tanks were isolated, minimizing the risk from anti-aircraft fire, could more than one attack be made.45 When tanks supported by their motorized transport were attacked, losses to enemy flak were typically seventy-five percent of the attacking force.46 The Hurricane IID proved an accurate and devastating anti-tank aircraft, but airframe limitations posed considerable problems. The increased weight and drag from the twin 40mm guns seriously reduced speed, which prevented adding protective armour under the fuselage and around the engine.47 Consequently, despite much work on tactics, the aircraft was very vulnerable to anti-aircraft fire, or even small arms fire. Ultimately, heavy losses caused Britain to drop the concept of an aircraft equipped with anti-tank machine-guns in favour of rocket firing fighter-bombers with less accurate but more versatile armament. The problem lay not in the concept of the aircraft, but in its specific design. Indeed, the Hurricane IID proved very deadly against the right target. During the battle of El Alamein, for example, as the Free French advanced to the Himeimat ridge, their anti-tank guns bogged down in heavy sand. When counterattacked by Axis forces using captured British armour on 24 October, they requested support from AASC. Four Hurricane IID’s of No.6 Squadron SAAF and two from No.7 Squadron SAAF were sent to attack. They identified the target and hit eight tanks, and left three smoking. Less than an hour later, another raid “was launched which resulted in damage to a further nine tanks, of which eight were Honeys and one a Crusader”, with no loss of British aircraft.48 Rommel, very impressed with this operation, commented that “every one of the


captured tanks belonging to the Kampfstaffel had been shot up by this new type of aircraft.”49 He showed one of the 40mm shells to Hitler and Goering, reporting that they had penetrated the tank’s armour and had killed almost the entire crew. Goering responded that such a thing was impossible as the Allies “only know how to make razor blades”. Rommel responded, “We could do with some of those razor blades, Herr Reichsmarschall.”50 In mid-1942 HQ RAF Middle East began conducting close air support by night, when it was felt that better targets would be found, because Axis forces had been taught the benefits of dispersal by day, but not yet in the dark. In “his freedom from night air attack, and fearing night ground attack, the enemy…often [went] into large close leagers at dusk and rarely broke them before dawn.”51 Morale also would be affected to a greater degree by night “mainly owing to a loss of sleep.”52 Finally, as little Axis air opposition or anti-aircraft could exist, older aircraft types could be used. By August 1942, these suggestions had become a reality. Night bombing operations featured close cooperation between naval Albacore aircraft and No.205 Group’s Wellington bombers, and special refinements to C3I and tactics. Albacore aircraft, flew at 5,000–6,000 feet to illuminate the target. Magnesium flares, which burnt on the ground and were difficult to extinguish, were dropped on the target, and coloured lights were fired to mark targets of particular value.53 Routes “of approach and departure were marked by flare paths”. Single parachute flares indicated the dropping area to the successive formations.54 These coordinated attacks concerned Panzer Army Africa.55 Material damage could be extensive. For example, in one night attack by Wellingtons and Albacores started fifty to sixty fires on a large concentration of troops and equipment.56 On another night, ten Officers and 100 NCOs and men killed, and five Officers and 300 NCOs and men wounded.57 The RAF noted that the “spirit of the troops was considerably depressed owing to the totally inadequate German fighter cover. Incessant night attacks in particular served to reduce the degree of readiness for action of both officers and men.”58 Troops, suffering from a lack of supplies due to land-based interdiction, also received inadequate rest, thus reducing their fighting effectiveness. Thus, the Eighth Army was finally in a position that could not be outflanked, while its overwhelming air superiority neutralized the Axis main advantage – the ability to manoeuvre and rapidly deploy – and blunted its ability to deliver its own air support. Moreover, attacking by day and night, air power was quickly making Rommel’s position untenable.


Given Rommel’s personality, the British could safely conclude that he would continue his attack towards Egypt in August 1942. This assumption was reinforced by intelligence about the poor state of Axis supply and Mussolini’s pressure for an offensive. Indeed, on 29 June 1942, Mussolini flew to Derna to take command for the triumphant entry into Cairo.59 Ultra revealed the German supply predicament, created by land and sea interdiction, and indicated that the Germans must attack quickly or run out of petrol, ammunition, food, and water. Before the battle of Alam Halfa, Rommel’s German divisions were 17,500 men, 484 officers, and 210 tanks under strength, 85 percent of his transport was captured vehicles for which he lacked spares, his ammunition was scanty, and the quality of his rations deplorable.60 Rommel also was tired and sick, suffering from “gastric and nasal disorders, and a poor circulation. It was in a mood of desperation and despondency that Rommel made his final fling.”61 After Montgomery’s first tour of the battlefield in August 1942, he correctly concluded that Rommel would strike the southern British flank, followed by the standard right hook to get in behind the Eighth Army. XXX Corps held the northern part of the line, with XIII Corps to the south. Despite recent promises of reinforcements, including President Roosevelt’s commitment to send some 300 Sherman tanks and 100 selfpropelled guns from the United States, Montgomery had insufficient forces to hold the thirty-five mile front in depth.62 Consequently, XIII Corps purposely was under strength on the ground, “in order to tempt Rommel wide out into the desert where he [used] more petrol.”63 Risks rose further because Montgomery pushed forward his only reserve, the 9th Australian Division. Consequently, much effort was devoted to ensuring Rommel attacked as Montgomery wished. An entire department of the Eight Army Staff was devoted to “confirm Rommel in the belief that his units would easily break through in the south. A map was put in his way on which the main minefields were omitted and bottomless quicksands were marked as negotiable by vehicles.”64 Montgomery intended to let Rommel break through the south end of the British line, and then execute his right hook – directly into the main force of British armour deployed in hull down positions at the western edge of the Alam Halfa Ridge, roughly fifteen miles behind the front line. Here the protected British tanks could fire, and 131 and 133 Brigades of the newly arrived 44 Division could direct artillery onto Rommel’s advancing panzers.65 Montgomery’s sought to force a prolonged battle of attrition, which suited his forces. He realized that a battlefield draw would be a strategic victory. By fighting in a manner


suited to his troops, Montgomery would force Rommel to burn up scarce supplies to no purpose. This was an excellent context for air interdiction and close air support. In a prolonged and relatively static struggle, quantitative strength counted for more than quality, especially if the latter depended upon mobile conditions. German quality was offset by British numerical superiority and overwhelming firepower from artillery and the RAF. Two types of air attack that had competed for resources now combined in effect. Interdiction denied the Germans any increase in supply and limited their movement, thus easing the location of close air support targets. Interdiction stole German strengths, and reduced its equipment and rations to a deplorable state. Close air support hammered what remained by both day and night, its effect made worse by the poor morale of German and Italian forces, partly created by interdiction. The Battle of Alam Halfa “thoroughly tested the new air support organization and demonstrated the use of air power in a ground action on efficient and economical lines. It stands out as a landmark in the development of air support during the war.”66 Tedder told the CAS of his “complete confidence in Coningham’s handling of a very difficult situation.”67 Displaying the trait repeatedly noted throughout his career, Coningham had kept “his head extremely well and [was] adjusting his employment of his forces hour by hour as the ground/air situation change[d].”68 Before and during this battle, the Desert Air Force used its overwhelming air superiority to continue its withering and “continuous attack on the African ports and the coastal road through and along which Rommel’s supplies were forwarded to the front.”69 This hamstrung the whole offensive and prevented Rommel from exploiting any gains. The air defence system Coningham established also removed the Luftwaffe’s air support trump card, played so effectively in 1940. British forces, conversely, close to their supply centres, thus had far more ammunition, fuel, and reinforcements. Rommel noted the trend in RAF operations in the weeks prior to the offensive was to focus on “the German Army’s supply system.”70 This campaign virtually forced his hand, making him launch an attack prior to September, with the most favourable time deemed to be 26 August.71 The RAF began its offensive nine days before the Axis did, through coordinated attacks on enemy concentrations and supply organization.72 These attacks delayed the enemy advance, and very nearly caused Rommel to cancel the offensive. Rommel’s offensive commenced on the night of 30 August 1942, and unfolded according to Montgomery’s plan. To aid his offensive, Rommel


had been promised emergency shipments of 500 tons of petrol a day, along with additional fuel carried on tanker ships from Italy.73 Neither promise was fulfilled, limiting the extent of the operation and forcing a shorter radius to the right hook.74 The Afrika Korps advanced slowly through British minefields, considerably thicker than anticipated, “without its usual verve”. Neither speed nor surprise was possible, as the commander of the 21st Panzer Division (General Bismarck) was killed by a mine, and 15th Panzer Division’s commander (General Nehring) was wounded by an air attack.75 Despite these setbacks, his knowledge that the British expected his advance, and a desperate shortage of ammunition and petrol, Rommel continued the attack. On 31 August 1942, he turned part of the Afrika Korps north, directly at the main strength of British armour, bogging it into a battle of attrition that he desperately wished to avoid. Worse still, on 3 September, Rommel ordered 15th Panzer Division to drive, unsupported, towards Alam Halfa Ridge. It stalled against the fire from two brigades of tanks and “300 field and medium guns and 400 antitank guns.”76 For the first time in the desert, the Afrika Korps was forced to fight as the British wished, and were defeated by British superiority in numbers, artillery, close air support, and interdiction. Withering RAF attacks put Panzer Army Africa in an untenable position. The Afrika Korps’ War Diary reported that constant close air attacks caused “considerable personnel and material losses…by continuous enemy night and day air attacks in strength. These attacks were not without influence on the morale of the German and Italian troops.”77 By the evening of 3 September, attacks on enemy supply columns had reduced petrol stocks to “the equivalent of a run per vehicle of 100 kilometres over good going” – barely enough to withdraw to its start line.78 In the face of constant air attacks, German forces withdrew to their start points. The Eighth Army let Rommel go, because Montgomery rightly believed it would have been beaten in mobile operations against the Afrika Korps. Coningham, however, did not permit the RAF to let up, and made the withdrawal take “several days.”79 On 2 September, when intelligence located the biggest concentration of enemy vehicles in the Ragil Depression, Coningham ordered attacks by 176 RAF aircraft that delivered 112 tons of bombs.80 The effect of Coningham’s use of intelligence to direct close air support characterized Alam Halfa. During the night of 31 August, in response to photographic reconnaissance, an attack struck the German 3rd Reconnaissance Unit, covering the withdrawal from Alam Halfa. Shortly before


21:30 hours, “8 parachute flares were dropped over the defence area… followed immediately by 6-10 bombs”, which set a fuel lorry on fire.81 A second wave dropped flares, making the area “as bright as day”, and spread confusion.82 As vehicles attempted to leave the area, low flying fighter-bombers hit home. The first two waves of attacks destroyed eighteen vehicles with direct hits. The attack was coordinated so that a new wave arrived just as the previous one left, and lasted from “21.30 to 03.45 hours with a short respite from 02.00 to 02.15.”83 It started fifty to sixty fires.84 These attacks continued all along the front during the Axis offensive. On the night of 2 September, 115 tons of bombs were dropped on enemy concentrations, damaging a large proportion of their vehicles.85 Most casualties during the offensive were inflicted by the RAF – 570 dead, 1,800 wounded, as well as the loss of 50 tanks, 15 field guns, 35 anti-tank guns, and 400 lorries.86 Moreover, merely removing German mobility aided in the battle, just as the presence of RAF aircraft diverted German 88mm guns from their secondary use as anti-tank weapons. Considerable material damage was compounded by lack of sleep. Interdiction and close support attacks ground down the enemy both morally and materially. After the battle of Alam Halfa, Rommel understood the new strength of the RAF. By using his air-power, the enemy would be able to delay our operations at will, both in the daytime and – using parachute flares – at night. For no man can be expected to stay in his vehicle and drive on under enemy air attack…This meant that our positions had henceforth to be constructed strongly enough to enable them to be held by their local garrisons independently and over a long period, without even the support of operational reserves, until reinforcements – however much delayed by the R.A.F. – could arrive.87 He later reminisced that “British air superiority threw to the winds all the tactical rules which…had hitherto applied with such success. There was no real answer to the enemy’s air superiority, except a powerful air force of our own. In every battle to come, the strength of the AngloAmerican air force was to be the deciding factor.”88 Coningham’s skilful use of intelligence in conducting both an effective defence against enemy air attack, and at the same time the coordinated delivery of air power against the best of available targets in support of the Eighth Army, demonstrated the power and value of focused air power.


Montgomery, who was not noted for overt praise of the RAF’s role in battle, admitted that intelligence had shown that the RAF was “playing a great part in inflicting moral and material damage on the enemy,” reduced them to such a poor state that “a hard blow now will complete his overthrow.”89 The Eighth Army, was growing steadily stronger. By mid-October, it had over 220,000 men, 1,351 tanks, and clear air superiority.90 Rommel’s forces were significantly under strength. His panzer divisions had only 220 panzers between them, mostly older Mark IIIs, joined by 340 Italian tanks, generally too light to be considered anything more than armoured cars.91 His troops numbered roughly 50,000 German and 62,000 Italian soldiers.92 Captured documents revealed that most units were desperately short of ammunition, water, petrol, and “according to a pencilled note at the end of these deficiencies ‘Vor allem Brot’: – above all bread.”93 The RAF’s land-based interdiction campaign paid its highest dividends at El Alamein. This campaign, not the sea interdiction campaign led by Ultra, caused most of the destruction of Axis supply to that point. During 1941, the Axis forces in theory required roughly 60,000 tons of supplies per month, although Rommel acknowledged they could function with 30,000–35,000 tons.94 Only during November 1941 were supply levels significantly below this. During this disastrous month, only 29,813 tons, of 79,208 tons dispatched from Italy, arrived.95 This was, however, the exception, and the loss of Force ‘K’ to an Italian minefield in December 1941, removed the naval threat to Axis convoys. This defeat and the aerial assault on Malta during the spring of 1942, let supplies once again flow without much interference. From January to May 1942, 94.9 percent of supplies dispatched from Italy were received in Libya, and the quantities received in Libya never fell below the minimum monthly requirements.96 So too from July–November, where of 443,648 tons of supplies dispatched from Italy, 331,146 tons reached Libya, and amounts received met the amounts required.97 In only two months were the amounts less than 60,000 tons received.98 The British did not win the war of supply on the Mediterranean, but from their land-based interdiction campaign. The battle plan for operation ‘Lightfoot’ called for a diversionary attack in the south by XIII Corps, while XXX Corps and X Corps launched the main effort. XXX Corps’ infantry was to “blow a hole in the enemy defences to enable British armour to break through into the open desert


beyond.”99 The armour was then to stand astride enemy lines of communication, and prevent Rommel’s armoured forces from interfering with XXX Corps’ “crumbling” operations against enemy infantry, followed by a breakout from the El Alamein position. At 9:40 PM on 24 October 1942, the barrage of over a thousand guns signalled the start of the offensive. The German guns were silent as General Stumme, who had taken command from an ill Rommel, forbade the “bombardment of the enemy assembly positions on the first night of the attack, on account of the ammunition shortage.”100 Fuel shortage and the RAF prevented a concentration of armoured forces for a counterattack. Instead, Axis defences rested on a “fortified and infantry-held line”, with 15th and 21st Panzer Divisions (the bulk of the Afrika Korps) deployed at opposite ends.101 The RAF thus shaped the assault, forcing the Axis to separate its best units and preventing their concentration against an enemy which “was operating with astonishing hesitancy and caution” against which “a concentrated attack by the whole of our [forces] could have been successful.”102 This hesitancy and caution stemmed from effective German defences and the inability of the engineers of XXX Corps to clear the minefields, causing the whole advance to stall. Into this confusion, the Germans directed accurate anti-tank fire, destroying the lead tanks and creating a bottleneck. Despite every advantage but the defence, a poorly executed battle plan nearly cost Britain the battle. At the end of 25 October, British forces had not reached the objectives assigned for early morning 24 October. While Montgomery reorganized his offensive, Rommel returned to take command of the Axis. He immediately brought 21st Panzer Division north to counterattack British armour at Kidney ridge. The attack, on 27 October, met with fierce RAF close air support, the new six-pound anti-tank gun and superior numbers of British tanks, and was halted with the loss of one-third of the Axis tanks.103 This signalled a key change at the operational level: the ability of Allied aircraft and anti-tank fire, doubly so when backed by intelligence, to smash any major German armoured attack. The material losses inflicted on the Axis forces, also eroded the morale of the fighting troops. Sickness rates rose, and the mood of soldiers was one of defeat. Hourly RAF bombing raids and lack of supplies began “to produce serious signs of fatigue and a sense of inferiority” among Axis forces.104 In one close air support mission on 2 November, 233 sorties were flown and more than 1,300, 250-pound


bombs, were dropped on enemy armour and MT in the Northern sector.105 So accurate and effective was the bombing and so rapid the communication between our forward positions and Air Support Control that on one occasion even before 3 Wing’s bombers had landed, a flash signal came through that as a result of that raid 200 enemy troops had surrendered.106 Two hundred and thirty-nine tons of bombs were dropped in air support missions during the night of 23 October alone.107 On 26 October, seven raids of eighteen aircraft dropped over 200,000 pounds of bombs on a build-up of enemy armour located by tactical reconnaissance, so breaking up an Axis counterattack before it started.108 Three hundred and fifty-two tons of bombs were delivered in preparation for the breakout from the El Alamein position – operation ‘Supercharge’ on 3 November.109 The effect of RAF air attacks was brought out clearly through prisoner of war intelligence. General von Thoma, commander of the Afrika Korps captured on 4 November 1942, reported that in October “the total number of personnel who arrived numbered only six hundred, while fifty had been lost a day through illness and wounds.”110 There were also fifty to sixty cases of jaundice per day.111 In one instance, three Italian airmen were recorded discussing the effect of RAF close air support. They remarked that several army officers were driven mad by the constant air attacks, and one of their comrades was sent back to ITALY because he got it into his head that he was a Spitfire. When he went before the medical board they said: “What is wrong with you?” And he said: “I am a Spitfire,” and made a noise like a machine-gun; when he passed anyone he swooped like a Spitfire and made a noise like a machine-gun.112 Montgomery, assisted by Tedder and Coningham, drew together all the essential elements of effective close air support together during these battles. The RAF and Eighth Army were welded together at a combined headquarters, and both forces came to understand the needs and capabilities of the other better than before. Intelligence became much better organized and integrated into operational planning, which facilitated the speed with which commanders could understand the military situation. This caused vastly improved ability to apply a considered air plan, or to respond swiftly to calls for close air support.


In just under two years, the RAF had designed an admirable weapon that struck at the heart of the enemy’s weaknesses. Close air support and interdiction, the two types of operations that had competed for available air power, complemented each other. The RAF removed the mobility of Axis forces, and hammered their vulnerable and strained supply lines. Given Axis skill at dispersal, only when “the enemy were attacking or being attacked by ground forces and were forced to concentrate that really good targets were offered” for close air support.113 Until these targets presented themselves, fighters and fighter-bombers struck road supply convoys. With good intelligence, relayed to commanders in real-time, this effort could be switched to close air support very quickly. Improvements in RAF and army C3I, combined with the slower pace of battle imposed at El Alamein, let the RAF swing like a hammer against the most appropriate targets with speed and power. This constant aerial attack destroyed enemy morale, and much of its material strength. The overall effect of air power was to remove the Axis forces’ advantages, and to turn them into an eggshell awaiting the hammer blow.

5 The Pursuit from El Alamein to Tunisia

After the defeat of Axis forces at El Alamein, British commanders had to decide whether to pursue and encircle the remains of the Afrika Korps quickly, or gather British strength for the long pursuit to Tunisia. Montgomery initially planned for the former, but poor execution caused him to slow his advance and operate in a hesitant but determined manner, despite abundant intelligence on the appalling state of the Afrika Korps.1 Of the roughly 100,000 Axis forces at the start of El Alamein, a total of 35,700 were killed, wounded, or captured, and Ultra revealed that on 10 November 21st Panzer and 90th Light Divisions had roughly 1,000 men apiece, and 15th Panzer Division only 1,200.2 Moreover, of 366 German and 318 Italian tanks that began the battle, Ultra showed that 15th Panzer Division had no serviceable tanks, 21st Panzer Division had only eleven, and the entire army only enough petrol to move 150 kilometres.3 Other sources of intelligence, such as photographic reconnaissance and prisoner of war interrogation, reinforced such intelligence, yet neither Montgomery nor Coningham exploited the situation. The failure to cut off rapidly the remnants of the Afrika Korps stemmed from memories of the all too recent reversals suffered by the Eighth Army in the desert, but also was the first of several failures to act with speed in response to the good intelligence on their absolute strength during the advance to Tunisia. The prospect of a long pursuit across the desert forced British commanders to consider major logistical and organizational problems associated with doing so. Their attempts at solutions affected the fighting ability of British forces, and of air support. Even before the battle of El Alamein, Coningham and his staff had begun to plan for an advance. This plan, Operation ‘Buster’, circulated on 11 October, split the air forces into two main components. Force ‘A’ 116

Map 5.1

The Pursuit to Tunisia

117


was to operate in direct support of the Army, and Force ‘B’ was to protect the lines of communication against the expected reinforcement of the Luftwaffe and act as a reserve.4 The plan called for an advance to Tripoli with Force ‘B’ moving one stage behind Force ‘A’ as far as the Tobruk area, “until communications as far west as Benghazi had been organised.”5 Operation ‘Buster’ was put into effect on 5 November 1942, after the Panzer Army began its withdrawal from El Alamein. Coningham’s march from El Alamein to Tunisia presented unique problems for maintenance personnel and facilities. To provide continuous maintenance during this advance, arrangements were made for the maintenance organization to ‘leapfrog’ spares, maintenance personnel, and supply forward. Thus, the RAF maintained far better serviceability than their opponents despite the increasing strain to its logistical system as it advanced westward, and the improvements to theirs. As ever in the desert, during this advance supply governed the composition of the air forces acting in support of the Eighth Army. Fighters and fighter-bombers were the chief component of Force ‘A’ because they could be deployed more easily and rapidly, required less maintenance and supplies than bombers, and were more versatile.6 Meanwhile, Axis air forces were expected to be strengthened in the face of a British advance. The initial composition of Force ‘A’ was three RAF fighter wings and the USAAF 57th Fighter Group, consisting of twelve squadrons of RAF fighters and fighter-bombers and three USAAF fighter-bomber squadrons. These formations were commanded by 211 Fighter Group, which received its direction from Coningham at Advanced Air Headquarters Western Desert.7 Force ‘B’, also directed by Advanced Air Headquarters West-ern Desert and 212 Group, operated two Hurricane wings, and two light-bomber wings, to which was attached the 12th Medium Bombardment Group of the United States Army Air Force. In addition, one flight of ‘tank-buster’ Hurricanes was held at readiness for use in the forward areas if suitable targets emerged.8 This organization increased “the speed with which the RAF was able to operate from [landing grounds] as soon as they were captured,” and thus optimized the ability to provide air support.9 To enhance this ability, RAF airfield reconnaissance “parties travelled with leading troops and their supply convoys were given a high priority in the order of march.” They had a W/T link to Advanced Air Headquarters and reported when new landing grounds were ready to be used.10 The need to secure airfields for use by the RAF became basic to Montgomery’s plans. He knew

The Pursuit from El Alamein to Tunisia 119

the Eighth Army could not “fight successfully on land without the closest cooperation of the RAF,” which meant the army must secure and protect landing grounds.11 One of his chief objectives during the pursuit was “to establish the RAF on forward aerodromes, and to use the air arm as [his] long range hitting weapon.”12 To this end, Royal Engineers from Eighth Army were positioned forward to test for and clear airfields of mines.13 The importance of this can be seen when one of Montgomery’s best formations, the New Zealand Division, was “detailed 2,000 fightingmen to pick stones and make a landing ground,” and again at Sedada, where the leading elements of the 7th Armoured Division took along a landing ground party to clear a new landing ground.14 They reached the site at dusk and by “9 o’clock word was received that a landing strip was ready. Two squadrons of fighters, escorting a transport plane with the necessary RDF and immediate requirements, landed.”15 By the next morning, two new landing grounds were operating forty miles ahead of the first one. This continual work allowed fighters and fighter-bombers to operate over the leading elements of the army, but as ever, the ability to deliver close air support depended upon the skill of army commanders and interdiction could be conducted only by close coordination with ground forces. Intelligence remained fundamental to air power during the march to Tunisia. Since operation ‘Compass’, intelligence had “been called upon to play a much larger part in operations as a whole than it [had] previously had the opportunity of doing.”16 In a tactical air force, receiving and accurately transmitting information on the ground situation was essential to keeping pace with the battle, locating targets, and avoiding friendly fire. Indeed, at least “60% of the work of briefing and interrogation [of aircrews] became concerned with the ground rather than the air situation.”17 During mobile operations, the linchpin to success was the intelligence staff at all levels. Experience gained at El Alamein had caused closer liaison between the ALOs (which rose from one to two per Wing of four or five squadrons) and the Wing Intelligence Officer. These officers moved intelligence between their services. These procedures were drilled into neophytes through lectures given by experienced ALOs and intelligence officers.18 The duties and responsibilities of intelligence officers at all levels were more clearly defined, reducing duplication of effort. Group intelligence, for example, coordinated and disseminated intelligence on targets and enemy flak, and reports of individual operations gathered and assessed.19 Wing intelligence officers disseminated intelligence received from Group


down to squadrons. If a Wing was operating essentially as one unit with squadrons engaged on the same task, it was preferable to “draw in Squadron I.O.s and unite all intelligence, including briefing and interrogation, at Wing level.”20 Otherwise, each squadron had separate intelligence briefings, and greater inter-communication was required. Squadron intelligence officers briefed all members of their Squadron before every mission, and passed down intelligence received from Wing, maintained squadron intelligence files (including target maps), and instructed pilots on escape and evasion techniques and enemy tactics. They also passed an initial telephoned summary of mission results to the Wing Intelligence Officer, followed with a detailed written report. As the squadron intelligence officer linked intelligence and operations, he therefore shared a tent with the operations officer.21 During the pursuit, the British exploited the same sources as at El Alamein; but the difficulties associated with moving forward strained the intelligence system. The standard of intelligence remained high throughout the pursuit to Tunisia. Thus, the failure to ever fully exploit the success of the El Alamein victory is an excellent example of good intelligence producing no results. Command at the higher levels, not intelligence or communications, was at fault, showing the symbiotic relationship between them. Many historians correctly have blamed Lt. General Lumsden, commander of X Corps, for failing to pursue the defeated Axis forces swiftly enough, but the ultimate responsibility lay with Montgomery and Coningham. Against this criticism it must be noted that their impressive victories at Alam Halfa and El Alamein had smashed most Axis forces. Thus, the failure to act boldly had consequences, but ironically not the ones most think. On the one hand is the usual argument that the Tunisian campaign would have taken a notably different path, one likely much shorter had the remnants of the Afrika Korps not got there, and instead been smashed in Tripolitania.22 As it was, the Tunisian campaign proved a valuable crucible for future Anglo/American operations. Had they lost in this theatre it would not have meant they would lose the war, but the problems the initial failures illuminated taught some lasting lessons that made them better prepared later in the war. Thus, arguably the Allies gained from Montgomery’s failure to pursue the Afrika Korps aggressively. From a purely academic perspective, Montgomery and Coningham can be criticized for this failure, but benefited from some unintended advantages. During the pursuit, Ultra continued to provide excellent details about the supply state of the Axis forces, their numbers of operational aircraft


and tanks, and often their intentions. Montgomery ignored this intelligence, which provided repeated opportunities to end the desert war in one blow. The reasons for his failure to annihilate quickly the shattered remnants of the Afrika Korps, despite intimate knowledge of its state and intentions, have been debated for years. The most satisfying explanation is that Montgomery was unwilling to risk the possibility of a reversal at the hands of a desperate enemy with a very effective commander able to play to its preference for mobile war. This view is reinforced by Nigel Hamilton’s convincing assertion that Montgomery did not want to capture Tripoli, but rather thought Eisenhower’s forces should do so from the west.23 These Allied forces were much better poised to cut Rommel’s supply lines from Tunisia, and had “a short sea route to the ports of N. Africa; and they [had] a good railway and road system which stretch[ed] nearly to the Tripolitanian border.”24 Montgomery’s behaviour during the advance demonstrates how even the best intelligence will be ignored if it does not meet a commander’s views. A constant stream of valuable and accurate intelligence from Ultra, reinforced by material from other sources, could not persuade Montgomery to act more boldly to bring an end to the campaign. ‘Y’ sources continued to furnish operational and strategic intelligence. Throughout the advance to Tunisia, 276 Wing continued to monitor W/T and R/T with ten mobile field units, supplemented with field units near Benghasi, Alexandria, Malta, and Syria. Both RAF and army ‘Y’ provided accurate information on enemy supply, order of battle, movements, and aerial operations. For example, on 2 November 1942 ‘Y’ located the Afrika Korps’ headquarters and principal formations, and intercepted orders for a counter attack by them.25 These orders also had been signalled using the ‘Scorpion’ Enigma key of Luftwaffe liaison officers, but the decrypted message did not reach Eighth Army headquarters until after the counterattack had occurred.26 This demonstrates the operational use of ‘Y’, its complementary nature to Ultra, and how British intelligence officers exploited several sources instead of putting all their eggs in one basket. The interrogation of prisoners of war remained an important source of strategic and often operational intelligence. According to general wisdom, in the early phases of any new campaign, prisoner of war interrogation was “more accurate and more important than information obtained from [signal] intercepts.”27 The first hints at new weapons, radio equipment, and procedures often came through prisoner of war interrogation, which also filled gaps in enemy order of battle. Long term planning for offensives owed a debt to the interrogation of prisoners


acquainted with the proposed area of operations.28 CSDIC Mediterranean, for example, received information from a prisoner code-named Bianco on the defences and troop locations around Tripoli.29 Information about the state of the enemy commander and his forces also was very valuable. After “the battle of El Alamein Rommel was a changed man, he was very pessimistic and he couldn’t sleep…His health was bad. No more supplies came through, no ships, petrol didn’t exist and there was a shortage of ammunition.”30 Prisoners also illuminated the collapsing relationship between German and Italian forces. Numerous prisoners reported that German forces held their Italian allies in contempt. One stated, for example, that it was “a custom when British soldiers [took] Italians P/W, to disarm them, spank them and then send them back to their own lines, as the British [could not] take the Italian soldier seriously.”31 Another said that the “German soldier in Africa [used] only his right hand with which to fire his rifle, so that he [could] keep his left hand free to prevent his Italian comrade from deserting.”32 Most important was the steady and continuous information on the supply situation of the Axis forces, standard operating procedures, and the effect of aerial operations on Axis morale. Meanwhile, the British tightened the link between interrogation and aerial reconnaissance. Information gained from prisoners on enemy deployment and intentions was checked through photographic reconnaissance, while photographs were used during interrogations to gain clarification of what they showed.33 Captured enemy documents revealed evaluations of British command and procedures, showing that the Germans believed great strides had been made concerning the concealment of pre-battle preparations and signals security, but large scale “operations were only undertaken when a clear numerical superiority in men and equipment was assured.”34 During the pursuit, at no time did the British troops use their advantages of terrain and numerical superiority to overtake their enemy. If they did break through they were very rapidly halted and reorganised. The pursuit developed into a methodical and absolutely safe following behind a retreating foe.35 The combination of a lack of British boldness, tolerably good German tactical intelligence, and Rommel’s dynamism let the Axis forces extricate themselves from several dangerous situations.36 Thus intelligence, though potentially valuable, could not influence Montgomery’s style of warfare.


Tactical and photographic reconnaissance gave the Eighth Army and the RAF’s Force ‘A’ much operational intelligence. 285 Reconnaissance Wing, and the South African Air Force’s (SAAF) 40 Army Cooperation Squadron “kept as close as possible to Advanced Air H.Q. Western Desert” to provide such intelligence.37 During the entire advance to Tunisia, 285 Wing headquarters was never more than ten miles from Advanced Air Headquarters. To provide tactical reconnaissance, 40 SAAF Squadron normally kept one flight of aircraft with a forward fighter wing. Initially, this step was taken because of a lack of landing grounds, but it greatly facilitated the provision of a fighter escort when necessary. During 318 sorties, the squadron lost six aircraft, three to enemy fighters and three by anti-aircraft fire. Despite the losses, the “system of broadcasting the results of the Tac/R’s over the Air Support Control Links proved very successful.”38 The Baltimore II aircraft of 1437 Strategic Reconnaissance Flight were used to trace the withdrawal and movements of the enemy forces, and to confirm intelligence received through other sources.39 This process was aided by 60 SAAF Survey Flight, recalled from the Delta in November 1942 to monitor the Mersa Brega defences, and later to confirm intelligence gained through prisoner of war interrogation and signals intelligence on the Buerat and Mareth lines.40 Indeed, much important intelligence on the strength and deployment of the Axis forces at Mareth was gained through the interrogation of General von Thoma, including the number of troops facing the British, the nature of the defences, and technical details about German equipment.41 For example, when asked whether there were 150,000 troops at Mareth, von Thoma replied “No, no, about 40,000.”42 Number 2 PRU (newly equipped with Spitfire VDs) was responsible for providing photographic coverage of the battle areas and beyond, for planning air and ground operations, enemy landing grounds, harbours, and special targets requested by HQ RAF Middle East.43 As the unit could not handle these diverse and heavy demands, it was reorganized in February 1943. Together with the flight of 69 Squadron based at Malta, it was formed into 680 Squadron, again under the direction of 285 Wing.44 This step, and the gain of more aircraft and support staff, eased the overtaxed photographic reconnaissance system. 285 Wing headquarters also was reorganized to increase efficiency. A Wing Commander and Squadron Leader with expert knowledge of tactical and photographic reconnaissance intelligence acted as an advisory staff to the Air Officer Commanding on all matters pertaining to


reconnaissance and its development.45 Thus, the problems associated with acquiring and assessing reconnaissance material continued to receive high priority, and to be solved. The system for delivering air support was in place and RAF aircrew possessed sufficient practical experience to conduct damaging operations, if focused correctly. During the battle for Mersa Brega–El Agheila of 13–17 December, for example, 2/5 AASC operated twelve tentacles, three tentacles to XXX Corps headquarters, two to 7th Armoured Division, four to the New Zealand Division that spearheaded the operation, and three to 51st Division.46 Ground to air recognition signals were worked out, and coloured smoke, essential to air support, marked the targets.47 Most air support, however, again was focused on providing reconnaissance and fighter cover over advancing troops against an enemy air force which rarely appeared, and harassing fleeing enemy columns. Air power was not used to its utmost effect. Neither were the ground forces. Senior RAF and army commanders did not envisage the complete collapse of the Panzer Army and Axis air forces, and did not seriously try to achieve that end, despite the plans for operation ‘Grapeshot’, and the fact that operation ‘Lightfoot’ was to “destroy the enemy forces opposing 8 Army. The operations [were to] be designed to trap the enemy in his present area and to destroy him there.”48 The battles at El Alamein had largely destroyed the Axis forces, as Montgomery understood in theory. Measures had been implemented to facilitate a rapid advance, and intelligence supported bold action. However, pursuing and trapping the retreating remains of the Panzer Army required the kind of rapid movement that the Eighth Army, and British forces in general, found difficult. A long tradition of colonial operations had instilled a deep appreciation of the importance of ensuring supply at the expense of operational manoeuvre. Fighting in the desert reinforced this notion. Montgomery wished to avoid any possibility of a reversal at Rommel’s hands, and his belief that Tripoli should be taken from the West, caused him to miss several opportunities to bring the campaign in the desert to an end faster than it did.49 For years after the war, Montgomery deflected criticism about the slow advance by blaming heavy rainfall, as did his Chief of Staff, MajorGeneral Francis de Guingand, without acknowledging that these rains should have affected the Panzer Army as well. However, Montgomery was not alone in his lack of vigorous pursuit. The RAF too did not foresee the situation that arose directly after the battle. The concentrated use of air power against the shattered remains of the Panzer Army still within range might have caused “such demoralisation and congestion


along the coast road as to leave them easy prey to the advancing Eighth Army.”50 The RAF failed to do so. Even so, at times, the RAF did temporarily stop the retreating enemy, but the Eighth Army never capitalized on this action. During the pursuit, the RAF’s fighter force was tasked to provide air cover over the advancing elements, contrary to the doctrine developed during two years of fighting, and in violation of Churchill’s directive.51 Instead of attacking the remaining elements of the Panzer Army, RAF pilots engaged in fighter patrols against a non-existent enemy. Since Ultra revealed the dismal state of the Axis air forces and the Panzer Army, and complete details about the failure to reinforce the Luftwaffe, the continuation of air cover in the face of this detailed and reliable knowledge is difficult to defend, or even understand. The RAF command must share the blame for the failure to aggressively pursue Panzer Army Africa. The price of equal status with the army was equal responsibility for failing to use effectively the RAF’s resources. RAF commanders ignored abundant intelligence on the deplorable state of the Panzer Army, and played their part in failing to turn victory into annihilation. Difficulties with supply for the RAF in Montgomery’s plans certainly played a role in the failure to trounce Rommel’s forces, but do not explain the change in Coningham’s approach. It emphasized a defensive end – ensuring fighter dominance over the front – rather than an aggressive one, getting “the fighters right forward quickly in long bounds and not on the final sledgehammer offensive from the air which would bring the last remnants of the Panzer Army to a standstill before they had managed to make good their escape from Egypt.”52 Historian Vincent Orange has offered an explanation of this failure by showing that detailed “Army and Air Force plans had been made for the battle and the pursuit, but not for a brief, though potentially vital, period of overlap.”53 Both Montgomery and Coningham planned to pursue, not annihilate, the enemy, and “therefore insured against an aerial opposition which proved negligible.”54 On its own, the air support system would have done much to smash the Panzer Army. Indeed, after El Alamein, Hitler forbade Rommel to retreat, ordering that he “show them no other road than that to victory or death.”55 However, reality dictated otherwise – the Panzer Army soon retreated to Fuka and had no intention of stopping there. Ultra and photographic reconnaissance made this manifest to Montgomery, Tedder, and Coningham, but they did not act decisively. Despite these errors, tactical air power remained Britain’s most effective weapon against the retreating Panzer Army. Since the British forces

126

Map 5.2

The Pursuit to Tunisia – Missed Opportunities


rarely were fast enough to force battle, offensive air power typically focused on interdiction against supply, and concentrations of forces on the battlefield. During the night of 4 November, for example, fifty-two Wellingtons from 205 Group conducted seventy-three sorties against enormous quantities of motorized transport illuminated by Albacore aircraft, causing considerable moral and material damage to the Panzer Army.56 On the night of 5 November, again, 205 Group dropped 150 tons of bombs on retreating enemy columns, causing several direct hits and starting some thirty fires, 73 Squadron’s night-flying Hurricanes, strafed hundreds of troop-carrying lorries on the roads near the Garawla-Fuka area.57 However slow the advance of the Eighth Army, Rommel felt that overhead “the R.A.F. reigned supreme, flying one attack after the other against every worthwhile target.”58 This pressure, and the size of the Eighth Army in pursuit, kept Rommel on the run. The LRDG and tactical and strategic reconnaissance located choke points like the Halfaya and Sollum passes where the flow of Axis vehicles became thick and slow.59 RAF aircraft of all types attacked forward vehicles at these points, and halted the forty kilometre-long column, providing ideal targets for air attack, for the Eighth Army to catch and smash the Panzer Army. The opportunity was missed. During the retreat through the Sollum pass, the enemy vehicles were out of range of the Fleet Air Arm’s Albacores, forcing Wellingtons from 205 Group to illuminate their own targets. Moreover, the RAF did not disrupt the withdrawal trying to destroy the pass itself. On 10 November, Axis forces blew a huge crater in the road at the foot of the Sollum Pass, which caused considerable delay to the advancing Eighth Army. So too, two aircraft from 104 Squadron carried 4,000-pound bombs that might have wrecked the road in front of the retreating columns.60 This was not attacked. Despite another missed opportunity, the RAF inflicted significant damage on the enemy. In just under five hours on the night of 7 November, 44 Wellington and 8 Halifax bombers dropped 86 tons of bombs, scoring twelve direct hits and starting thirty fires.61 The “incessant attacks of the R.A.F.” damaged morale and material and slowed traffic to a crawl, but not enough to let the Eighth Army catch up.62 This pattern continued into Cyrenaica, with fighters covering forward troops and flying occasional harassing attacks, and Wellington and Halifax heavy bombers striking retreating columns by night. The tank-buster squadrons stayed in the rear, despite a plethora of suitable targets, and a disorganized enemy unable to mount significant air


defence.63 Although the RAF often led the advance, its attacks were only partially successful and the ground forces were too slow to catch the enemy. The weakness of the pursuit allowed Rommel to fight a brilliant rear-guard action and occasionally to convince the British that he intended to stand and fight. Though intelligence showed that this was not his intention, Montgomery and Coningham fell for this bluff and built up their forces for battles that never happened, slowing their pursuit. Meanwhile, interdiction against supply by land and sea added to the enemy’s terrible supply difficulties. By 6 November, 15th Panzer Division was desperately short of fuel and more importantly water, as the “water supply installations at Mersa Matruh were blown up before the combat troops arrived.”64 Unlike before El Alamein, however, landbased interdiction operations were aided by the Ultra-driven sea interdiction campaign against Italian merchant traffic. In November 1942, the supplies landed in Libya were sufficient to cover the needs of the Panzer Army, but in December only 12,981 tons of supplies were dispatched from Italy, far too small a figure to start with, of which only 47.4 percent reached Libya.65 Land-based interdiction accounted for the poor state of the Panzer Army before December 1942, but from this point, aircraft from Malta and the Royal Navy took a leading role in the war on supply. No only were these attacks devastating, but even had all the supplies sent to Libya arrived there, they were too small to meet the needs of Axis forces, the result of too many commitments, and enemies. Ultra and the LRDG suggested the Afrika Korps was intending to withdraw from El Agheila, and moving the non-motorized Italian troops as early as 5 December, but Rommel was too short of petrol and motorized transport to withdraw all the Afrika Korps.66 Once again, quick action by the Eighth Army could have annihilated the remnants of the Afrika Korps. British forces had roughly 400 tanks and 200 armoured cars, compared to 80 Axis tanks and 100 armoured cars.67 The British possessed overwhelming air superiority, and despite supply difficulties of their own, retained a much higher rate of serviceability.68 Typically, despite abundant intelligence suggesting a different course of action, Montgomery slowly built up his forces for a set-piece battle, including provisions for air support.69 Ultra repeatedly revealed the dismal state of the Axis forces. Supply difficulties destroyed the mobility of the Afrika Korps, which had earlier been trump card. On 14 December, it had only enough fuel for fifty kilometres, and feared


it would run out completely at Nofila.70 Fliegerfuehrer Afrika had similar difficulties, and was not expected to provide any ground support against a British attack.71 Ralph Bennett, a Hut 3 Duty Officer at Bletchley Park and later an historian of Ultra intelligence, has offered a plausible explanation for Montgomery’s actions at El Agheila. In particular, he proposes veterans of previous defeats around El Agheila feared another one, and wished to avoid unnecessary casualties, while minefields around Mersa Brega were admittedly thick, and it was hard to bring up sufficient supplies to sustain a force large enough to encircle the Afrika Korps. The latter has force. On 28 November 1942, the RAF required 400 tons of supplies per day, which by 16 December 1942, had risen to 1,400 tons.72 British supply problems forced Montgomery to attempt to break through the Buerat position and seize the port of Tripoli. To accomplish this end, Montgomery felt he needed ten days worth of ammunition, fuel, and other supplies. It took from the end of December 1942 until 14 January 1943 to build up the necessary dumps.73 By that time Rommel’s aerial reconnaissance had forewarned him and he had begun his withdrawal to the Mareth position in Tunisia. Once again, the trap failed to close. Tripoli was captured on 23 January, but Rommel had escaped complete defeat. The performance of British forces shows how one element in a C3I system can cause the failure of the whole. During the pursuit from El Alamein to Tunisia, especially in its initial stages, command failed. Montgomery’s initial failure to ensure that his forces moved quickly and ruthlessly let the Panzer Army escape. Then supply difficulties and caution hampered attempts to force a final battle. The RAF succeeded in getting large numbers of effective aircraft in a position to offer air support, but then misused them. Despite heroic efforts on the part of Air Marshal Sir Thomas Elmhirst, responsible for making RAF units more mobile, supply difficulties reduced the ability of RAF aircraft to operate during the advance. Yet other parts of C3I still worked well. Intelligence systems and communications, while strained by mobile operations far from supply, functioned adequately to guide close air support, interdiction, and mobile operations.74 For example, during the pursuit Montgomery repeatedly lost touch with Lumsden’s X Corps, and assigned Major Mather as a liaison officer, equipped with a special radio link to Montgomery’s headquarters.75 British signals security left much to be desired, but the Panzer Army was unable to exploit the errors, though it did aid Rommel’s rear-guard action. Although


the Eighth Army’s strength kept Rommel on the run, it was unable to complete the victory begun at El Alamein. That task was left for Tunisia. Rommel had arrived beaten and weak, having lost an estimated 86,000 forces from El Alamein to Tripoli and arriving in Tunisia with roughly 22,000, but he had arrived nonetheless.76

6 Air Support during Operation ‘Torch’

On 8 November 1942, a week after the victory at El Alamein, AngloAmerican forces, commanded by General Dwight Eisenhower, invaded Northwest Africa in operation ‘Torch’. Planning by a combined BritishAmerican staff began in London during July 1942, but air support did not receive proper attention.1 Neither the ground nor air forces from the United States or Britain received much air support training. The 33 U.S. Fighter Group that landed at Port Lyautey, for example, was trained for the air defence of the United States.2 More importantly, neither the RAF nor the USAAF had adopted the air support system developed in the desert, nor developed an effective one of their own. Thus, Allied air forces failed to provide air support with any effect during the first four months following ‘Torch’. The failure to see the value of the air support system developed in the desert was due in part to the repeated failures by the Eighth Army until just four months before ‘Torch’, which cast doubt on the changes the Desert Air Force made to officially held doctrines. From July 1942, the USAAF’s Major-General Brereton, attached to the Desert Air Force with two fighter groups and one medium bomber group from the USAAF, reported favourably to General H. Arnold about Coningham’s air support system.3 Little attention was paid because of a perceived failure by those forces at Gazala, and perhaps doubts about Brereton’s competence. Lieutenant General Omar Bradley later described Brereton as “difficult to do business with,” bent on finding comfortable surroundings for his headquarters.4 Even had Arnold fully accepted Brereton’s reports, too much neglect of air support for too long would have prevented it from aiding the planning of ‘Torch’. In any case, Eisenhower’s air advisors relied on the flawed FM 31-35 as their guide when formulating the ‘Torch’ air plan.5 Even worse, poor C3I arrangements accompanied the Allied forces 131


to North Africa, and prevented the effective application of tactical air power. The first battle of the Tunisian campaign was fought over whether to conduct it at all. The American Chiefs of Staff, and in particular General Marshall, firmly opposed the decision to invade North Africa. The Americans feared that the Red Army would collapse, and that only a second front could relieve the pressure.6 Marshall, preferring to invade France and resisting the dispersion of effort in other theatres, implemented a year long build-up of forces in the United Kingdom, codenamed ‘Bolero’.7 Marshall thus summarized his position: Western Europe is favored as the theater in which to stage the first major offensive by the United States and Great Britain…Through France passes our shortest route to the heart of Germany. In no other area can we attain the overwhelming air superiority vital to successful land attack; while here and here only can the bulk of the British air and ground forces be employed. In this area the United States can concentrate and maintain a larger force than it can in any other. A British-American attack through Western Europe provides the only feasible method for employing the bulk of the combat power of the United States, the United Kingdom and Russia in a concerted effort against a single enemy.8 This invasion would be named ‘Roundup’. The competing plan, championed by Churchill, was the invasion of French North Africa, codenamed ‘Gymnast’. The Arcadia conference in Washington D.C. from 23 December 1941 to 14 January 1942, focused on these competing ideas. Churchill argued “a campaign must be fought in 1942 to gain possession of, or conquer, the whole of the North African shore, including the Atlantic ports of Morocco.”9 U.S. planners rejected ‘Gymnast’ because it required cooperation with the Vichy French government, while the invading force’s lines of communications would be vulnerable, the lack of infrastructure in the theatre would slow an advance after the invasion, and this operation would contribute only indirectly to victory.10 Furthermore, added Marshall’s senior strategic advisor, Major General Stanley Embeck, the operation would be a poor staging area for operations against Europe and to adopt it would be a “mistake of the first magnitude.”11 Churchill, however, never lost his enthusiasm for ‘Gymnast’, and at a conference in Washington D.C. in June 1942, pressed the Americans to adopt it. Over Marshall’s objections, which included focusing on the

Air Support during Operation ‘Torch’ 133

war against Japan should the British insist on ‘Gymnast’, Roosevelt favoured Churchill’s plan.12 On 22 July, the British War Cabinet voted against any cross-Channel attack for 1942, and plans for operation ‘Torch’ (as ‘Gymnast’ became known) advanced.13 Despite Marshall’s opposition to the concept of ‘Torch’, once the decision was made to conduct the operation, all possible support was thrown behind it. To fail in the first American operation in the European theatre would have been far worse than to conduct an operation Marshall disagreed with, although distaste there was. Arnold, irritated by the need to divert resources from the heavy bomber force in Britain to the African campaign, estimated the chance of success of operation ‘Torch’ as less than fifty percent.14 Eisenhower and Patton felt “the operation [was] bad and [was] mostly political. However, we [were] told to do it and intend[ed] to succeed or die in the attempt.”15 From the outset, the operation incorporated British and American forces to ensure a smooth coalition operation. There were “two Deputy Chiefs of Staff, one British and one American.”16 Great pains were taken to select “American and British officers to fill key positions in the command and staff organizations.”17 The different ways each armed force operated had to be reconciled to avoid breaches of security and speed up communication. For example, their varying security classification systems meant that sensitive material might be sent to a lower level than desired. All officers were instructed on these differences through a signal operation instruction. Thus, the United States classification of ‘Secret’ equalled British ‘Most Secret’ and so on, while American messages marked ‘Urgent’ equalled British signals marked ‘Emergency’.18 Difficulties invariably resulted from different operating procedures, but these declined as the forces gained experience working with each other. From Allied Force Headquarters (AFHQ), initially in Gibraltar but soon moved to Algiers, General Eisenhower commanded the landings and the exploitation by the British First Army. He also controlled all ground, air, and naval units taking part in the operation by issuing objectives to the representatives of these services, which for the air forces were American General James Doolittle and British Air Marshal Sir William Welsh. The ‘Torch’ would be lit by several landings along the North African shore to seize desirable ports within the limits of Allied air power, followed by the seizure of the French province of Tunisia.19 Oran and Algiers were key targets because of their port facilities, and the important airfields near them. It was decided, after much debate, also to assault Casablanca so to secure the rear areas and lines of communication of

134

Map 6.1

Operation ‘Torch’ 8 November 1942


the main advance. Intelligence showed that the Germans and Italians expected a landing further south in Dakar.20 American Office of Strategic Services (OSS) officers reinforced this perception. More broadly, the Germans really did not expect a major Allied threat to North Africa, and the considerable security around the operation enabled ‘Torch’ to be conducted as planned, without interference from the Germans.21 The need for air support shaped the choice of objectives, since the weakness of the operation “was the lack of air bases to provide air cover and support for this vast enterprise in its initial stages.”22 During the assault at Algiers, carrier-borne aircraft from HMS Argus and HMS Avenger, backed by those on HMS Formidable and HMS Victorious if required, furnished air support, while the Air Group of U.S. Naval Task Force 34 covered the Casablanca landings.23 The total carrier-borne fighter strength was roughly 166 aircraft, against an estimated operational force of 500 French aircraft.24 Thus, ground-based aircraft had to provide most of the initial air support for the landings. Whilst some of these aircraft were based at Gibraltar, most would need to be established on a landing ground when captured. The Western Task Force (WTF), which sailed from the United States and was commanded by Major General George S. Patton, was to capture Casablanca and then establish communications with Centre Task Force near Oran. It also was to build up ground and air striking forces able to secure Spanish Morocco, and handle 57,000 French troops in Morocco.25 For this task it received the 3rd and 9th Infantry Divisions (less a combat team assigned to the Eastern Task Force), the 2nd Armoured Division, the 70th and 756th Tank battalions, the 603rd and 609th, and 702nd Tank Destroyer Companies, and the 36th Combat Engineer Regiment. Attached to the WTF was XII Air Support Command under Major General Cannon, which was to use captured airfields to operate 160 short-range fighters, 13 fighter-observation aircraft, and 15 light bombers within six days of the landings.26 Centre Task Force (CTF), transported and supported by the Royal Navy, sailing from Britain and commanded by American Major General Lloyd Fredendall, was to take Oran. Its 37,100 U.S. ground forces, augmented by 3,600 British troops, were to push inland following the landings, to seize aerodromes around Oran, cover the area, and drive on the coast to capture the shore batteries. Facing the assault forces were roughly 16,700 troops of the Oran Division. Air support came from carrier aircraft and American ground-based aircraft of the Twelfth Air Force, based initially in Gibraltar and commanded by General Doolittle.27


12th Air Force had an AASC to receive calls from subordinate units. Five air Support Parties (designed to filter and disseminate requests for air support) were with leading units. Once USAAF planes arrived at nearby airfields, the AASC transmitted missions approved by CTF to 12th Air Force. Until then, the Air Support Control Officer relayed all missions requested by CTF to the Royal Navy.28 Each division headquarters had an Air Support Party (ASP) to process requests for support from forward units. When the Division approved a request, the ASP would then contact the Air Support Control (ASC) at Corps headquarters, seeking the Corps commander’s approval. If that was forthcoming, ASC would then request action by the Air Support Command’s aircraft.29 An air support command in contact with the army commander monitored the requests and provided guidance if necessary.30 In practice, this system distributed the available air power among ground force commanders, who believed they had their own small air force, often at the expense of overall efficiency. After CTF ground forces captured Oran, and the airfields of Tafaraoui and La Senia, USAAF air forces flew in and began operations. On the day after the landings, 31st Fighter Group operated from Tafaraoui, as with 1st Fighter Group did from La Senia and 60th Observation Group flying from Tafaraoui on each of the next two days. Within the next two weeks, a further two Fighter Groups, two Bomber Groups, and three Transport Groups were operating from around Oran.31 The Eastern Task Force (ETF), containing British and American ground forces, sailing from Britain but commanded by Lt.-General Sir Kenneth Anderson, was to take Algiers and the airfields nearby. The ETF then would lead the thrust towards Tunis. Facing the assault forces were close to 35,000 infantry, an anti-aircraft regiment, an armoured force, 52 Fighters, 39 Bombers, 20 Transport aircraft, and 2 Reconnaissance aircraft.32 An AASC and nine tentacles provided air support for the ETF. The commander of 34th U.S. Division or the British 78th Division, depending upon which formation controlled ‘active operations at the time’ would make requests for tactical reconnaissance or fighter protection (the only suggested uses for tactical air power) to the RAF commander of the fighter sector at Maison Blanche when communications had been established.33 These requests would be accepted only if the air situation around Algiers permitted.34 During the initial advance into Tunisia, the AASC moved with the lead division, its tentacles at the battalion level. As forces expanded, the AASC moved to Corps headquarters, and tentacles to brigades. As


Allied forces moved east, direct point-to-point communication between AASC and the aerodromes became difficult or completely impossible. Although some requests for support were relayed through a wireless link to increase the range of the signal, many had to be transmitted to First Army headquarters, through to AHQ Algiers, which would consider the proposal and send orders for the mission to the local airfields. This convoluted arrangement was time consuming, often unworkable, and rigid. In such “circumstances air support must be to a set plan and cannot be laid on at very short notice.”35 As in the desert, the tentacles often were used to report the position of friendly troops during advances, not for air support. Meanwhile, Axis air forces, rapidly reinforced, were strong. They had 420 aircraft in Tunisia with significant reinforcements available in Sicily and Sardinia, against some 639 Allied aircraft in Tunisia, supplemented by 230 more at Malta.36 The Axis air forces could deploy this strength quickly because of their all-weather airfields, whereas the Allies found suitable airfields difficult to locate. Moreover, during the initial stages, in Tunisia the German fighter force had serviceability far better than in the desert, often approaching 70 percent.37 Although the Allies possessed more aircraft, they were unable to use them effectively because of poor airfields, lack of spare parts, and poor C3I. Until February 1943, Axis air power in Tunisia was more powerful than it had been in Libya for eighteen months, and that of the Allies far weaker. The Allied air forces were organized in two portions corresponding to the geographical organization of the task forces, and their expected consolidation into the British First and American Fifth Armies.38 Eastern Air Command (EAC), under the command of Welsh, supported the advance of the British First Army in its race to Tunis. Western Air Command, the USAAF Twelfth Air Force led by General James H. Doolittle, supported the Western Task Force, and prepared for possible action against Spanish Morocco or Spain if the lines of communication were threatened.39 In September 1942, Welsh issued an initial air plan for operation ‘Torch’. It showed how little the air support system developed in the desert had filtered through to the rest of the RAF, and how far the legacy of disastrous relations between the RAF and the army still ruled in Whitehall. Tedder had convinced the CAS, Portal, that “only a centralised and flexible organisation can achieve…the air situation in which naval and land forces can operate successfully.”40 Portal urged the Defence Committee to adopt the Middle East system. With Slessor’s help, he began planning for future operations in Europe using “a mixed force of fighters, light bombers, army support and reconnaissance squadrons…


all under the command of a single AOC-in-C.”41 However, repeated failures of British forces in the Middle East reduced the credibility of the Middle East system. The most notable opponent was the CIGS, General Alan Brooke, who thought the RAF wished to fight its own separate war and that its “policy conspired against meeting the Army’s legitimate needs.”42 Such opposition prevented the broader adoption of the Middle East system for army support and it was likely only the experience of El Alamein that drove the point home to Alan Brooke. Not until 14 November 1942 was the old way, favoured by Alan Brooke, of an army ‘component’ supported by an RAF ‘contingent’ abandoned in favour of Coningham and Tedder’s system of a unified air force working in conjunction with the ground forces.43 Consequently, the forces engaged in ‘Torch’ lacked a workable air support system, while its ground and air commanders had little idea how to use tactical air power. During ‘Torch’, the air forces were tasked to cover the landings, protect the lines of communication against air attack, disseminate propaganda by leaflet dropping, to provide support for land operations, and an offensive air striking force for strategic bombing.44 Despite this lip service to close support, only thirty-six Army Cooperation aircraft were allotted to First Army in the Algiers area; with thirteen each allotted to Oran and Casablanca.45 It was felt that “Army support requirements [would] be limited to local tactical reconnaissance, reminiscent of interwar ideas of air support, which held that the chief use of aircraft was in reconnaissance.”46 Originally, the plan for ‘Torch’ involved an overall air commander, but Eisenhower had accepted Spaatz’s advice that such an arrangement was impracticable. Rather than organizing air forces under one commander with access to all the available intelligence, thus able to focus his strength against the best target, the RAF and USAAF essentially fought separate wars. For example, in early 1943 American ground commanders refused to let their aircraft respond to calls for air support from the French XIX Corps, which was under heavy Axis attack, because they considered these forces their own property.47 Spaatz tried to resolve the problem by placing XII ASC and II Corps headquarters next to each other, so that XII ASC’s new commander, Col. Howard Craig, could stop Fredendall from “making damned fool decisions” about air support.48 The obvious need for unity of command drew Eisenhower, in January 1943, to make Spaatz overall commander of the Allied air forces. To mitigate his lack of combat experience, and placate British sentiments, the more experienced Air Vice Marshal James Robb became his chief of staff.49 Although an improvement, it could not overcome ground commanders’ insistence on using fighters in wasteful ‘umbrella


patrols’ over the front lines, which had been forbidden over the Western Desert by Churchill in 1941.50 The poor initial organization of these air forces crippled all attempts to coordinate their efforts. When units from the XII Bomber Command USAAF were allocated to support, calls had to go through the chain of command to Headquarters Eastern Task Force, then to Welsh who commanded EAC, to the Twelfth Air Force and then to XII Bomber Command.51 This cumbersome procedure was made worse by poor communication systems, multiplied the time required before aircraft could be launched. In this first Anglo-American coalition operation, problems in combining or commanding bi-national forces made the C3I system even more complex. Anderson, although required to follow orders issued by General Eisenhower, was told that in “the unlikely event of your receiving an order which, in your view, will give rise to a grave and exceptional situation, you have the right to appeal to the War Office.”52 This provision, only to be exercised when doing so did not endanger any Allied force or lose an opportunity, never was used, but even allowing it showed the difficulty of conducting coalition operations. On 4 January 1943, USAAF units operating from Youks were placed at Lawson’s disposal for a bombing mission. The initial mission was aborted due to problems of coordinating fighter escort. When asked to repeat it later in the day, the units replied that they first must get permission from the U.S. Air Headquarters.53 The Allied commanders had to learn much about designing efficient C3I systems, and had learned little from the lessons of the Western Desert. During a talk to senior British and American officers, Coningham said that he did not understand “why some of the Army and Air officers concerned in the planning of “Torch” did not visit the Western Desert and learn at least some of the simple lessons which Eighth Army mastered over 12 months.”54 The failure increased the already considerable problems associated with fighting in the Tunisian theatre. The lack of usable airfields around the landing areas or the front prevented Allied air forces from deploying strength fully. Most airfields captured by the Allies were rendered almost useless by heavy rainfall, and quickly congested with aircraft which, by 30 November, had reached “dangerous limits.” Thus, no further American squadrons were brought forward until suitable airfields had been secured.55 Axis air forces, by contrast, operating from all-weather airfields, could deploy rapidly over the front, harrying the advance of First Army.56 These circumstances, together with the misunderstanding amongst Allied ground forces of the proper organization and use of tactical air power, crippled Allied air power.

140

Map 6.2

Algeria and Tunisia 1942


It was hoped that 5–20 days after the initial landings, “G.O.C. First Army and A.O.C. RAF will have established their H.Q. in close proximity at Algiers.”57 The commanders of EAC and First Army were supposed to plan for the provision of pre-arranged air support through direct liaison. However, this key to the application of air support was forgotten during operations, these headquarters rarely were located near each other and moved constantly, making communication problems worse.58 Meanwhile, the communication systems within each part of the Allied force were unsuited to operations in the theatre. Thus, Allied operational communications in Tunisia during November 1942 were almost worse than they had been during ‘Crusader’ a year before. This was a major concern of Air Commodore Lawson, who was made responsible for the operation of forward squadrons supporting First Army’s advance when he joined the Army Support Group Command Post (formed to give EAC some means of controlling air operations). On 20 November, Lawson complained to EAC that communications were in a chaotic condition. Advanced AFHQs Command Signal Section [was] working but [could] not get communication with any of the forward aerodromes or AHQ. The Signal personnel here [were] convinced it [was] due to the fact that the receiver stations [were] not told of the existence of Command Post or of the frequencies on which they [were] working.59 Lawson went on to say that he was “astonished at…the lack of knowledge of the operational setup and of the urgency for drive in getting proper communications established.”60 The Army Support Group Command Post could not keep up with the constant movements of EAC HQ, and relied on the close support controls to communicate with forward airfields.61 This situation was mitigated by upgraded signal communications within the EAC and between First Army, but not completely solved. The Command Post’s responsibilities included the planning for and operational control of 322 and 324 Fighter Wings and 326 Light Bomber Wing.62 Despite these improvements, First Army remained dissatisfied with its air support.63 Relations between EAC and First Army deteriorated because EAC could not continue constant patrols over the front to break up attacking Axis dive-bombers – an extremely wasteful role. As during the interwar period and early in the desert fighting, air support became impossible in a climate of mutual hostility. On 9 December, Anderson


objected to a diversion of air effort from umbrella patrols to an attack on the Sfax-Sousse-Tunis railway. He had just heard all aircraft at Youks tomorrow being employed on special tasks. Thus completely removing them from task of supporting Fifth Corps. As this special task presumably connected with operation First Army would much appreciate being at least informed of nature of task if not consulted beforehand. Co-operation not easy when kept in the dark.64 Welsh responded that he had tried but failed to tell Anderson on the phone of the special operation, illuminating the basic communication difficulties within both services. However, he noted these aircraft remained available to V Corps, but five hours were needed before the aircraft could begin to respond. Understandably Anderson called this notion “farcical.”65 The situation worsened in December. When requesting a series of sorties, V Corps demanded “that this programme not be interrupted as happened today without previous arrangements with V Corps and 242 Group.”66 To solve the problem, AFHQ (not EAC) would coordinate any future bomber effort, and receive any bombing requests by First Army. However, as direct communication was impossible between AFHQ and First Army, such requests had to be passed to AFHQ through EAC signal channels.67 Delays due to disorganization and improper use of air power were worsened by the inexperience of RAF and USAAF pilots in air support. Even veteran pilots from the Western Desert had to adapt to a new environment in stark contrast to the desert. The regions of Tunisia where Allied forces were operating were mountainous and covered with trees, providing ample camouflage from aircraft. All USAAF and most RAF pilots were completely untrained for air support operations. Only combat experience could provide solutions to these operational difficulties, but the learning curve associated with the organization of air power could have been steeper by adapting the template that already existed. Because few of the lessons learned in the Western Desert had filtered out of the theatre, those units participating in ‘Torch’ had many lessons to learn. One such lesson was the unsuitability of the Bisley light bomber for daylight operations.68 The Bisley, essentially a Blenheim V light bomber, had seen service in the desert, but had been largely phased out in mid-1942 because of its slow speed, and light bomb load. Poor


Allied C3I, which often did not allow coordination of bomber missions with fighter escort, made this worse. On 4 December, nearly an entire squadron of Bisley bombers perished in one mission primarily due to enemy fighters.69 Many other difficulties stemmed from poor Allied C3I, and a close examination of these C3I systems will explain how and why air support failed to aid the ground offensive. The same sources of intelligence that guided close air support and interdiction operations in the desert were essential to operations in Tunisia, and available there, but poor organization and inexperienced staffs crippled them, much as in the early stages of the desert campaign. While some difficulties were unavoidable until intelligence personnel had sufficient practical experience in the theatre, the organization and integration of intelligence into planning could and should have been far better, because a workable template was close at hand. The GC&CS at Bletchley Park transmitted Ultra information to recipients through Special Liaison Units (SLU) and Special Communication Units (SCU) links. When designing the intelligence apparatus to accompany the Anglo/American forces to Tunisia, an officer from GC&CS was appointed Chief Air Intelligence Officer (CAIO), with authority over intelligence staffs from EAC and the USAAF 12th Air Force, and responsible for integrating low-grade signals intelligence (‘Y’) into the intelligence appreciations sent to commanders. The staff at AFHQ, however, had no one skilled in the use of Army signals intelligence, while the ground forces were not represented at its joint intelligence reporting centre.70 Hence, Ultra intelligence reached Anderson through a very convoluted fashion. The procedure began at Bletchley Park, where Axis messages were decrypted and analysed by intelligence officers, sometimes several hours after interception, and information was re-enciphered and transmitted to AFHQ, initially at Gibraltar. These messaged were deciphered at Gibraltar, with important pieces there re-enciphered and transmitted through a SCU/SLU link to Western, Centre, and Eastern Task forces where, once again, texts were deciphered and truly vital information was re-enciphered and sent to Anderson. However, First Army headquarters moved so frequently and its communication links were often so unreliable, that receipt of intelligence was further delayed.71 This completely unsatisfactory arrangement lasted until February 1943, when ground and air forces, and their intelligence systems, were totally reorganized.


Well into 1943 in Tunisia, Ultra was of little operational value, and even that was crippled by the convolution in its dissemination. Even so, Ultra’s long lifespan left it the best source for strategic intelligence on enemy movements, strength, capabilities, and the effect of Allied operations on Axis forces. On 9 November, for example, Ultra showed the build-up of German air strength by revealing that Fliegerkorps II had established an advanced headquarters in Tunis, and reinforcements of the latest and best German aircraft (Focke Wulf 190s) had taken station on the nearby El Aouina airfield.72 Ultra also traced the increase in German ground forces around Tunis. On 10 November, Ultra reported that Kampfgruppe ‘T’ was being formed in Tunis, and illuminated the reinforcements being sent to Tunisia.73 Inexperienced intelligence staffs degraded the operational value of ‘Y’ during the initial campaign. New to the work and to each other, and without “practical experience of the interception of German Air Force traffic, or any other intercept work,” their sole experience came from “a hurried course in the UK.”74 Though British ‘Y’ units in the United Kingdom were to train their American counterpart and the Colonel who was to command them all in North Africa, this task was not accomplished by the time the landings occurred.75 Even had this happened, the organization and integration of American ‘Y’ left much to be desired. The integration of experienced British personnel into American ‘Y’ units did, however, aid their performance.76 To provide ‘Y’ for the landings, the main RAF ‘Y’ station at Cheadle sent intercepted traffic, the solutions to low-grade codes, and traffic analysis material to the headquarters ships of Eastern Task Force.77 Numerous problems plagued these units, and the entire Allied ‘Y’ organization. The CAIO, his army equivalent at AFHQ, and their staffs were too inexperienced and poorly equipped to handle incoming ‘Y’ intelligence. Not that there was much of it, owing to inadequacies in radio sets, organization, and personnel. After the landings, two new ‘Y’ units were allocated to RAF ‘Y’. Number 380 Wireless Unit remained behind the advance to perform W/T duties, while 381 Wireless Unit intercepted R/T for the advancing units.78 380 WU, however, was not operational until 20 November, nor able to receive signals from Cheadle until 27 November. Thus, it too had serious equipment and staff problems, while the terrain encountered in Tunisia created interception difficulties. Consequently, it gave little or no warning of the enemy air attacks that so delayed First Army’s initial advance.


American and British army ‘Y’ units experienced similar difficulties. First Army’s ‘Y’ unit, for example, split in half and transported in two separate convoys, was inoperative until late December when it thus discovered the same problems which plagued air ‘Y’ staffs.79 Nor had the planning for ‘Torch’ heeded the lessons learned by ‘Y’ units in the Western Desert. Eighth Army ‘Y’ units created a Special Wireless Group which monitored the enemy’s entire communication network throughout the theatre, so that the Combined Bureau Middle East could identify the codes and ciphers in use and attack those the Field Units could not exploit. During the final phases of operation ‘Torch’, First Army’s ‘Y’ unit tried to do this, but at the expense of exploiting tactical traffic.80 Moreover, no one attempted to intercept German Army Enigma traffic transmitted on Medium Frequencies, which could only be exploited in the forward areas.81 Subsequently, much valuable traffic was simply unavailable to AFHQ or First Army. Air and ground ‘Y’ failed largely because the Allies were unprepared for the scale of operations in the Tunisian theatre, and ignored the hard lessons learned by the RAF and Eighth Army in the desert. So too, until February 1943 the provisions for prisoner of war interrogation were inadequate, given that it provided 50 percent of all intelligence.82 Detailed interrogations still took place in the United Kingdom, where information was collated with other intelligence before being disseminated to field commanders, but until February 1943 there was no coordinated Allied effort to extract operational or tactical intelligence. The American and British interrogation teams operated as separate entities. The desert campaign had shown that the exploitation of captured documents went hand-in-hand with the interrogation of prisoners. Documents provided background on enemy units for use in interrogation, or details for strategic and operational intelligence. However, provisions using the source were inadequate. Not until May of 1943 was it recognized that “valuable enemy documents [were] frequently found on all kinds of captured equipment, particularly in vehicles.”83 Prior to the landings, units were to “supply themselves…if practicable with large envelopes and bags” appropriate to send captured documents to the Assistant Chief of Staff Intelligence of the task force.84 After the landings, when AFHQ had located itself at Algiers, a G-2 (intelligence) Captured Documents section was set up to collate all such documents, but their effort took months to become effective.85


The provision of photographic reconnaissance was equally poor. The lead elements of the advancing Allied forces had only one photographic reconnaissance unit equipped with six Spitfires, far too few for such a vital function. This allocation was not expanded until late February 1943, when the Allied air forces in Tunisia learned what the Desert Air Force already knew – that reconnaissance was vital to all applications of tactical air power. As with all the Anglo/American forces, the American and British photographic units fought separate wars during the initial stages of the Tunisian campaign. Neither the British 4th Photographic Unit nor the USAAF 3rd Photographic Reconnaissance Group made any contribution until late February. Number 4 PRU, supplemented by a few Bisley light bombers, provided all photographic reconnaissance for First Army from Maison Blanche airfield near Algiers.86 It was plagued by a lack of water for developing its photographs, and crippled by a loss of equipment on 20 November when a raid on Maison Blanche destroyed three Spitfires and damaged two others out of the original six.87 The USAAF’s 3rd Photographic Reconnaissance Group, though intended to relieve 4 PRU at Maison Blanche in December 1942 or January 1943, was not operational until February. Meanwhile, the distance between Maison Blanche and the front, combined with too few and too inexperienced photographic interpreters, delayed and rendered useless much of the intelligence that photographic reconnaissance units did gather.88 The lack of success in photographic reconnaissance occurred because the planners of ‘Torch’ misunderstood its role and value. On 26 October 1942, the Joint Planning Staff and Intelligence Section worked out a guide for the “coordinated demands for Air Photography in the Mediterranean.” This did not meet the operational requirements in Tunisia.89 However, by the end of December, the speed and reliability of photographic reconnaissance began to improve greatly, reflecting the growing appreciation of its value. All the scattered elements of the photographic reconnaissance system were gathered together, making them easier to coordinate. Two RAF interpreters were left with 4 PRU for first phase interpretation. The remaining five interpreters were assembled together with the British Army interpreters to form the North African Central Interpretation Unit (NACIU) at EAC headquarters at Maison Carree.90 All air photographic resources were put under the command of Lt. Col. Elliot Roosevelt, who was responsible for the execution and exploitation of missions. A PRU Committee was set up to oversee


Map 6.3

Tunisia 1942–43


photographic reconnaissance activities, and comprised a member of the Air Staff of AFHQ, the Chief of G-2 (Intelligence) AFHQ, the Assistant Chief of Staff A2 of XII Air Force, the Chief Intelligence Officer of EAC, and the Commanding Officer of the NACIU.91 This was a key step towards the integration of photographic reconnaissance, but its effect was not realized until communication systems were improved and a command structure existed to act on improved intelligence. The same was true of tactical reconnaissance. 225 Squadron RAF and 154 Squadron USAAF provided tactical reconnaissance for First Army. 225 Squadron technically was under the operational control of 242 Wing; 154 Squadron USAAF was under the operational control of the USAAF’s XII Air Support Command but 242 Group was to designate its missions. As discovered in the desert, the real control lay in the hands of army commanders at the expense of overall efficiency. Ground force commanders issued orders for reconnaissance straight to squadrons.92 In addition, as the communication networks were so inadequate during the initial stages, much of this intelligence never reached those who needed it. Moreover, the overwhelming presence of the Axis air forces, in the face of unfocused and mostly uninformed Allied air power, made fighter escort essential to successful tactical reconnaissance flights, sometimes requiring as much as two full squadrons per mission.93 The tactical reconnaissance squadrons were eventually required to supplement the photographic reconnaissance unit’s efforts by providing oblique and vertical photographs. Five of the seventeen aircraft of 225 Squadron were capable of taking pictures, as were a further two aircraft of 154 Squadron.94 Tactical reconnaissance pilots learned, as they had in the desert, that flying above 3,000 feet avoided much anti-aircraft fire, and gave pilots a better impression of the area than flying lower.95 The Allied intelligence services all suffered from an understandable lack of experience, and a less forgivable lack of integration and organization, which combined to render them largely useless to the main goal of advancing on and capturing Tunis and Bizerta. The British First Army managed to advance to within fifteen miles of Tunis within twenty days of the landings, but this was due as much to the Axis decision to withdraw eastward and establish bridgeheads around these two port cities than the success of the Allied battle plan. Once they met determined resistance, deficiencies in communication, intelligence, command structures, and the organization and ability to deploy their forces became quite evident. In such a context, air support, which had proven so successful in the desert, was of little use.


The limitation of having much of the air strength initially located at Gibraltar was unavoidable, but the organizational difficulties could have been overcome by drawing upon the template developed in the desert. By doing so, it would have been possible to use the scarce air resources to their fullest during the initial stages of the advance to Tunis. Instead, the air effort was diffuse, uncoordinated, and largely ineffective. Consequently, Allied ground forces were subjected to heavy enemy air attack that delayed their advance, and the Allied air forces were unable to offer close support with any effect because the air resources were being used poorly. Where the WDAF was able to direct its air resources against Axis supply when not required for close support, the Allied Air Forces in Tunisia were unable to affect this vital flow. Indeed, early air and naval action against reinforcements being sent to Tunisia (reinforcements which eventually halted First Army’s advance only fifteen miles from Tunis) may have paid huge dividends. Instead, the German Naval Operations Staff found supplying Tunis to be an easy task, and Goering boasted that Tunis was only “a panther’s leap” across the water from Sicily.96 Between December 1942 to February 1943, the Axis forces were able to transport roughly “150,000 men with their armor and equipment, and supported and then maintained them almost wholly from airdromes and seaports within the range of [Allied] air forces.”97 The difficulties experienced both with the C3I systems of the Allied forces, and the practical problems associated with maintaining and deploying large numbers of aircraft, appeared at all levels. Even medical provisions were inadequate. When 614 Squadron was moved, on 5 December, from Blida to Canrobert, several men became ill and required hospitalization which was “not available due to lack of organisation.”98 Maintenance arrangements were so inadequate that serviceability dropped continually. By January 1943, many squadrons were in the same position as 13 Squadron, whose average number of serviceable aircraft was never more than six.99 This was due to forcing standing patrols over the front lines, with their consequent wear on pilots and planes, as well as an increased expenditure of fuel and spare parts. In addition, the souring relationship between army and air commanders, because of this use of air power, exacerbated the numerous problems with Allied C3I. Despite these problems, the baptism of fire First Army received gave it valuable experience that increased its fighting value, and showed the organizational and material weaknesses of their forces. Reorganization at all levels was essential not only to the effective application of air


support, but to the efficient use of all Allied forces. The Axis forces noted a steady increase in the fighting value of both British and American forces with a particular increase in the degree of air/ground cooperation, “which was not good at the beginning of the campaign [but] had improved noticeably by the end.”100 A valuable first step towards the reorganization of air support aircraft had been taken on 22 January 1943. Concern over the state of Allied air support prompted General Spaatz to send a message to Air Marshal Tedder in which the situation was described as ‘critical’.101 In response, Spaatz established the Allied Air Support Command under the command of American General Kuter.102 This arrangement, which was part of the general reorganization agreed upon by Allied leaders at the Casablanca conference earlier in January, saw General Kuter coordinating requests for air support between Twelfth Air Force and EAC.103 This organization resulted in “more substantial help [from the air forces] than in the earlier days of the operations.”104 XII ASC received its baptism of fire through operations designed to deny the enemy the use of the air, to afford reconnaissance for the ground troops, and to offer some air support for the ground forces “by bombing and strafing attacks against enemy ground targets.”105 Most of the operations were reconnaissance, but strafing and bombing missions were carried out when suitable targets were found, a task made more difficult by poor C3I. Indeed, of the 1,801 sorties flown from 21 January to 14 February, only 425 were in close support, while 1,052 were either escort for reconnaissance and bombing missions or fighter patrols.106 The losses were roughly equal to the number of enemy aircraft destroyed, and it was claimed that seventy-seven trucks, four tanks, and an additional twenty vehicles were destroyed, with a further one hundred and seventy-three trucks, five tanks, and seventyone other vehicles damaged.107 This was a respectable record for green units. Thus, many of the important factors in successful air support operations were slowly beginning to develop in Tunisia. Intelligence personnel had gained experience that made them technically more competent than they had been initially, and ground and air forces were receiving combat experience that had improved their value. These improvements, although as yet unfocused, had only come through a difficult and largely unnecessary trial by fire. The dispute between the CAS and CIGS over control of air forces resulted, much as in the interwar period, in the failure to adopt the coherent air support system developed in the desert. The American forces can be more easily


forgiven for ignoring the advice from Brereton, but the result was the same. In both cases, it was the failure of existing air support systems in combat that forced the change. However, until the reorganization of intelligence systems and Allied ground and air forces, their full potential, and the potential of air support that depended so heavily upon effective intelligence, was not realized.

7 Air Support after the Reorganization of February 1943

The inability of ground and air commanders in Tunisia to deploy and control their forces effectively caused a general reorganization of forces and intelligence in February 1943. Finally, much of the experience gained during the fighting in the Western Desert was drawn upon, while many officers and personnel from the Eighth Army and the Western Desert Air Force were transferred to Tunisia. A more streamlined and rational command structure, with better communications between the command levels and services, allowed the already improving intelligence system to be more easily integrated into operations. Alongside these changes to C3I, airfield construction, repair and salvage, and general supply were improved, while valuable combat experience enhanced the quality of Allied forces. Thus, Allied air forces were able to provide far better support to greater effect. On 19 February, as a result of decisions made at the Casablanca Conference, the Mediterranean Air Command (MAC) was formed under Tedder’s command. Its purpose was to unify all Allied air efforts over the Mediterranean, on land or over water. To ensure representation of both British and American officers, Air Vice Marshal Wigglesworth was named Deputy Commander, with USAAF Brigadier General Howard A. Craig his Chief of Staff.1 This arrangement gave the two most senior positions to experienced WDAF officers, which made practical sense, given their greater experience. Beneath MAC headquarters, a new Northwest African Air Force (NWAAF) was formed to “unify the diverse activities of the various elements comprising within the combat area Western Desert Air Force of the Middle East, the British Eastern Air Command, and the United States Twelfth Air Force.”2 Its commander was General Carl Spaatz, with Coningham’s old friend Air Vice Marshal Robb appointed as his deputy. The NWAAF had three separate combat elements and the staffs made up 152

Air Support after the Reorganization of February 1943 153

as equally as possible from the RAF and USAAF. 3 First, the Northwest African Strategic Air Force (NWASAF) under the command of General Doolittle, controlled all medium and heavy bombers, with the primary mission of destroying enemy naval and air bases, as well as communications and convoys. Coningham, with his unequalled experience in tactical air operations, commanded the second element, the Northwest African Tactical Air Force (NWATAF) consisting of fighter, fighter-bomber, light bomber, and reconnaissance squadrons from 242 Group RAF, USAAF XII ASC, and the Western Desert Air Force. His mission was the close support of ground forces. The third combat element, the Northwest African Coastal Air Force (NWACAF) commanded by Air Vice Marshal Sir Hugh Lloyd, included elements of the RAF’s Eastern Air Command. It was charged with the defence of Allied ports and convoys and of carrying out anti-shipping and anti-submarine patrols.4 This command structure stemmed from experience in the desert, and was led by many key officers from there to ensure a smooth transition. Previous air efforts were diffuse and largely ineffective. Now, given adequate communications, a streamlined command structure could pass intelligence and orders with a minimum of delay, offering a flexible use of aircraft against the best possible target. Where NWASAF and NWACAF essentially were national commands drawn from forces deployed in ‘Torch’, half of NWATAF’s forces, mostly American units, came from that area but were under the control of Coningham, a British officer from the desert. This was bound to irritate Americans, especially since Coningham tended to take over control of Spaatz’s forces at key moments. Not every officer approved of these sweeping changes. In particular, Doolittle “strongly opposed…the consolidation of British and American areas, air units or systems and [felt] that they [were] more effectively employed when completely segregated.”5 Similarly, Patton, promoted to command II US Corps after the Kasserine battles, felt he should control aircraft operating in his command area. This debate over the role of air power led to what Tedder called a “major crisis in Anglo-American relations” when II Corps rebuked NWATAF after a light raid by a dozen Luftwaffe aircraft on his headquarters, claiming Patton’s troops had been “continuously bombed all morning,” while a total “lack of air cover for our Units [had] allowed [the] German Air Force to operate at will.”6 This unfair statement incensed Coningham who fired back an equally ill-conceived signal If [situation report] is in earnest and balanced against above facts, it can only be assumed that II Corps personnel concerned are not battleworthy in terms of present operations.


In view of outstandingly efficient and successful work of American Air Command concerned, it is requested that such inaccurate and exaggerated report should cease. 12th ASC have been instructed not to allow their brilliant and conscientious air support of II Corps to be affected by this false cry of ‘wolf’.7 Although Tedder and Eisenhower forced apologies from the two officers, this event nearly caused Eisenhower to resign and showed the underlying difficulties in Anglo/American relations, and just how able and determined senior commanders had to be in order control them. A survey in the Middle East during May 1943 found that “71% of the American enlisted men in the area [said] there [was] much ill-feeling between Americans and British.”8 This situation worsened by the superior attitude displayed by Eighth Army, which forgot its own failures as it advanced toward Tunisia. Aside from convincing senior officers that the new organization was an improvement, other difficulties had to be overcome, such as in the supply of spare parts, pilot training and replacement, and airfield construction.9 In order to achieve these ends, Training Command was formed to impart experience to new aircrew before they were assigned to combat formations. Experienced instructors fine-tuned basic flying skills and taught new pilots about the specific dangers of the new theatre, which often were different from those experienced in the desert. Troop Carrier Command ferried vital supplies to forward airfields, towed glider borne troops and paratroopers, and evacuated wounded to rear hospitals. Similarly, British and American maintenance organizations were combined in the Air Service Command, which administered the “vast organization of service and supply, including all essential materials for the service and equipment of aircraft, and for the construction and maintenance of airfields.”10 The result was a vastly improved ability to maintain and operate aircraft over the battlefield. In order to let intelligence flow, enable commanders to create a plan for operations, and permit it to be executed, rapid and reliable communications had to be provided between headquarters, commands, and units of the NWAAF. This was essential in order to allow intelligence to flow, to enable commanders to create a plan for operations, and to permit the plan to be executed. That was doubly so because Coningham wished to eliminate the rigid boundaries between the formations under his control, and make them one. He disliked the existing arrangement by which operations were restricted to “areas within ranges of aircraft from their home bases,” as this was inefficient.11 Instead, the “main elements of the Force


should be capable of providing mutual support and concentration as necessitated by operations.”12 Aircraft should be able to move from one sector to another at short notice, so to achieve concentration against the best targets. This, in turn, required knowing what these targets were and being able to direct aircraft against them. The lesson of the importance of intelligence and communication to air support, learned at great cost in the Western Desert, was transferred to Tunisia. Most communications between NWAAF units were by landline with W/T backup. The predominance of landline communication, made possible by a relatively static battlefield allowed much more secure communications. The main difficulty facing the signals service was “equipping and manning a number of new formations from the resources available to the existing, and much smaller, organization,” since new equipment could not quickly be supplied.13 As the United Kingdom provided only small numbers of inadequately trained reinforcements, most of these needs had to be met by transferring personnel and units from current tasks within the theatre.14 The signals section of EAC, for example, would take the same role for HQ NWAAF, with many more subordinate commands, and “also carry the communication requirements of HQ Mediterranean Air Command.”15 At the time of the reorganization, HQ NWATAF had just two twin-channel low power mobile W.T. Stations.16 Of its subordinate formations, only the Western Desert Air Force “was completely equipped and able to take over any new W.T. commitments required” by MAC.17 The USAAF’s XII Air Support Command could handle its own internal communications, but nothing further. Other RAF units had chaotic communication systems. In order to solve these problems, No.2 Signals Section was assigned to XII ASC to provide new operational channels. 242 Group so to control both 322 and 324 Wings, and 326 Wing provided communications for the newly created Tactical Bomber Force.18 Despite these difficulties, the improvements in signals and command allowed for far better use of intelligence and forces. In early 1943, a series of rules accepted by American and British forces standardized signals procedures, enhancing the speed with which messages could be sent and received, and minimizing the chances of misunderstanding. These procedures covered landline and radio communication, and dictated the form messages would take, and processes for transmitting them. For example, when using radio, if a call was not promptly answered it was immediately repeated; if the second call was not answered, the calling station would wait two minutes before trying again. To preserve security, and prevent enemy ‘Y’ units from


reconstructing Allied order of battle and deployment, calls were rarely repeated more than three times.19 Ground formations in Tunisia, meanwhile, were reorganized broadly as were the air forces. A newly formed 18th Army Group, commanded by General Alexander, received operational command of all ground forces including the British First and Eighth Armies, the American II Corps, the French XIX Corps, and reserve forces. Eisenhower at AFHQ issued broad directives, but Alexander, with more combat experience than Eisenhower, designed the plan to carry them out. Communications were augmented to allow more contact between formations, especially between 18th Army Group and its direct subordinates. Signals insecurity continued to dog all ground formations, and to a lesser degree air forces because of their greater reliance on landlines, especially because they had not been given sufficient attention during training before ‘Torch’. Thus, the Axis forces “obtained much information by listening to [Allied] wireless traffic.”20 Signal communication received a higher priority in ground unit training. In particular, signals staffs realized “very quickly that as soon as wireless became the main means of communication, an officer must at all times have the headphones on and be ready to give an immediate answer, and not have to be fetched.”21 Commanders asked signals personnel for advice on the location of headquarters, so to obtain the best communications, and trained ground forces to respect cable routes so to minimize the damage done by vehicles.22 Wireless R/T communication was improved by the introduction of the SCR 299 radio set which could reach a distance of 100 miles during mobile operations, although far less in mountainous areas.23 High-speed wireless links were established between Main and Rear army headquarters and higher commands.24 It also became standard practice for forward battalions to lay cable back to divisional headquarters. The result was that when the Germans attacked, “the line communications were such that really effective defensive fire was brought to bear.”25 This procedure also eased pressure on wireless crews. Communications procedures for requesting air support also were standardized, modelled on those used by Eighth Army and the WDAF. Under the previous chaotic procedure, messages were sent ‘in the clear’ at inappropriate times, or by incorrect codes or ciphers, compromising both operations and intelligence. So to overcome these problems, new instructions were issued concerning procedures for requesting support, and the use of crypto systems. For example, the Syllabic cipher had a low security compared with the Type X machine or book ciphers; so to


avoid enemy exploitation it was no longer used for air support traffic.26 To ensure speed and security, map references for targets were sent in clear, while bomb-lines were encoded on the map reference code.27 Army communications were strained during operations, but remained sufficiently powerful to enable the effective transmission of intelligence up and of orders down the chain of command. The improvements in signals systems and command structures increased the contact between fighting units. Meanwhile, their intelligence was organized more effectively. 18th Army Group became responsible for “coordinating all Intelligence activities of 1st and 8th Armies.”28 It disseminated their daily intelligence reports to other formations, supplemented as necessary by any other incoming intelligence. Personnel trained to handle captured enemy material were attached “to formations for the purpose of collecting, examining and passing back captured material during specific operations.”29 18th Army Group’s Intelligence section became responsible for coordinating photographic reconnaissance efforts, and the collection and exchange of ‘Y’ intelligence for First and Eighth Armies.30 This step eliminated the previous division between American and British forces, and ensured that intelligence was exploited as fully as possible. Until the Eighth Army entered the theatre, no ‘J’ service functioned in Tunisia. However, two ‘Phantom’ squadrons were there, one with II US Corps and one with First Army. ‘Phantom’ units, originally formed in 1939 to locate forward troop positions for the RAF, developed into a system to pass intelligence to higher commanders.31 Their clients considered both systems invaluable, so much so that in February, it was proposed that ‘Phantom’ and ‘J’ units be amalgamated. First and Eighth Army opposed this proposal, which they held would destroy their value. ‘Phantom’ patrols essentially were mobile, with their Intelligence Officers moving “about a great deal over the battlefield.”32 Their task did not tie them to a particular place or unit, and it was felt to be a waste to force specially trained Intelligence Officers to undertake ‘J’ work.33 By contrast, ‘J’ units had to be static, with a rear link “in continuous touch with Army HQ.”34 In the mountainous country, ‘J’ detachments must be stationed where good reception could be assured, and not move except in urgent circumstances.35 After considerable discussion, it was decided that while amalgamation was impossible, establishing a joint ‘Phantom’ and ‘J’ office at advanced Army Headquarters would be beneficial, while “Phantom Patrols and ‘J’ detachments in the field [could] be of great help to each other.”36 As in the desert, the Air Support Control system became central to the communication and the intelligence gathering and dissemination


systems. To ensure that air support functioned adequately in Tunisia, the officer responsible for creating the Western Desert Air Force’s system (Lt. Col. J.M. McNeill) was attached to the G (Air) section of HQ 18th Army Group in February 1943.37 Although the procedures within First Army, II U.S. Corps, and Eighth Army were not standardized completely, the principles behind them were similar. Reflecting experience gained in the desert, combined army/air headquarters were established for major ground formations. First Army formed a combined headquarters with 242 Group RAF, and II US Corps with XII ASC, while the WDAF continued its association with Eighth Army.38 At each combined headquarters was an AASC. The well-tested combination of 2/5 AASC at HQ WDAF/Eighth Army was continued and imitated at 242 Group by 9 AASC, joined by 7 AASC in mid-March 1943. XII ASC had its own air support system, similar to the British one. Additionally, 7/9 AASC and 12 ASC had rear communication links to the newly created Tactical Bomber Force, which had been formed at Coningham’s insistence and under his control from the light and medium bomber squadrons in Tunisia so they could easily be used for close support.39 18th Army Group staff had “a G I and G III Air, who combined the duties of a main air support control…with the coordination of all photographic and reconnaissance demands which were made by 18th Army Group or which were beyond the scope of the three combined H.Q. concerned.”40 Both First and Eighth Armies had a G2 Air and staff, who concentrated on the coordination of intelligence for air support operations. II US Corps had a G2 intelligence section working with the XII ASC operations staff.41 Moreover, the allotment of liaison officers increased to two for each bomber and fighter wing, and three for each tactical reconnaissance squadron.42 This organization, copied directly from the WDAF and Eighth Army, improved the ability of ground and air commanders to remain ‘in the military picture’. Also brought from the Western Desert was a procedure to reduce friendly fire, the bomb-line, defined as “the expected line of forward troops during the next two hours” during mobile operations. During relatively static operations in Tunisia, however, the bomb-line could be moved close to the forward line of troops to “afford them the maximum benefit of air effort.”43 This line sent by tentacles or air support parties to the AASC, together with reports of enemy air activity and the results of Allied air support operations.44 So too were standardized ground recognition signals. Ground and air units were trained in their proper use, improving the ability to receive and act upon tactical intelligence.45


This system gave individual ground formations quick access to close support aircraft when necessary, but without the cost of the system created for ‘Torch’ – the dispersion of aircraft without regard to the bigger picture. Recognizing that even army commanders lacked access to all intelligence, and thus might use aircraft for their own purposes at the expense of overall efficiency, Coningham formed a main air support net at 18th Army Group/NWATAF headquarters.46 Its purpose was to connect all three AASC’s with available intelligence by a reliable communications network. The AASC’s and the main air support control were in constant touch, knew which targets were being attacked, and the strength, times and results of attacks. This development, combined with improvements to the intelligence system, let HQ 18th Army Group/ NWATAF redirect fighters and fighter-bombers when necessary, to “apply the Tactical Bomber Force where most vital, and if necessary to call in the additional weight of the Strategic Bomber Force.”47 Thus, command and communication systems could make good use of intelligence, but the intelligence system remained to be reorganized to gain full value from the changes. In February 1943, the procedure for disseminating Ultra decrypts was streamlined so that it was signalled directly from GC&CS to HQ 18th Army Group and HQ Northwest African Air Forces, and to First Army until April 1943.48 The mere receipt of Ultra, however, did not ensure accurate intelligence. Indeed, the inexperience of British and American intelligence staffs in Tunisia caused difficulties, most notably before the Kasserine battles when over-reliance on Ultra led to a failure to predict the offensive. Still, Ultra was an excellent source for strategic intelligence, rising in value as intelligence staffs became more experienced and it was better integrated into operational planning. Near the end of the campaign, the value of Ultra declined as Axis armies relied on landline communication, but by this time the Allies were sufficiently competent to substitute other sources. The value of ‘Y’ intelligence was by this time as apparent to air and ground commanders in Tunisia as those in the Western Desert. This development particularly surprised American commanders who had expressed doubts about the tactical value of ‘Y’, which explains part of the failure to provide ‘Y’ units for ‘Torch’.49 With the approach of the Eighth Army, the ‘Y’ units in the Western Desert and Tunisia began to broadcast collated reports to their various customers, providing a more accurate and timely picture of enemy order of battle and movements. Meanwhile, enhanced contact between green Tunisian ‘Y’ units and veterans from the Western Desert boosted the technical competence of air and ground ‘Y’ personnel.


The number of ‘Y’ units operating within the Mediterranean theatre did not change, but the advance of Eighth Army shrunk this theatre significantly, and increased their ability to cover the enemy. The RAF’s 276 Wing provided ‘Y’ intelligence to the WDAF and Headquarters RAF Middle East through six W/T and four R/T units. It was augmented by Number 380 Wireless Unit which intercepted W/T traffic, and 381 Wireless Unit, consisting of two smaller R/T units covering German and Italian traffic. No.381 Wireless Unit also sent a small section to the USAAF’s XII ASC. The US II Corps also had its own ‘Y’ unit covering W/T, with two smaller detachments, one covering W/T and the other controlling R/T.50 Supplementing these units were several airborne investigation units to detect and counter German radar and beam navigation systems.51 Where previously twenty-five officers and 231 men staffed the Tunisian 380 and 381 Wireless Units and their associated field units, the approach of 276 Wing increased the number of RAF ‘Y’ personnel to 188 officers and 1,811 men.52 Operational control of ‘Y’ units, including planning and regrouping, was vested in the Chief Signals Intelligence Officer Mediterranean Air Command, responsible to the Air Officer Commanding-in-Chief, through the Chief Intelligence Officer, to provide adequate ‘Y’ intelligence to subordinate commands.53 With the reorganization of command structures, ‘Y’ intelligence increasingly was integrated into operational planning. ‘Y’ officers worked closely with operations and intelligence officers at Group operations rooms, so to coordinate all ‘Y’ sources on the ever-changing enemy locations and habits. Incoming R/T traffic of operational use to air operations, such as “early warning of raids, enemy tactics, dispositions of patrols, locations, morale and similar intelligence,” was passed to the Group controller, and so to HQ NWATAF.54 Also circulated to higher command was “a brief digest of the day’s traffic through their operational group to Intelligence [NWATAF] and thus a continuous appreciation of the opposing enemy fighter force was able to be maintained and, correlated with other intelligence, passed to the Groups, Wings and Squadrons in the field, preventing unnecessary losses.”55 The integration of air ‘Y’ gave a better picture of enemy air movements and directed air support operations away from harm, while guiding attacks on Axis efforts to re-supply Tunisia by air. Operation ‘Flax’, which attempted to choke these efforts, used forms of intelligence to locate incoming enemy transport aircraft for attack by Allied fighters.56 For example, ‘Y’ traced the routes of the giant Me 323s and JU 52s which included a “growing tendency for aircraft to make an intermediate


landing in Sardinia” on their way from Naples to El Aouina or Bizerta airfields.57 On 5 April 1943, two Allied flights attacked enemy transports over the Sicilian straits, while B-17’s bombed the Bizerta and Tunis aerodromes to destroy those transports which got through.58 The abysmal state of First Army’s ‘Y’ was not remedied until February 1943, when it was brought under the direction of experienced staff from Cairo and reinforced by a ‘Y’ unit from Eighth Army. Not until 20 February 1943 did First Army ‘Y’ produce its first operational decrypt. At roughly the same time, its traffic analysis ability significantly improved. This was due to improved organization and staffs, and the fact that the German Army’s signal network, which earlier had been confused and unsettled, began to operate in a more predictable fashion.59 Thus, ‘Y’ provided much better strategic, operational, and tactical intelligence for ground and air forces. Meanwhile, in structural and qualitative terms, the interrogation of prisoners of war also improved dramatically. Before February 1943, British First Army and II U.S. Corps operated separate interrogation units, followed by shipping prisoners to the United Kingdom for detailed interrogation.60 The Eighth Army operated its own unit, CSDIC Middle East, which had achieved great success. The failure to work out an integrated system for dealing with prisoners before ‘Torch’ stemmed from an underestimation of the scale of the operation. In particular, the Americans focused on forward interrogation “by teams attached to divisional H.Q. or cages, with no co-ordination between the teams,” or provision for centralized organization.61 Although this method produced valuable operational intelligence for divisional commanders, the source was not fully exploited. In February 1943, the separate British and American interrogation units in Tunisia were amalgamated to form the Allied Captured Intelligence Centre in Algiers, soon joined by French representatives. In May, following discussions with CSDIC Middle East, this Centre was reorganized as CSDIC (AFHQ).62 This does not seem to have affected interrogation during the Tunisian campaign, but the mere amalgamation of the separate British and American units, and having them liaise with the experienced CSDIC Middle East, improved the situation. Experienced interrogators again gained valuable intelligence from prisoners of all ranks and nationalities. Thus, General von Thoma, commander of the Afrika Korps during the second El Alamein battle, provided information on the Mareth defences in time to affect planning for the attack on that position. He told of fortifications that were


“sufficient defence against the Arabs, but nothing more,” and that 40,000 men were there, not the 150,000 the British thought might be there.63 As ever, the exploitation of captured documents operated handin-hand with prisoner of war (PW) interrogation. Initially, the disjointed provisions for PW interrogation impeded this source, but the formation of a G-2 (Captured Documents) section at AFHQ, the assignment of specialists from 18th Army Group to forward units, and directives on proper procedures for handling captured documents, made it more productive.64 Examples of captured documents included signals and codebooks from the papers of “Luftnachrichten Stelle (Air Signals Station)”, and a collection of “Secret Orders and Decrees for German army and air force personnel in Italy and Sicily.”65 Such items showed enemy standard operating procedures, which could then guide operational planning. As in the Western Desert, strategic intelligence helped to focus operational intelligence gathering, such as aerial reconnaissance. Under operational control of 242 Group, 225 Squadron RAF undertook tactical reconnaissance for First Army, as 154 Squadron did for II U.S. Corps. Because of its greater experience, however, 225 Squadron flew most missions for American forces.66 Five of its twelve Spitfire V aircraft were fitted with oblique cameras, while its four Mustangs were fitted for and used in vertical photographic missions. One Hurricane in reserve could carry vertical and oblique cameras simultaneously.67 Two other squadrons of Spitfires provided tactical reconnaissance for Eighth Army. NWATAF was able to direct any of these aircraft against any area within the theatre, increasing the flexibility of the source. Supplementing their work were the general observations made by aircraft on other missions, reported to and circulated by squadron intelligence officers and ALOs, though trained reconnaissance pilots generally provided better reports. Having 242 Group control tactical reconnaissance aircraft was a distinct improvement over letting individual Corps do so. Each evening, a conference between representatives of First Army and 242 Group considered the requested reconnaissance requirements of Corps and Army. The AASC passed by telephone any requests for reconnaissance or photography from Corps or Army to the Reconnaissance Wing Commander at 242 Group, who either accepted or rejected it, and passed the order to the squadron via the Group Controller. Squadron Intelligence officers and ALOs briefed crews on the mission requirements.68 The Fighter Group Controller who, as in the desert, was the main controlling and coordinating centre for aircraft operations, then handled


the reconnaissance missions.69 This system worked quite well, because it ensured automatic coordination of fighters for defence and attack, including ground support. In other words, it was a rational functional approach to the use of air power. Of 272 tactical reconnaissance missions requested between 18 April and 12 May, 256 were successfully completed; so too were twenty-five of the twenty-seven requests for tactical photography.70 Urgent information from tactical reconnaissance, and from debriefing reports of returning fighter and bomber crews, was broadcast over the AASC links as soon as they were received, followed by more detailed written reports.71 A major enhancement in photographic intelligence occurred in early 1943, when the Photographic Reconnaissance Units in the Western Desert, Tunisia, and Malta were equipped with Mark IX Spitfires. In February 1943, the North African Central Interpretation Unit (NACIU) was expanded to forty-three RAF interpreters and four USAAF interpreters and placed under the control of the newly created Northwest African Photographic Reconnaissance Wing (NAPRW).72 First Army maintained the First Army Photo Centre to which a NACIU officer was attached.73 In addition, 23 interpreters were on the strength of AFHQ to be attached to Corps and Division as necessary.74 These separate interpretation pools, although not on NAPRW strength, maintained liaison with the main unit. Meanwhile, control of photographic intelligence passed to the newly formed HQ NWAAF in collaboration with AFHQ. GSI 18th Army Group and HQ NWATAF directed photographic reconnaissance in support of ground troops.75 NAPRW drew up a schedule of PRU commitments, and assigned “necessary PRU aircraft and personnel, as well as special processing and interpretation personnel to work with the Northwest African Tactical Air Force.”76 The USAAF’s 3rd Photographic Group, Nos.4 and 2 PRU (reorganized and renamed 682 and 680 Photographic Reconnaissance Squadrons), and 60 South African Air Force Survey Flight, which took photos for battlefield maps, provided photographic intelligence for tactical air operations.77 However, a backward step was taken by assigning four Spitfires from 682 Squadron and five P-38s from the USAAF 3rd Photographic Group to First Army during the German Kasserine offensive in February 1943.78 Similarly, late in the campaign 154 Observation Squadron, with P51 Mustangs equipped to take vertical and oblique photographs, relieved NAPRW from taking battlefield photographs for II Corps.79 However, the Allies had enough resources to handle this inefficient practice. Interpretation sections were provided to assess the intelligence from these aircraft, and the rational C3I structure let the intelligence flow without much delay.


Despite these limits, the reorganization of photographic intelligence under a single controlling formation was fundamental in its evolution to a mature intelligence source, similar to the formation of 285 Reconnaissance Wing in the Western Desert during July of 1942. All available photographic aircraft could be used where strategic intelligence indicated they would be of most value, and the supply of suitable technical and interpretation personnel ensured that they provided the greatest amount of operational intelligence possible. Given the need to minimize the number of escorting fighters required for reconnaissance missions, the P-51 was considered “the most suitable aircraft for reconnaissance and intelligence photography,” but until suitable numbers were available, A-20’s with heavy fighter escort were used satisfactorily.80 As in the desert, aircraft operated in pairs, one conducting reconnaissance while the other looked for enemy fighters and anti-aircraft emplacements. These tactics worked well. Between 18 April and 12 May, only one aircraft conducting tactical reconnaissance was lost from 225 Squadron, and three from the less experienced 154 Squadron.81 Combat experience, translated into standard operating procedures, showed it was best to fly between 4,000 and 7,000 feet to avoid the deadly light flak, which caused more casualties than Bofors or heavy flak.82 Moreover, low flying reduced accurate reporting. It was “harder to pin-point accurately when flying low, especially when maps [were] unreliable,” because pilots had to focus on flying and thus missed many details.83 To avoid losses while photographing large areas, they were sub-divided into smaller strips and photographed by several aircraft. This system “was adopted with considerable success on 5 May 1943, prior to the final offensive when a large area near Furna was required for location of gun positions and minefields,” which was central to developing a successful battle plan.84 The sweeping improvements to the C3I system suddenly and substantially enhanced the ability to apply air support quickly and effectively, just as with the WDAF and Eighth Army in mid-1942. These changes immediately provided unprecedented air support for land operations, reinforced by the development of tactics to suit Allied aircraft. Many of the WDAF’s training memoranda were re-issued to the NWATAF, which had been producing their own based on combat experience.85 The battles of the Kasserine pass occurred at roughly the same time as the reorganization of Allied air, ground, and intelligence units, but they did not affect this battle. Ironically, as the Allies were being unified as never before, Axis forces experienced the difficulties associated with disunity of command. Aerial reconnaissance of the Kasserine pass and


Tebessa in southern Tunisia brought Rommel to conclude “that the time was ripe for an all-out thrust to Tebessa.”86 General von Arnim, commander of 5th Panzer Army in northern Tunisia, opposed this decision. He intended to remove 21st Panzer Division from its forward area for refitting, and to transfer 10th Panzer Division to the Kairouan area in east-central Tunisia for use in his own planned offensive west of Tunis.87 Rommel won this debate by signalling the Italian High Command, Comando Supremo, to propose that he launch an immediate attack on Tebessa “from the southwest with 10th and 21st Panzer Divisions under command.”88 Soon, Field Marshal Kesselring’s Assistant Chief of Staff, Colonel Westphal, telephoned von Arnim from Rome to countermand his planned offensive, and transfer of 21st and 10th Panzer Divisions.89 Von Arnim displayed his displeasure by refusing to support Rommel’s offensive. Before the start of the operation, Rommel later claimed, “we had asked von Arnim to send us the 19 Tiger tanks which were with the Fifth Panzer Army…But von Arnim refused our request, saying that all the tanks were under repair, a statement which we later discovered to have been false.”90 Underlying the decision to do as Rommel suggested was the fact that the attack would strike the inexperienced American II Corps. The Axis held that the American army did not possess the “important prerequisite of an experienced officer corps,” and “the bearing of the officers and NCOs [was] much less firm and pronounced than [was] the case in the German Army,” while units were soft.91 This opinion was shared by British commanders including Alexander and, perhaps less surprisingly, Montgomery. On 19 February, Alexander told the War Office that the situation was far from satisfactory. British, American and French units are mixed up on the front especially in the south. Formations have been split up. There is no clear policy and no plan of campaign. The Air is much the same. This is the result of no firm direction or centralised control from above. British are in good heart and have fought well. Americans are ignorant, ill-trained and rather at a loss consequently not too happy…We have quite definitely lost the initiative.92 Although Alexander was correct about American inexperience, they soon proved to be as able in combat as the British, and learned some lessons faster than had the British army in the Western Desert. Nonetheless, neither II US Corps nor XII ASC had much experience before the Kasserine offensive, and were deployed to provide


“a strategic flank guard for our main forces in the north.”93 Rommel’s offensive succeeded largely because it struck green troops and surprised Generals. This offensive was ambitious given the precarious supply position of Axis forces, and the ground over which they were to fight. Rommel used all available Italian troops, and 10th and 21st Panzer Divisions, to strike at Le Kef through Faid and Sidi Bou Zid.94 No advance was expected from the Eighth Army, slowly moving into position around Mareth, for at least a week. Meanwhile, from the north, von Arnim’s forces were to pin the Allied forces by local action, and a broad attack between the coast and Pont du Fahs.95 Because many orders relating to the offensive were transmitted by means other than radio, Ultra missed clues. It did show evidence of von Arnim’s covering offensive in the west, and the move of Axis aircraft to the Kairouan area, but not where the blow would fall.96 A similar performance from Ultra had proven disastrous for the British during Rommel’s first advance in 1941, and was replayed during the Kasserine offensive. Once the operation began, however, Ultra proved invaluable in predicting its scope. Initially, the offensive achieved startling success against bewildered American ground forces which, by 17 February, were being driven from Sbeitla, while the USAAF abandoned the airfields at Feriana and Thelepte for inferior ones further west. Having retreated fifty miles across the arid plain to the Western Dorsale Mountains, the Americans (aided by French and British forces) stood at the Kasserine Pass, which gave access to the supply and administration bases at Tebessa and Le Kef. Their loss could have forced an Allied retreat from Eastern Tunisia.97 Aiding the Allies was the more unified control of air support aircraft. From the start, General Kuter’s Allied Air Support Command directed aircraft from XII ASC and 242 Group against ground targets. Bad weather, however, prevented 242 Group from participating in the battle until the night of 16 February when the Bisley Wing dropped nearly twelve thousand pounds of bombs on enemy motorized transport near Kairouan.98 XII ASC attacked enemy vehicles, tanks, and gun positions, but the disorganization from continually having to evacuate its forward landing grounds, combined with bad weather, crippled its power. On 17 February, Air Marshal Coningham assumed command of the Allied Air Support Command, renamed the Northwest African Tactical Air Force the next day. He immediately ordered XII ASC and 242 Group to use aircraft offensively, rather than defensively as they had been.99 Air support was directed from tanks towards concentrations of enemy troops and soft-

The Battle of Kasserine Pass

167

Map 7.1


Map 7.2

Tunisia January–February 1943


skinned vehicles, which were better targets.100 Moreover, foreshadowing a standard feature of future battles in Tunisia, most of General Spaatz’s strategic bombers were placed at Coningham’s disposal.101 As before El Alamein, the enemy was attacked day and night. On 18 February, the Bisley Wing again dropped 12,000 pounds of bombs on enemy vehicles near Fondouk, with direct hits reported on fifteen to twenty vehicles.102 Increasing pressure from ground and air forces, lack of support from von Arnim, and a deteriorating supply situation caused Rommel’s forces to withdraw south-eastwards on the morning of 23 February. Tactical reconnaissance from 225 Squadron noted the withdrawal of these forces, and congestion of vehicles on the road between Sbiba-Sbeitla. This prompted attacks by the Hurribombers of 225 and 243 Squadrons, escorted by 111 and 93 Squadrons and 152 and 243 Squadron Spitfires respectively.103 By night, the Bisley Wing continued to bomb retreating vehicles.104 Although the air effort still suffered from a lack of adequate airfields, supply, and intelligence, it was far better than anything seen before in Tunisia, and crucial in halting the Axis forces and defeating them. After failing to assist Rommel’s offensive, von Arnim began his own against First Army in northern Tunisia. First Army, supported by 242 Group, which flew over 1,000 sorties during the first five days of March, repulsed this offensive and inflicted heavy losses.105 This offensive also delayed Rommel’s actions against the lead elements of the Eighth Army moving on the Mareth Line. The slow, methodical advance of the Eighth Army meant that until 26 February, Montgomery had few troops or aircraft forward. But by 6 March, when Rommel finally did attack, Montgomery had created a formidable defence of some 600 dug-in antitank guns, roughly 400 tanks, and air superiority from the WDAF ready to meet the attack.106 Even more, these forces covered the line of Rommel’s advance that Ultra had revealed in complete detail. As before at Alam Halfa, Montgomery used his knowledge of Rommel and excellent intelligence from Ultra to place his strength where he knew the German blow would fall. Ultra identified the strength and location of the 10th, 15th, and 21st Panzer Divisions, with a total of 31,000 men and 145 tanks, their line of advance, and the predicted and actual start dates.107 Meanwhile, army ‘Y’ monitored the moves of German units.108 Predictably, the offensive was smashed, leaving fifty-two tanks destroyed, and nearly double that damaged.109 The total failure of the offensive led some Axis commanders to believe the enemy “had wind” of the plan.110 Kesselring


Map 7.3

Tunisia March–April 1943


thought the Italians had leaked. Fortunately for the Allies, no one questioned the security of Enigma. This defeat fractured Axis strength in Tunisia. Continual and increasing attack by naval and air forces on their supplies further weakened their ability to stand. The Allies, assured of victory given their quantitative and growing qualitative advantage, had to keep the enemy from fleeing Tunisia intact, while limiting casualties. Efficient C3I was the key to this strategy, which was well in hand by March. Alexander had two possible means to destroy the Axis forces. He could drive II US Corps between von Arnim’s Fifth Panzer Army in the north and First Panzer Army in the South, or gradually squeeze them into a tiny bridgehead in the north, unable to deploy air or ground forces.111 Alexander chose the latter option, in part because he lacked confidence in American fighting ability, a sentiment shared by Eisenhower and Bradley, Patton’s deputy commander of II US Corps.112 Eighth Army launched the first of these offensives in the south, against the line on which the Axis had been working for several months, strengthening the fortifications, adding anti-tank ditches and minefields, and covering the approaches with “the fire of well defiladed machine-guns and anti-tank guns.”113 These defences made “smashing a way through the Mareth Line frontally a formidable one.”114 Montgomery’s attack (codenamed ‘Pugilist’) began on the night of 20 March. It aimed to “destroy the enemy opposing Eighth Army in the Mareth position, and to advance and capture Sfax.”115 Typically, Montgomery frontally attacked strong enemy defences at the largest and deepest of the Wadis or water courses (Wadi Zigzao).116 When the offensive opened, Eighth Army outnumbered the enemy by four to one in tanks and two to one in troops and artillery. It made little progress, despite the absence of Axis air forces which had been drawn elsewhere. In a masterful use of air power, Coningham had directed Air Commodore Cross, a desert veteran commanding 242 Group, and Major General Paul Williams, commander of XII ASC, to attack the Luftwaffe’s airfields by day and night, to distract their fighters and let the Western Desert Air Force concentrate on air support.117 Meanwhile, New Zealand Corps (2 NZ Division and 8 Armoured Brigade) was sent on a long outflanking manoeuvre along a route thought to be impassable, but the LRDG had found a way through.118 It stalled at the Tebaga Gap (a break in the ridge system between Jebel Tebaga and Jebel Melab, twenty miles southwest of El Hamma) when the Axis detected the move and reinforced the area. Montgomery then sent X Corps and the 1st Armoured Division to help the New Zealanders break through the


Tebaga gap. An outstanding feature of this battle was the intense close support by sixteen squadrons of the WDAF flying low-level attacks.119 As at El Alamein, heavy and continual air attack against concentrations of vehicles and troops of 15th and 21st Panzer Divisions damaged equipment and deprived the Axis of mobility and sleep. During the two nights before the attack, all available heavy, medium, and light bombers attacked targets located by intelligence and illuminated by flare-dropping Albacore aircraft.120 Some 6,000 prisoners taken by Eighth “testified to the terrific moral and material effect caused by this air attack.”121 In order to let the Tactical Air Force operate effectively, the construction of forward airfields received top priority during the preparation for ‘Pugilist’.122 Thus, aircraft were able to respond to calls for support, strike, re-arm, and attack continually throughout the day. The ground operation began on 26 March. It was timed to coincide with “light bomber, fighter bombers and strafing efforts in direct support of 2 New Zealand Division and the 8 Armoured Brigade”, moving just ahead of the creeping artillery barrage, that formed a nearly perfect bomb-line.123 Air Marshal Harry Broadhurst, commanding WDAF, designed an air program to coordinate strikes by three light bomber Wings, five fighter Wings, and one Tank Buster Squadron. Their pilots were briefed by Squadron Intelligence Officers as to primary and secondary targets located by visual and photographic reconnaissance, backed up by ‘Y’ reports.124 Once over the target, tactical intelligence aided target location, and in denoting friendly troops from the enemy. Orange smoke indicated the line of forward troops, and three letters (A, E and H) were built on the ground the previous day and each pilot was given the pinpoints of their locations, and each formation leader was briefed to orbit the letters before setting course for the target, as a warning to our ground troops that the attack was to start.125 This practice, combined with the artillery barrage, ensured that aircraft hammered their targets, but did not attack friendly troops. Two new features of this battle were the use of Forward Air Controls (FAC) and Forward Bomber Control. The FACs, airmen in the lead formations equipped with radios to receive calls for air support and direct aircraft onto their targets, would become standard in campaigns in Italy and Northwest Europe. Advance Air Headquarters, Western Desert, formed the Forward Bomber Control, because light bomber wings were located too far from advance headquarters to guarantee


telephone communication. It operated throughout the rest of the Tunisian campaign. Forward Bomber Control was established “with the Fighter Group Headquarters (211 Group) who maintained landline communications with the Fighter Wings and usually with AAHQ.”126 Targets came to the Forward Bomber Control from AAHQ in the form either of definite objectives located by intelligence, or as a general directive based on reports from pilots returning from missions.127 Thus, aircraft were directed as accurately and as quickly as possible to suitable targets. The constant attack pinned down enemy troops, and destroyed or damaged enemy equipment, reduced their firepower, and encouraged friendly troops. Five hundred and fourteen thousand pounds of bombs were dropped in close support on 21 March alone, and on a similar scale throughout the operation.128 The fighter Wings alone claimed eightyfive motorized transports destroyed and 210 damaged, and seven gun emplacements smashed with eight more damaged.129 This terrific aerial assault was possible only because of good intelligence, coordinated efforts brought about by improvements to the C3I systems of the Allied forces, and the rapid establishment of air superiority. In turn, these improvements allowed the effective use of the Hurricane IID Tank-Buster aircraft, which had not acted in previous offensives because of their vulnerability to Axis fighters and anti-aircraft fire. On 22 March, twenty Hurricane IID’s of 6 Squadron, escorted by fighters from 239 Wing, attacked a concentration of vehicles located by tactical reconnaissance. The attack claimed twenty Mark III Panzers hit with four set on fire, twelve Mark IV Panzers hit with one left burning, and five lorries and one 88mm anti-tank gun destroyed.130 Another raid claimed fourteen tanks destroyed.131 After the battle, Montgomery praised the air support of the WDAF, by writing to Coningham and Broadhurst; I would like to convey to you my great appreciation of the superb support to the land battle that has been given by the Air Forces under your command yesterday, and in fact every day since the battle began. Such intimate and close support has never to my knowledge been achieved before and it has been an inspiration to all the troops. Please convey to all Commanders and all the pilots the grateful thanks of myself and the whole Army for their truly magnificent effort.132 According to Montgomery, the “outstanding feature of the battle…was the air action in cooperation with the outflanking forces.”133


Coningham too was pleased with the operation, which he called “an example of the proper use of air power in accordance with the principle of concentration.”134 Further, he wrote, such results could not be achieved unless the control of air forces was centralized by an Air Commander working closely in coordination with the strategic direction of the Army Commander.135 With this successful coordination of ground and air forces, the Mareth position was outflanked and the Axis forces rapidly withdrew to the Wadi Akrit position. Ironically, Rommel believed this position was far stronger than the Mareth defences, should have been the first line occupied by First Panzer Army when it reached Tunisia.136 On 24 March, von Arnim had withdrawn the Italian forces to Wadi Akrit, acknowledging the loss of the Mareth Line before it occurred and preparing for the next phase. His forces, though dealt heavy blows and shaken, still could hold their front. The reorganization of ground and air units and C3I began to take full effect at the end of the Kasserine offensive. It allowed for more damaging air support operations, like those at Mareth, and let the Tactical Air Force harass the retreating enemy, and hammer its supply organization. This campaign worked with attacks against attempts to re-supply by sea and by air, conducted by the Strategic Air Force and the Coastal Air Force. While the armies pursued the retreating Axis forces towards Wadi Akrit, the Desert Air Force harassed the retreating enemy by attacking concentrations of trucks and troops whenever they accumulated, by day and night, supported by XII ASC, the Tactical Bomber Force, and 242 Group when the enemy came within range.137 Strategic intelligence reported the retreat to Wadi Akrit, which focused operational intelligence in a very cost-effective manner. Although Wadi Akrit was a formidable defensive position difficult to outflank, the Axis offered just token resistance to the Eighth Army. Photographic and tactical reconnaissance showed the continuous move northward of transport, indicating that the Axis intended to fight only a delaying action.138 That withdrawal halted only at the Enfidaville position 150 miles to the north. The Axis arrived there on 11 April, two days ahead of Eighth Army, under continual attack by the Desert Air Force, XII ASC and 242 Group. Allied intelligence located some of the best targets yet in the campaigns in North Africa. NWATAF attacks so damaged and disorganized the enemy that its columns were “split up over the whole area into small sections which dispersed immediately on the approach of our aircraft.”139 Once the enemy reached Enfidaville, the


Map 7.4

Final Allied Offensive in Tunisia, May 1943


Allied Air Force’s pattern of constant attack by day and night continued against the Axis forces, united along a 100-mile arc from Enfidaville to Cape Serrat on the north coast of Tunisia. When the Eighth Army reached the Enfidaville line, II US Corps was switched to the north coast to relieve the British V Corps. On its right in succession was First Army, XIX French Corps and Eighth Army. Alexander’s plan for the final assault issued on 16 April, envisaged a four prong offensive. First, Eighth Army would attack the Enfidaville position on 19 April, to draw enemy forces away from First Army and to prevent it from withdrawing into Cape Bon. Then British IX and V Corps would attack toward Tunis on 22 April, and II US Corps against Bizerta on 23 April.140 Allied Air power, enjoying superior numbers, serviceability, and unprecedented access to airfields close to the front, figured prominently in each attack. Before the assault began, the flexibility of Allied C3I let their combined weight be focused against enemy supply. Throughout the campaign, Coastal Air Force units, combined with those from Malta and guided by Ultra, had attacked supply by sea. In the first five months of 1943, the Axis lost 3,100 men and 102,000 tons of material to interdiction strikes against shipping.141 During April alone, supply losses for the German army amounted to 15,516 tons, excluding heavy weapons and tanks.142 The move northward by the Axis, exposed sea and air re-supply convoys to the Tactical Air Force. Ultra and ‘Y’ revealed that “air transport had operated mainly from Naples with stops in Sicily and terminal airfields at Tunis and Bizerta.”143 As sea interdiction increased in potency, air re-supply efforts became much more important, with as many as 250 flights per day. Through operation ‘Flax’, the NWATAF attacked this channel and destroyed available Axis air transport. On 18 April, for example, four squadrons of P-40 Warhawks of the 57th Fighter Group, with top cover provided by 92nd Squadron, intercepted a formation of 100 JU 52s flying low near Cape Bon. Fifty-eight JU 52s, two Messerschmitt 110s, and fourteen Me 109s were destroyed and twenty-nine more aircraft damaged.144 These raids culminated in an attack by 7 SAAF Wing of P-40 Kittyhawks against a formation of six-engine Me 323 Gigants transport aircraft over the Gulf of Tunis. After thirty of these petrol-laden aircraft were destroyed, the Axis abandoned air transport by day. Meanwhile, night flying Hurricanes and Beaufighters foiled their night attempts.145 The USAAF also participated in this campaign. On a particularly notable mission on 18 April called the ‘Palm Sunday Massacre’ American pilots shot down over fifty German transports out


of one hundred.146 During these operations, “the enemy lost 432 aircraft in the air at a cost to [the Allies] of about thirty-five aircraft.”147 The effect of interdiction on Axis power was evident in prisoner of war interrogations. One prisoner complained that for the last ten days of the campaign “there were only 21 rounds of mortar ammunition”.148 Of the 150,000 tons required per month for all troops, only 20,000 got through.149 The Eighth Army assault on Enfidaville met the heavy resistance typical of the German army. Constant attack by Allied Air Forces had taught it to disperse, and thus few suitable targets were found for air support. Of course, dispersal caused other problems for German forces. After the initial attacks failed, a short pause ensued, during which the entire weight of the NWATAF was thrown at Axis shipping. As aircrews became familiar with attacking shipping, this campaign became very effective. On “the last day of April, not a single enemy ship arrived in port, adding to the enemy supply predicament.”150 When the land campaign resumed, it was only a matter of days before all Axis troops in Tunisia surrendered, due as much to a lack of supplies as anything else.151 They were split with “one portion lying between Tunis and Bizerta, the other in the region of the Cap Bon Peninsula.”152 On 6 May, the First Army, reinforced by 7th Armoured Division, 4th Indian Division, and 201st Guards Brigade from the Eighth Army, attacked the Medjez-Tunis area, preceded by a softening-up of the enemy’s ground forces by “the largest weight of air attack ever undertaken in support of a ground battle.”153 So successful was this aerial attack that the advance met little resistance. Indeed, on this day Allied Air Chiefs were then able to prove a long-contemplated theory. For the first time in any war sheer weight of air attack blasted a path through heavy enemy positions. The four miles by one thousand yards ‘carpet’ of bombs laid by the Tactical Air Force prepared a way for the advance of our armour before Massicault and clearly demonstrated what air domination [could] achieve. When, as in this one instance, 2,500 aircraft sorties in one day can be flown with small loss it [meant] that a way [could] be cleared of any ground oppositions; it [meant] that an advancing army [could] penetrate the strongest defences.154 Similar attempts against the German army at Caen in the summer of 1944 proved the limits to this notion, but in this case it worked. At times, the ground situation changed so quickly that close support became difficult and even perilous to conduct. Then air support was


redirected against enemy movements behind the battlefront, demonstrating the skill of commanders and the intelligence organizations that informed them of the air and ground situation. On 10 May, the enemy in the northern area surrendered. On 13 May all resistance in Tunisia ceased. The strength of Allied air power, and a quick move by Allied armour supported by the NWATAF, convinced the Axis that any attempt at a ‘Dunkirk’ style evacuation would fail utterly. The Allies netted over 138,000 German and 110,000 Italian prisoners during the final offensive, and all their equipment.155 The Tunisian campaign was over. As Alexander put it “We are masters of the North African shores.”156 The lack of a fully developed doctrine for air support between the wars in both air forces was evident during the initial exploitation of ‘Torch’. Neither army nor air force commanders really understood how to use their tactical air power. Coningham and Tedder brought the air support system developed in the desert to Tunisia, where it worked, although it forced army commanders to relinquish their control of aircraft. Under Coningham’s system tactical air power was controlled at command level with access to all available intelligence, but which only acted to direct aircraft where they were most needed. In general, the relationship evolved in the desert between Eighth Army and the WDAF remained in place, but Coningham’s headquarters could redirect aircraft from the WDAF or other formations to any area requiring air support. In order to support this system, a larger number of intelligence systems were integrated as they had been in the Western Desert. Just as the system for controlling aircraft was improved, so too did the provisions for supplying and maintaining aircraft. The re-issuing of tactical memoranda from the WDAF, combined with those being issued from the RAF and USAAF units in Tunisia, helped personnel to attack targets more effectively. The system enabled intelligence to act as a force-multiplier, precisely as the force being multiplied was rising in strength. This produced a dramatic increase in the ability of the Allied air forces to deliver close air support or interdiction in response to the plans of army and air force commanders. Aircraft could be switched instantaneously from one target or mission to another. Close air support often proved to be essential to success on the ground. Intelligence was vital to this ability.

Conclusions

The impact of air power at the battlefront was not uniform throughout the campaigns in the Western Desert and Tunisia, nor was its development linear. Initially, weak close air support achieved significant results against an Italian army that was operationally passive and nonmotorized, but this trend did not continue. Once the Afrika Korps arrived in the Western Desert the British C3I system had to be redesigned while the campaign was being fought. Doing so was very difficult, but benefited from the interwar experience of key British, and later American, officers. Despite the loss of the RAF’s official air support doctrine developed during the First World War, the interwar Air Control experience of Tedder and Coningham served the RAF well. Many of the obstacles were overcome by the middle of 1942, which saw a dramatic improvement in the RAF’s ability to apply air support. However, the British army was still unable to compete effectively in mobile warfare. The German army continually completed the ‘OODA’ loop faster than the British, and used its armoured forces more effectively, producing failures on the ground that nullified the improvements to the air support system. Although, by autumn 1942, the Eighth Army and Western Desert Air Force had learned to crush the Axis, the air support system developed in the desert was ignored by the rest of the RAF and USAAF, and mattered little to the initial stages of ‘Torch’. However, unlike the case in the Western Desert, there was a template to adopt, which the Allied air forces quickly did. At the beginning of the war the RAF and USAAF had neither the intention nor the capability to provide air support. By the end of the Tunisian campaign, they had developed the ability to provide such support to a high level, equal to Germans at their best. Air support of 179


all types remained a vital part of Allied planning. The system developed in the Middle East stemmed from lessons learned first in the desert and then transferred to Tunisia. The command experience gained by RAF and USAAF officers governed air support operations for the rest of the war and beyond. Some scholars have argued that this doctrine was fundamental to the success of Quesada’s IX Tactical Air Command, and was later brought to the USAF Tactical Air Command by William M. Momyer.1 Certainly, both men learned much from Tunisia, Quesada as deputy commander of the Northwest African Coastal Air Force (NWACAF), and Momyer as a pilot in 12 ASC.2 But the real point is that the doctrine and operational method for all Allied air support in Europe came out of Africa. More importantly, the desert tradition and its Mediterranean offshoot shaped preparations for command and air support in ‘Overlord’. That Eisenhower, as Supreme Allied Commander, had Tedder as his deputy is a link with the desert war. Coningham’s expertise in designing the Middle East system for air support resulted in his being appointed commander of 2nd Tactical Air Force.3 Quesada, who would command the USAAF’s IX Tactical Air Command, learned much of his trade in Tunisia under Coningham’s tutelage. So too did Montgomery, Eisenhower, and Bradley like the level and nature of air support they received in the desert and Tunisia, and whatever happened in terms of their personal interactions, wanted it to continue. The ability to conduct close air support or interdiction operations improved dramatically with the rise of better C3I systems, which allowed the rapid processing and dissemination of target material alongside an often excellent understanding of enemy intentions or capabilities. Strategic intelligence guided the collection of operational intelligence by showing the movement and state of enemy forces. A traditional view of air support argues that communications were the linchpin to the air support system, with some truth.4 Communications enabled the passing of intelligence and orders based on it. The better the communication system, the faster this could be accomplished. Thus, communications were a vital part of the ability to deliver close air support. But without understanding the other key elements of the air support system and its underlying doctrine, an incomplete picture has been presented. In the context of military affairs, the term ‘doctrine’ means more than mere understanding of a principle. It also refers to the means by which guidelines for military action are established, and to an interaction between theory and practice. By the end of the Tunisian cam-

Conclusions 181

paign, the RAF and USAAF each had a complete ‘doctrinal loop’ for tactical air power. Experience helped them to improve areas of weakness. Thus, the growing realization that fighter-bombers were more flexible and easier to maintain than heavy bombers in close support, led them to adopt more fighter-bombers. Intelligence personnel had achieved sufficient experience to handle incoming intelligence quickly and effectively, and their material was more fully integrated into operational planning. This doctrine was not based on theories without practical experience. The theories had been tested, and solutions found for problems affecting the application of tactical air power. In this way, this book has differed from traditional views on the relationship between doctrine and military ability. David Mets has argued that senior USAAF officers in the interwar period understood every tenet of the doctrine developed in the Western Desert.5 Unfortunately, understanding an idea is not the same as translating it into a workable system. The air support system brought by the Americans to Tunisia failed because they had not seriously tested its organization, methods of responding to calls for support, or mechanics of delivering planned air support. The air support system brought to Tunisia by the WDAF, conversely, was adopted by the rest of the RAF and the USAAF. Although modifications were made to the system, both air forces retained its fundamental principles for the remainder of the war – principles that are as applicable today as then. A visit by Air Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory, the AOC Fighter Command, in late March 1943, shaped the RAF’s adoption of the Middle East system of air support. His purpose was to study the organization of Allied air forces with the coming cross-channel invasion in mind.6 Leigh-Mallory was particularly impressed by the liaison between air and ground personnel where the Military and Air Commanders and staffs [were] working side by side in the closest harmony, and each fully appreciative not only of the importance which air operations have on the land battle, but also of the effect of land action on the successful operation of air forces.7 This relationship was fundamental to the Middle East air support system, and it was an important observation for the future of Allied air support, both RAF and USAAF.8 As might have been expected, Leigh-Mallory noted the importance of having an Air officer control all air force units, regardless of nationality;


these units could be switched from one Group to another depending on the military situation. This became standard in the Allied Expeditionary Air Force (AEAF) that provided air support for the invasion of France in 1944. During the Battle of the Bulge, Coningham placed his fighterbombers under the control of USAAF Brigadier General Quesada, commanding IX Tactical Air Command, to aid American forces. Quesada later recalled that Coningham’s action “helped tremendously.”9 Leigh-Mallory also noted the importance of reconnaissance. He felt it essential that a reconnaissance wing be attached to each Composite Group.10 As most air operations were “part of a pre-arranged plan worked out some time in advance,” good intelligence was essential to exploiting the flexibility of air power.11 Only occasional fighter-bomber operations were not part of the prearranged plan, and only when intelligence located a particularly favourable fleeting target.12 Leigh-Mallory also admired the NWATAF’s method of controlling aircraft on operations. Coningham issued general directives to his Group commanders, but left them to carry out his orders.13 Group commanders created an air plan, but the fighter control centre directed aircraft in response to it.14 Since fighter escort for bomber and fighter-bomber missions often was critical to their success, having the fighter control centre command tactics was the easiest way to use resources. This method of control was adopted directly from the WDAF.15 Several USAAF officers ensured that the Middle East air support system was adopted by their air force. The interest began in 1942 with the attachment of a USAAF contingent to the WDAF, whose commander, MajorGeneral Brereton, sent summaries of the Desert Air Force’s method of control. More importantly, Coningham impressed Brigadier General Howard Craig, Chief of Staff of the Mediterranean Air Command, who circulated Coningham’s ideas amongst his own forces.16 This influence was enhanced when three USAAF officers visited the North African theatre in April 1943. There, Brigadier General Kuter explained the Middle East system to them in detail. They brought back information on the control of air forces, and methods for executing the missions, which sparked a restructuring of American air support. Similarly, in the RAF Leigh-Mallory’s report caused British Army Cooperation Command to be reorganized and renamed 2nd Tactical Air Force, with Coningham’s NWATAF being the first.17 Leigh-Mallory was less successful in the last lesson he carried forward from North Africa. The command and control system he designed for use during ‘Overlord’ was cumbersome, and not suited to providing rapid air support to ground formations. The AEAF comprised Coningham’s

Conclusions 183

2nd Tactical Air Force, Brereton’s 9th US Air Force, and Roderic Hill’s Fighter Command (renamed Air Defence of Great Britain).18 Until LeighMallory could establish himself on the continent, Coningham wore two different hats; one as head of 2nd Tactical Air Force and the other commanding the advanced section of AEAF.19 From his headquarters in Uxbridge, Coningham was to coordinate the planning and operations of both tactical air forces, with “the necessary executive authority to implement all requests for air action required by the Army.”20 These needs were met through a Combined Control Centre, which issued his instructions. Leigh-Mallory was merely to “exercise general direction of air operations.”21 Leigh-Mallory’s appointment really became irrelevant because it was intended to deal with a threat that collapsed – the anticipated menace posed by the Luftwaffe, and the need for an operational command to deal with it in a rational fashion. In an odd way, he was a final victim of the collapse of the Luftwaffe. His position was an unnecessary command level, which Coningham and Brereton bypassed when inconvenient. The situation had changed from that of operation ‘Torch’, where airmen needed a central controlling headquarters with access to all intelligence because the British and Americans were initially fighting separate wars. By ‘Overlord’, Coningham and Brereton were on the distribution list for Ultra intelligence, and entirely able to cooperate with-out direction from a higher command level. Near the end of March 1944, in response to questions by Eisenhower, Quesada explained that the cooperation between the USAAF 9th Air Force and the 2nd Tactical Air Force was so close that it was a simple matter to arrange additional support.22 Precisely that happened when Coningham gave control of his fighter-bombers to Quesada during the Battle of the Bulge. C3I systems must be tailored to the conditions of the theatre. In Tunisia, the central NWATAF headquarters was essential to the flexible exercise of air power, because otherwise operations were diffuse and ineffective. In Northwest Europe although air and ground commanders needed close relationships for effective support, a central controlling headquarters was unnecessary. AEAF headquarters had no intelligence unavailable to lower command levels, nor directed them in a more productive manner. Consequently, on 14 October 1944, AEAF headquarters ceased to exist, without affecting close air support and interdiction operations.23 In a similar way, although ultimately more successful, General Marshall shaped the adoption of the Middle East air support system when he


ordered a new manual on attack aviation. This was provided by a committee including Col. Martin McKinnon, Commandant of the Air Support Department of the School of Applied Tactics, Col. Ralph Stearley, Commander of the I Air Support Command, and Lieut. Col. Orin Moore, Armoured Forces liaison officer at USAAF headquarters.24 The manual outlined many of the key points in the Middle East system developed in the Western Desert, which, combined with the practical experience gained by intelligence officers, pilots, and commanders, represented a complete ‘doctrinal loop’. In July 1943, the USAAF published its field manual FM 100-20, and the Air Ministry and War Office issued their Training Instruction No.1, which was similar to the American manual.25 A revolution in thinking had occurred in air forces opposed even to the idea of air support in 1939. Both manuals emphasized the equal but interdependent relationship of armies and air forces, and the interrelated nature of ground and tactical air operations. Air forces assisted by attaining air superiority, which allowed “freedom of action for land forces and supporting air forces.”26 Air forces depended on armies to capture and construct forward airfields, ensure their security, and provide daily requirements of fuel, food, spare parts, and other necessities.27 Both manuals held “that the inherent flexibility of air power [was] its greatest asset.”28 This flexibility could be adequately exploited only if an air force commander with access to all intelligence exercised control. He could “employ the whole weight of the available air power against selected areas in turn: such concentrated use of the air striking force [was] a battle winning factor of the first importance.”29 This realization was not a declaration of independence, as some scholars have alleged, but of interdependence and an acknowledgement of reality as learned in combat.30 To place air units under the command of divisions was to prevent their concentration against vulnerable targets, to use them in a diffuse and largely ineffective manner. Tunisia had shown the value of overwhelming air power at the point of attack. In particular, close air support attacks in the form of co-ordinated bomber and fighter-bomber attacks, in softening resistance before the break-through, and later in support of our armoured forces, was yet another example of how air power [could] blast the way for advancing land forces.31 After the Tunisian campaign it was standard practice for the RAF and USAAF to attach a tactical air force as an equal partner in “a

Conclusions 185

theater of operations where ground forces [were] operating.”32 The control of available air power must be centralised and command must be exercised through the air force commander if this inherent flexibility and ability to deliver a decisive blow [was] to be fully exploited. The superior commander will not attach army air force units to units of the ground forces under his command except when such ground force units [were] operating independently or [were] isolated by distance or lack of communication.33 Both forces officially discarded the belief, common amongst Corps commanders during the initial stages of the Tunisian campaign, that air forces were theirs to command. In some instances air units might be closely associated with ground formations, such as the WDAF and Eighth Army, but Generals no longer could count on this arrangement. Instead, as happened frequently with Coningham’s air support net in Tunisia, tactical air power could be used against the most profitable and most imperative target within range of the aircraft responding. Their missions ranged from the attainment of air superiority, interdiction, and close air support. Thus, the assignment of third priority to close air support, on which air power historians have tended to focus, did not tell the entire story. Instead, it represented an understanding that it was necessary only when armies were in battle, while “separate air operations normally preced[ed] surface operations.”34 Moreover, air support in close combat was the most difficult to control, and only profitable at critical times. Even Luftwaffe doctrine held that close air support against enemy forces in a good tactical position “as a rule [was] unlikely to produce results commensurate with the effort expended, although such action might be required in special circumstances.”35 In such circumstances good intelligence was even more vital to success, so to reduce the risk of striking friendly forces.36 USAAF tactical air commands, as the air support commands became known, developed somewhat different procedures and structures for the prosecution of air support missions. Not until August 1946, when FM 31-35 was re-issued, were these systems standardized.37 However, this did not stop these tactical air commands from providing swift, cost-effective close air support and interdiction. Although terminology differed, the American air support systems were similar to the British. Ground and air forces at Corps and Divisional levels were closely associated by the attachment of Tactical Air Party Officers to


these headquarters to handle requests for support. Ground Liaison Officers from the army were attached to all air headquarters down to Group level, and to photographic and tactical reconnaissance squadrons.38 This new system was inaugurated in November 1943 in VIII Air Support Command, “at which time selected air officers were attached to the Corps and Divisions then in training in the United Kingdom, which frequently exercised the process in which requests for air support were passed from division to Corps to Tactical Air Command headquarters.”39 This basic procedure continued virtually unchanged throughout the European campaign.40 At the end of the Tunisian campaign, air support worked. Coupled with the desire of USAAF officers to be seen as equal partners, ensured that it received a wide audience. General Arnold ensured this by ordering every officer in the Air Forces “to read and study” the new manual.41 Even before the manual was issued, its teachings entered the curriculum of the Infantry School at Fort Benning.42 Indeed, the speed with which this doctrine was adopted caused some controversy, in particular, because the War Department adopted it without consulting the commander of the Army Ground Forces, Lt. Gen. Lesley McNair, who later would be killed by American heavy bombers conducting close support.43 Nonetheless, American capability for close support reached a new level. For example, while commanding IX Tactical Air Command, Quesada developed the Armoured Column Cover to give instantaneous close air support to armoured spearheads, when requested. A flight of four P-47 Thunderbolts operated over tank columns, communicated by wireless with ground controllers in the lead vehicles. The flights were relieved every thirty minutes. If no support targets were present, they were used to search the road ahead for German troops, guns, or tanks.44 While not the most cost-effective use of air power, and possible only in circumstances of total air supremacy, this type of operation proved extremely effective during the ‘Cobra’ offensive, the American breakout from the Normandy area in late July 1944. This also reflected the willingness of air force officers to work with the army.45 This idea lived on in the ‘thunder runs’ which were the razor edge of US power in the 2003 invasion of Iraq.46 During these operations, air support missions were run from a centralized point of contact, known as a CAS stack, for a specific geographic area. The Air Support Operations Centre (ASOC) controlled aircraft in these stacks for the army and the Direct Air Support Centre (DASC) for the Marine Corps, which had to ‘de-conflict’ aircraft before they could

Conclusions 187

be assigned targets in the kill-box by the Joint Terminal Air Controllers (JTAC).47 Much as in the early part of the desert war, and contrary to the claims of network-centric advocates, difficulties with communications and other parts of the air support system did, at times, cause problems. Pilots were often able to identify potential non-friendly targets, but being certain they were not friendly did not allow pilots to engage. The target “could, for instance, be a humanitarian food truck or a farm vehicle.”48 Although the Joint Surveillance Target Attack Radar System (JSTARS) would, as aerial reconnaissance and other forms of intelligence did in the Western Desert and Tunisia, direct aircraft to areas known to contain targets, the “identification piece then rests with the aircrew.”49 In Tunisia, the American armed forces also adopted methods of gathering, integrating, and using intelligence, which was fundamental to controlling tactical air power. They had learned the value of signals intelligence in Tunisia, and adopted British methods for exploiting it.50 They had learned the value of prisoner of war interrogation, which by 1945 was “the best measure of the effectiveness of air attack.”51 Experience in the Tunisian campaign showed that this source provided “an abundant source of information respecting the effectiveness of air plans, tactics, techniques of attack, and the various weapons employed.”52 The Americans also adopted the British system of photographic interpretation and aerial reconnaissance. In 1943, Brigadier General L. Kuter argued that the ineffectiveness of observation groups should be accepted as proved in this theatre and maximum effort should be made to elevate the position of our present observation aviation to a much higher level by the immediate formation of truly proficient tactical and strategical reconnaissance squadrons.53 These reconnaissance squadrons should have high performance aircraft, and specially trained crews.54 Immediately after the German surrender in Tunisia, Kuter, Lt. Col. John Dyas (commander of the 154th Observation Squadron), and Lt. Col. E.S. Biden (a South African Air Force staff officer with experience in the desert and Tunisia) were invited to the United States to discuss the subject. Dyas and Biden addressed a reconnaissance sub-board of the Army Air Force Board at Orlando, Florida, to determine the place of visual and photographic reconnaissance in the USAAF.55 It adopted the British division of the topic into either strategic or tactical reconnaissance, and procedures for disseminating


intelligence. The tactical reconnaissance group was to comprise a headquarters, one photographic reconnaissance squadron, one long-range tactical reconnaissance squadron per army, one short-range tactical squadron per corps, and one in reserve.56 The tactical photographic reconnaissance group had one photographic squadron, and a technical section to produce aerial photographs for targeting and bomb damage assessments.57 This program, approved by General Arnold on 9 October 1943, was incorporated into the USAAF plans.58 In March 1945, the commander of First US Army, Lt. Gen. Courtney H. Hodges, wrote that the existing procedure for tactical and photographic reconnaissance, resulting from long combat association of First Army and IX Tactical Air Command, was “an eminently satisfactory one…The several Corps which have served with First Army have expressed complete satisfaction with the results achieved.”59 The procedures adopted by the USAAF for the collection and dissemination of photographic intelligence were identical to those developed in the Western Desert. First phase reports, handling a few “important bits of intelligence upon which an operation may be waiting,” were passed swiftly to those who could use them since “SPEED [was] their essence.”60 Tactical air force operations required “pictures of their targets plus quick, frequent BDA [bomb damage assessment].”61 Despite initial opposition to the program by ground force commanders, most liked the results, and also provision of air support. No system ever is perfect, but by 1945 the RAF and USAAF evolved air support to a high level. It did not survive long after the war. The atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945 significantly altered ideas about air power. The bomber barons took it to prove their ideas about the power of the bomber, despite the lack of nuclear weapons for years after the war. As the world moved into the Cold War, tactical air power faded from the practice of air forces that had spent so much effort in re-learning how to use it. Although forms remained in place, much substance was lost. The RAF Operations manual of 1957 discussed intelligence and tactical air power at great length, and recommended many of the principles developed in the desert. The tactical air force was organized as part of a theatre air force.62 All aircraft used in tactical operations were kept together operationally, something that was a reality from the earliest stages of the desert campaigns. The co-equal status of land and air forces was stressed, while every operational plan “must be a joint land/ air plan throughout all stages of its formulation and execution.”63 The command of air assets was to be centralized, with its lowest rung being

Conclusions 189

at the group/army level.64 Headquarters should be adjacent to army formations. Air reconnaissance was “the most valuable single source of information in modern war…It is indispensable to the effective conduct of all operations and is obtained by visual, photographic, and electronic means.”65 It was, therefore, “a vitally important function of a tactical air force.”66 The attainment of air superiority was to be the chief role of the tactical air force, followed by interdiction operations and close air support. Despite the existence of the principles evolved in the desert and used so successfully for the remainder of the war, much of the practice and key parts of the ‘doctrinal loop’ for tactical air power had been lost. The Korean War demonstrated that the USAF again lacked a tactical doctrine or air support system.67 In the Vietnam conflict, insufficient practical experience left the USAF unready to provide rapid, reliable support, leaving Army officers displeased with early attempts to provide air support. The processing “of requests through Army command channels [was] time consuming, and the delay in informing the Air Force of the air-support requirement [was] excessive,” while “reliable communications, especially for the air request system and the forward air control system” was lacking.68 Despite the gloomy start, close air support ultimately was delivered very much as it had been during 1945. The USAF Direct Air Support Centre (DASC), staffed with fighter and reconnaissance duty officers, and intelligence officers, was located close to the Army’s Tactical Operations Centre (TOC) at the Army Forces Command Post. Planned requests for close air support were submitted through Army command channels to reach the TOC by a specified hour. It assigned priorities and forwarded the requests to the Tactical Air Control Centre (TACC) for planning and execution. Impromptu requests were passed through the Air Force air request net direct to the DASC. Immediate Tactical Air Control Parties (TACP) monitored the net and acknowledged receipt of the subordinate unit’s request. Silence signified Army approval. If an Army unit disapproved a unit’s request, the attached TACP would transmit disapproval direct to the DASC.69 Recent combat experience has required the re-establishment of an effective air support system and underlying doctrine in both the RAF and USAF. Nonetheless, in the current understanding of air-land battle, a term used by the RAF and USAF, is similar to the lessons learned in North Africa. The first priority for tactical air forces is the attainment of air superiority, which “gives commanders the freedom to conduct successful attacks which can neutralise or destroy an enemy’s warfighting


potential.”70 Otherwise, “tactical flexibility is lost.”71 Where soldiers tend to stress the importance of close air support, current US Army doctrine states that “Air forces must attack not only those enemy forces in contact, but enemy forces held in reserve or rear echelons as well”, which denies the enemy “the time and space to employ forces effectively”, just as during the Second World War.72 Tactical air operations require a definite plan between air and ground commanders, close association between ground and air forces and efficient C3I. The requirements for successful tactical air operations are the same as they were during the Second World War. Intelligence is acknowledged as a fundamental requirement for the success of tactical air operations. Air and ground commanders need to know where an enemy is deployed, what he plans to do, how he will do it, and what the options are. Signals intelligence can provide much of that information, thus focusing other efforts, but of equal importance is reconnaissance.73 The need for speed in gathering, processing, and disseminating, and acting on intelligence is as great today as it ever was. Although technology lets armed forces keep pace with a changing situation, it also increases the volume of information as to threaten the paralysis of the whole system. Thus, the speed of reaction depends, as it always has, on the nature of the C3I system. This is particularly true of air power, whose costly resources are usually underprovided and must therefore be used in the most economical fashion.74 Just as in the Western Desert and Tunisia, using these resources to greatest effect requires that they be controlled at a sufficiently high formation with access to all the available intelligence.75 This is repeated in a current RAF manual that quotes Tedder as saying, “Air warfare cannot be separated into little packets; it knows no boundaries on land and sea other than those imposed by the radius of action of the aircraft; it is a unity and demands unity of command.”76 Similarly, General H. Arnold is quoted as saying the “greatest lesson of this war has been the extent to which air, land and sea operations can and must be co-ordinated by joint planning and unified command”.77 Equally important are systems that can survive in combat to receive intelligence and control aircraft in a timely fashion in response to it.78 This “is a tall order, but is the key to the successful use of air power in the future.”79 This account has challenged the prevailing orthodoxy about the British army and the desert war. The analysis of the importance of the air/ ground issue is crucial to the old debate about the quality of Auchinleck at ‘first’ Alamein and Montgomery at the ‘second’. The importance of air power shown here reduces the claims that can be made for either one. It

Conclusions 191

has weakened the claims that Auchinleck did something significant in July 1942, and has also provided a key and overlooked aspect of the failure at Gazala. Moreover, it has shed a new light on the Montgomery and Coningham’s victory during the ‘second’ Alamein, and the role of air power in that success. Finally, this book has shown that that the British approach to air support was far better than has been portrayed in the existing historiography, that in effect it caught up to the German level in quality and significance by December 1941, and fundamentally influenced American developments in 1942–1943. In fact, the RAF, and later the Anglo-American tactical air force, was the single greatest factor in land power during the desert and Tunisian campaigns. The doctrine developed, and the means by which it was executed, was based on enduring principles that have applied ever since.

Notes Foreword 1 Dan Jenkins, “The Other Side of the Hill: Combat Intelligence in the Canadian Corps, 1914–1918”, Canadian Military History, Vol.10 No.2, (Spring 2001); Albert Palazzo, “The British Army’s Counter-Battery Staff Office and Control of the Enemy in World War 1”, The Journal of Military History, Vol.63 No.1, (1999), 55–74. 2 James Corum, The Roots of Blitzkrieg, Hans von Seeckt and German Military Reform Between the Wars, (Lawrence, Ks., 1992); Robert Citino, “Beyond Fire and Movement: Command, Control and information in the German Blitzkrieg”, The Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol.27 No.2, (June 2004), 324–44. 3 John Ferris, “The British Army, Signals and Security In the Desert Campaign, 1940–42” in John Ferris, Intelligence and Strategy, Selected Essays, (London: Routledge, 2005). 4 John Ferris, “Catching the Wave: The RAF Pursues an RMA, 1918–1945” in Monica Tufts and Imlay, Talbot, The Fog of Peace, (London: Routledge, 2006). 5 David French, Raising Churchill’s Army, The British Army and the War Against Germany, 1919–1945, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000).

Introduction 1 Thomas E. Griffith, Jr., MacArthur’s Airman: General George C. Kenney and the War in the Southwest Pacific, (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2000), Gary Null, Weapon of Denial: Air Power and the Battle for New Guinea, (Washington: US Government Printing Office, 1995), Herman Plocher, The German Air Force versus Russia, 1942, (New York: Arno Press, 1968), James Sterret, “Learning is Winning: Soviet Air Power Doctrine, 1953–41”, Sebastian Cox and Peter Gray (eds), Air Power History: turning points from Kitty Hawk to Kosovo, (London: Routledge, 2002), Air Historical Branch Monograph. Close Air Support, (London: HMSO, 1955), Richard Hallion, Strike from the Sky: The History of Battlefield Air Attack 1911–1945, (Shrewsbury: Airlife Publishing Ltd., 1989), Richard Hallion, “Battlefield Air Support – A Retrospective Assessment”, Air Power Journal. Vol.4 No.1 (1990), B.F. Cooling (ed.), Case Studies in the Development of Close Air Support, (Washington: Office of Air Force History, 1990), Williamson Murray and Allan R. Millett, Military Innovation in the Interwar Period, (Cambridge University Press, 1996), Daniel Mortensen, A Pattern For Joint Operations, (Washington: Office of Air Force History), and Daniel Mortensen, Air Power and Ground Armies, (Air University Press, 1998), Arthur Coningham, “The Development of Tactical Air Forces”, Royal United Services Institute Journal Vol.91 (1946), Lt. Col. C. Carrington, “Army/Air Co-operation, 1939–1943”, Royal United Services Institution Journal Vol.114 (1971), W.A. Jacobs, “Air 192

Notes 193

2

3

4 5 6

7 8 9

Support for the British Army, 1939–1943”, Military Affairs Vol.46 (1982), D. Hall, “The Birth of the Tactical Air Force”, D. Phil. thesis Oxford University, 1996, David Syrett, “The Tunisian Campaign, 1942–43” in Cooling, Case Studies in the Development of Close Air Support, Ian Gooderson, Air Power at the Battlefront, (London: Frank Cass, 1998), Thomas Greer, The Development of Air Doctrine in the Army Air Arm, 1917–1941, (Manhattan Kan.: Aerospace Historian, 1955), J. Heither, The Development of Tactical Doctrine at AAFSAT and AAFTAC, (Manhattan Kansas: Military Affairs/Aerospace Historian, 1944), Hughes, T.H. Overlord: General Pete Quesada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War II, (New York: The Free Press, 1995), Williamson Murray, “The Luftwaffe Experience, 1939–1941”, B.F. Cooling (ed.), Case Studies in the Development of Close Air Support, Lee Kennett, “Developments to 1939”, B.F. Cooling (ed.), Case Studies in the Development of Close Air Support. James S. Corum, “The Luftwaffe’s Army Support Doctrine, 1918–41”, Journal of Military History, 59 (1995), 1, James S. Corum, The Luftwaffe’s Way of War, (Baltimore: The Nautical & Aviation Publishing Company of America, 1998), James S. Corum, The Luftwaffe: Creating The Operational Air War, 1918–1940, (Lawrence Kansas: University Press of Kansas, 1997). There are few historians who treat issues like C3I as a system combining technology, thought, and action. Characteristically, these issues have been treated separately, while they are in fact interrelated. Apart from the author, one of the few who has acknowledged this is Professor John Ferris. For examples, see “Ferris, John, “Achieving Air Ascendancy: Challenge and Response in British Strategic Air Defence”, Sebastian Cox and Peter Gray (eds.), Air Power History: turning points from Kitty Hawk to Kosovo, (London: Routledge, 2002); Ferris, John, “Airbandit: C3I and Strategic Air Defence during the First Battle of Britain, 1915–18”. Strategy and Intelligence: British Policy During the First World War. Michael Dockrill and David French, eds., London: The Hambledon Press, 1995; Ferris, John, “Fighter Defence before Fighter Command: The Rise of Strategic Air Defence in Great Britain, 1917–1934”, Journal of Military History, Vol.63, No.4, October, 1999; Ferris, John, “The British Army, Signals and Security”, Intelligence and Military Operations. Michael I. Handel, (ed.) London: Frank Cass and Company Limited, 1990; Ferris, John, “The British Army, Signals and Security in the Desert Campaign, 1940–42”, Intelligence and Strategy: Selected Essays, John Ferris, ed., London: Routledge, 2005. David Omissi, Air Power and Colonial Control, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1990), passim. Public Record Office (PRO) WO 169/6638 War Diary of No.2 AASC, 18 May 1942. PRO WO 106/2270, Military Intelligence Service, War Office, Notes and Lessons on Operations in the Middle East, January 30 1943, 14; Lieutenant General Lewis Brereton, The Brereton Diaries, (New York: Morrow, 1946), 137–8. PRO AIR 41/50 The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia July 1942–May 1943, 20. PRO WO 169/647 Operation ‘Grapeshot’, 2 November 1942. Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives (LHCMA), Papers of Major-General McNeill 1/2 A2, 1.

194 Notes 10 David R. Mets, “A Glider in the Propwash of the Royal Air Force?”, Daniel Mortensen (ed.), Airpower and Ground Armies, (Maxwell AFB Alabama: Air University Press, 1998), 48. 11 For a discussion of ‘OODA’ or Boyd Loops, see Frans P.B. Osinga, Science, Strategy and War: The Strategic Theory of John Boyd, (London: Routledge, 2006); Martin Samuels, Command or Control? Command, Training, and Tactics in the British and German Armies, 1888–1918, (London: Frank Cass, 1995), 13; Martin Van Creveld, Command in War, (London: Harvard University Press, 1985), introduction; J. Wallace, “Manoeuvre Theory in Operations Other Than War”, Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol.19 No. 4, 1996, 209; “The Information Advantage”, The Economist, June 10–16, 1995, 5. 12 Martin Samuels, Command or Control?, 3. 13 Ibid., 7. 14 Ibid., 4. 15 Air Chief Marshal Sir Kenneth ‘Bing’ Cross with Prof. V. Orange, Straight and Level, (London: Bugg Street, 1993), 157. 16 War Office, Field Service Regulations, Vol.II, Operations – General, (London: HMSO, 1935), pp. 26–7. 17 Ibid., 27. 18 Ibid., 28. 19 U.S. Army Field Manual 100–5, Tentative Field Service Regulations, Operations 1939, (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1939), 56. 20 U.S. Army Field Manual 100–5, Field Service Regulations, Operations 1941, (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1939), 29. 21 Martin Blumenson, The Patton Papers Vol.II, 1940–1945, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1974), 194–6. 22 Ibid., 196. 23 Public Record Office, Kew, Surrey, CAB 146/27 Evaluation of the British and American Commands and Troops in North Africa, Appreciation by Freemde Heere West, 18 May 1943. 24 PRO AIR 23/1299, Air Power in the Land Battle (Air Ministry, 1943). 25 PRO AIR 39/129 Memorandum by GHQ Home Forces, Organization and System of Control of Air Forces in Support of Overseas Operations, 6 November 1942. 26 Ibid., Questionnaire submitted to Air Headquarters Western Desert. 27 James S. Corum, “The Luftwaffe’s Army Support Doctrine, 1918–1941”, Journal of Military History, Vol.59, No.1 (1995), 70. 28 Carl von Clausewitz, On War, (eds) Michael Howard and Peter Paret, (New Jersey: Princeton University Press), 117. 29 John Ferris, “Airbandit: C3I and Strategic Air Defence during the First Battle of Britain, 1915–18”, in Michael Dockrill and David French (eds), Strategy and Intelligence: British Policy During the First World War, (London: The Hambledon Press, 1995), 26. 30 WO 208/1559 Weekly Review of the Military Situation, 24 November 1941. 31 PRO AIR 41/25 The Enemy Supply System in Libya, Appendix Z, 10 November, 1941. 32 Ibid. 33 PRO AIR 41/50 The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia July 1942–May 1943, 26.

Notes 195 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

41 42

43

44 45

Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. PRO AIR 26/402 Operations Record Book No.285 Wing, R.A.F. M.E., 26 August, 1942. LHCMA Papers of Major General McNeill 1/1 A1 Military Situation, Period 1st–29th August ’42. AHB, Air Support, 52. LHCMA General Sir Richard O’Connor’s papers 4/3/1, An Account of Various Events Written by General Sir R.N. O’Connor whilst a prisoner of war in Italy May 1941; PRO CAB 106/685 Letter Regarding Difficulties Encountered While Commanding 13 Corps 1940/41. Neil Orpen, South African Forces in World War II, Vol.III War in the Desert, (Cape Town: Purnell, 1971), 268. Losses during close air support and interdiction missions could be quite high, which affected Allied morale, but no evidence suggests that pilots were unwilling to press home their attacks because of the risk. In a conversation on 10 June 1999, Squadron Leader Milt Jowsie, formerly of 93 Squadron RAF, indicated that the efficiency of a squadron’s commanding officer largely determined the effect of losses on morale depended largely on the efficiency of the squadron’s commanding officer. Where the commanding officer was effective and enforced discipline, the effect of losses was minimized. PRO AIR 19/92 Minutes of Meeting in CAS’s room, 26 July 1923, John Ferris, “Fighter Defence before Fighter Command: The Rise of Strategic Air Defence in Great Britain, 1917–1934”, Journal of Military History, Vol.63, No.4, (October, 1999), 850. John Ferris, “Fighter Defence before Fighter Command: The Rise of Strategic Air Defence in Great Britain, 1917–1934”, 853. Ibid.

Chapter 1 1 Group Captain Andrew Vallance, Air Power: Collected Essays on Doctrine, (London: HMSO, 1990), VII. 2 Captain Mc A. Hogg, RE, “Aeroplanes in Future Warfare”, Army Quarterly, Vol.IX, No.1, October 1924, 104. 3 Lee Kennett, “Developments to 1939”, in B.F. Cooling, (ed.), Case Studies in the Development of Close Air Support, (Washington D.C.: Office of Air Force History, 1990), 51. 4 For an analysis of the ten-year rule and its effect on strategic policy, as well as the dialectic relationship between British diplomacy and its military policies, see John Robert Ferris, Men, Money, and Diplomacy: The Evolution of British Strategic Policy, 1919–1926, (Ithaca New York: Cornell University Press, 1988). 5 General William Mitchell, Provisional Manual of Operations, in Maurer, U.S. Army Aviation, 1919–1939, (Washington D.C., Office of Air Force History, 1988), 286. 6 Thomas H. Greer, The Development of Air Doctrine in the Army Air Arm, 1917–1941, (Manhattan Kan.: Aerospace Historian, 1955), 128.

196 Notes 7 Bolling Air Force Base, Washington D.C., United States Air Force Historical Research Agency (USAFHRA) Ira Eaker interview, K239.0512-829, 103. 8 Library of Congress, Washington D.C., (hereafter cited as LC) Manuscript Division, Papers of Benjamin Foulois, Box 26, Letter by John J. Pershing to General Menoher 20 January 1926. 9 LC, Papers of Benjamin D. Foulois, Box 37, Address by Major General Frank M. Andrews before the National Aeronautic Association, St. Louis Missouri, January 16, 1939, 13. 10 Thomas A. Hughes, Overlord. General Pete Quesada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War Two, (New York: The Free Press, 1995), 48. 11 Ibid. 12 Ibid. 13 Benjamin Foulois and Carroll Glines, From the Wright Brothers to the Astronauts: The Memoirs of Major General Benamin D. Foulois, (New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co., 1968), 213. 14 LC, The Papers of H.H. Arnold, box 223, a letter from President Roosevelt to G. Dern, February 1934. 15 Richard R. Muller, “Close Air Support: the German, British and American Experiences, 1918–1941”, Williamson Murray and Allan R. Millett (eds), Military Innovation in the Interwar Period, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 175. 16 Hughes, Overlord. General Pete Quesada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War II, 57. 17 Ibid. 18 Timothy Nenninger, “Leavenworth and its Critics: The US Army Command and General Staff School 1920–1940”, The Journal of Military History, April 1994, 219. 19 Hughes, Overlord. General Pete Quesada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War II, 62. 20 Ibid., 108. 21 Hughes, Overlord. General Pete Quesada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War II, 47. 22 Ibid., 77; Mark Watson, Chief of Staff: Prewar Plans and Preparations, (Office of Chief of Military History, 1950), 163; Forest C. Pogue, George C. Marshal: Ordeal and Hope, (New York: The Viking Press, 1966), 290. 23 W.F. Craven and J.L. Cate, The Army Air Forces in World War II, 1, 148. 24 Craven and Cate, The Army Air Forces in World War II, I, 109 and 577; H.H. Arnold, Global Mission, (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1949), 192. 25 General Carl Spaatz, “Strategic Air Power”, Foreign Affairs, Vol.24, April 1946, 387. 26 See Alexander De Seversky, Victory Through Airpower, (New York: Garden City Publishing Co., Inc., 1943, particularly pages 43–73. 27 Manuscript Division of the Library of Congress (LC) in Washington D.C., Quesada Papers, Letter from Major Quesada to Mrs. Helen Quesada, 20 April 1941. 28 Increasing space was devoted to the close support system in the CGSS magazine Military Review, especially after operation ‘Torch’. For examples see National Archives and Record Administration, College Park MD. (NARA) RG 337 Entry 105 Box 2 Capt. F.O. Miksche (Czech. Army), “What Really is Air

Notes 197

29 30 31 32 33

34

35

36

37 38

39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Cooperation”, Military Review, Vol.XXII, No.87, January 1943; Lt. Col. A. Vasilyev (Soviet Army), “Air Action Against Combat Formations”, Military Review, Vol.XXIII, No.2, May 1943; Colonel Wilfrid H. Hardy, “Aviation in Support of Ground Troops”, Military Review, Vol.XXIII, No.3, June 1943; Col. W.H. Hardy, “The Air Support Command”, Military Review, Vol.XXIII, No.4, July 1943. Greer, The Development of Air Doctrine in the Army Air Arm, 1917–1941, 113. NARA RG 407, U.S. Army Unclassified Decimal File, File 300.7 Field Manual 1–5 Employment of Aviation of the Army, 15 April 1940. Ibid. Hughes, Overlord. General Pete Quesada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War II, 55. The only U.S. armed service with an effective close air support system was the U.S. Marine Corps. However, given the absence of inter-service communication between the Marines and the U.S. Army, it had no impact on USAAF close air support. See Hughes, Overlord. General Pete Quesada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War II, chapter 2. NARA, RG 337 Entry 55 Box 970, Memorandum from Headquarters Third Army to the Commanding General, Army Ground Forces, Washington DC, 25 November 1942. NARA RG 337 Entry 55 Box 970, Memorandum from Col. D.M. Schlatter, Director of Air Support, to the Commanding General Army Ground Forces, Army War College, Washington DC, 24 October 1942. Royal Air Force Museum, Hendon, (RAFM) Trenchard Papers, CII/1, Memorandum by Churchill to the Cabinet, 24 October 1919; Martin Gilbert, Winston S. Churchill, III, 769. PRO AIR 8/3 The Second Report of the Smuts Committee, 17 August 1917; CAB 23/3, 233rd meeting of the War Cabinet, Appendix II. PRO AIR 41/8, R.A.F. Narrative, The Expansion of the Royal Air Force 1934– 1939, 2; H. Montgomery Hyde, British Air Policy Between the Wars, 1918–1939, 49; Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives (LHCMA) Brooke-Popham papers, VII/22. LHCMA, Liddell Hart Papers 1/644, Personal Reflections by Sir John Slessor, September 1964, 7. PRO CAB 5/4, The Air Force in Relation to the Army and Navy 150-C Memorandum by the Secretary of State for War, 28 September 1921, 6. Ibid. PRO AIR 8/2, Quartermaster General to Secretary of State for War, 25 July 1919. PRO CAB 5/4, 151-C, Memorandum from CAS Trenchard to Secretary of State for Air, 17 Oct. 1921. David Omissi, Air Power and Colonial Control, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1990), 36, also 38. PRO AIR 5/280, Memorandum to the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, 10 December 1928. PRO AIR 10/1437, Manual of Combined Operations, 1938. Ibid. For examples of this debate, see Flight Lieutenant C.J. MacKay, “The Influence in the Future of Aircraft Upon the Problems of Imperial Defence”, Journal of

198 Notes

49

50

51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59

60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68

69 70 71 72

73

the Royal United Service Institute, Vol.67, May 1922, 285; Group-Captain Foster, “Air Power and Its Application”, Journal of the Royal United Service Institute, Vol.73, 1928, 247. PRO AIR 9/5 number 4 CID 139-C, Memorandum from Henry Wilson, F.M., CIGS entitled, “The Role of the Air Force in Relation to the Army”, 25 May 1921. For typical army views, see Major-General W.D. Bird, “Some Speculations on Aerial Strategy”, Army Quarterly, Vol.IV, April 1922–July 1922, 249; “Air and Land Warfare”, Army Quarterly, Vol.X, April–July 1925, no author specified, 280; Colonel M.A. Wingfield, “Air Operations Against the Lines of Communication of an Army”, Army Quarterly, Vol.XI, Oct. 1925–January 1926, 376. Wing Commander T. Leigh-Mallory, “The Maintenance of Air Superiority in a Land Campaign”, Royal Air Force Quarterly, Vol.II, No.2, April 1931, 245; Wing Commander T.L. Leigh-Mallory, “Air Cooperation with Mechanised Forces”, Journal of the Royal United Service Institute, Vol.75, 5 March 1930, 566 and 572. Slessor, The Central Blue, 42 and 83. Air Commodore Henry Probert, High Commanders of the Royal Air Force, (London: HMSO, 1991), 41. Ibid. Slessor, The Central Blue, 94. J.C. Slessor, Air Power and Armies, 213. Ibid. Ibid. Field Service Regulations, Vol.II, (London: His Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1935), 16. Ibid; PRO AIR 10/1889, Royal Air Force Manual of Army Cooperation, 1937; Lieut.-Colonel F.A. Pile, “The Army’s Air Needs”, Journal of the Royal United Services Institute, 71, 1926. Sir John Slessor, The Central Blue, pp.42–3. PRO AIR 10/1708, Army Cooperation Report 1927, 14. PRO AIR 10/1759, Army Cooperation Report 1928, 21. Ibid., 7. PRO AIR 10/1777, Army Cooperation Report 1929, 7. Ibid. PRO CAB 53/5, Chiefs of Staff Meeting, 1 November 1934. PRO AIR 10/1914, Army Cooperation Training Memorandum, 1934, 6. LHCMA, Sir Jock Burnett-Stuart Papers, I/I, Southern Command Annual Report on Training of the Regular Army 1936/1937, Appendix 10 Air Cooperation, 1937. Ibid. LHCMA, Sir Jock Burnett-Stuart Papers, I/I, Training Memorandum, 1931, 3. Ibid. Tedder was included on the distribution list of many of Slessor’s papers on air control. In particular, AIR 75/27 Official Papers of Marshal of the Royal Air Force (MRAF) Sir John Slessor, Air Control. The Other Point of View, 193, 2. In this paper, Slessor outlined the importance of ground troops in Air Control operations. RAFM Tedder Papers, Lecture given to RAF Staff College, Andover entitled, “Air Aspects of Combined Operations”.

Notes 199 74 Vincent Orange, Coningham, (London: Methuen, 1990), 39. 75 Ibid. 76 PRO AIR 23/542, Report by Air Marshal Salmond to the Air Ministry on his Command in Iraq, April 1924. 77 Orange, Coningham, 39–40. 78 Ibid., 40. 79 Ibid. 80 Ibid. 81 Slessor, The Central Blue, pp.124–8. 82 Ibid., 128; PRO AIR 75/31, Combined Report on Air Cooperation Training, 2 (Rawalpindi) Infantry Brigade (Bde.) and 3 Indian Wing, November 1936, pp.5–6. 83 Slessor, The Central Blue, 129. 84 PRO AIR 75/29, Air Staff (India) Memo No.1 April 1935; also PRO AIR 75/31 Combined Report on Air Cooperation Training, 2 (Rawalpindi) Infantry Bde and 3 Indian Wing, November 1936, pp.7–8. 85 PRO AIR 75/28, Report to The Secretary, Military Department India Office, by the Air Officer Commanding in India on the Air Operations in Bajuar 21st July, 1933 to 13 August, 1933. For example, air photographs taken of each attack and at the end of each day’s bombing were used to gauge the effect and based on this information it was determined whether to continue the bombing. 86 PRO AIR 75/28, Report to The Secretary, Military Department India Office, by the Air Officer Commanding in India on the Air Operations in Bajuar 21st July, 1933 to 13 August, 1933. 87 Omissi, Air Power and Colonial Control, 44. 88 Ibid., 44–5. 89 Ibid., 46. 90 PRO AIR 5/1244 Report by Lieutenant-General Wavell on Operations in Palestine and Transjordan, 12 September 1937 to 31 March 1937. 91 General Sir Edmund Ironside, Time Unguarded: The Ironside Diaries 1937– 1940, (eds) Roderick Macleod and Denis Kelly, (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1962), 140. 92 PRO WO 277/34, War Office Historical Monograph entitled Army Air Support and Photographic Interpretation, 1939–1945, undated, 12. 93 AHB, Air Support, 19. 94 PRO WO 277/34, War Office Historical Monograph entitled Army Air Support and Photographic Interpretation, 1939–1945 Chapter IV, The, “WannWoodall” Report, undated, 25. 95 Ibid. 96 Ibid. 97 Richard Townshend Bickers, The Desert Air War 1939–1945, (London: Leo Cooper, 1991), 18. For a complete study of the LADA system and adoption for the Battle of Britain in 1940, see John Ferris, “Airbandit: C3I and Strategic Air Defence during the First Battle of Britain, 1915–18”, Strategy and Intelligence: British Policy During the First World War, (eds) Michael Dockrill and David French, (London: The Hambledon Press, 1995), and John Ferris, “Achieving Air Ascendancy: Challenge and Response in British Strategic Air Defence”, Sebastian Cox and Peter Gray (eds), Air Power History: Turning Points from Kitty Hawk to Kosovo, (London: Routledge, 2002).

200 Notes 98 Most sources dramatically underestimate the value and power of the RAF air support system developed in the desert, and fundamentally misrepresent how it functioned. For examples of this see James Corum, “The Luftwaffe’s Army Support Doctrine, 1918–1941”, Journal of Military History, Vol.59, No.1 (1995), 53, and Corum, James S., The Luftwaffe: Creating The Operational Air War, 1918–1940.

Chapter 2 1

2 3 4

5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

PRO CAB 106/918, Despatch on Operations in the Western Desert From 7 December 1940 to 7 February 1941 by General A. Wavell, 1; B.H. Liddell Hart (ed.), The Rommel Papers, (London: Collins, 1953), 91. PRO CAB 106/918, Despatch on Operations in the Western Desert From 7 December 1940 to 7 February 1941 by General A. Wavell, 4. Liddell Hart (ed.), The Rommel Papers, 91. See John Ferris, “The British Army, Signals and Security in the Desert Campaign, 1940–42”, in John Ferris, ed., Intelligence and Strategy: Selected Essays, (London: Routledge, 2005), 181–238. F.H. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, abridged edition, (London: HMSO, 1993), 62. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 64. PRO AIR 40/2252 Mediterranean Air ‘Y’, 18 September 1943, 2. Ibid. Aileen Clayton, The Enemy is Listening, 150–1. WO 208/5077, GSI (s) to DDMI (I), 14/2/41; WO 208/5021, Military ‘Y’ Mideast, GSI (s), 2/3/41; Clayton, The Enemy is Listening, 151. IWM, Papers of Major General Lloyd-Owen, LRDG 1/7. WO 208/4193, CSDIC Interrogation Reports, I/S R.X. 13 Information received in UK on 10 September 1941. PRO WO 208/3478, The Interrogation of Prisoners of War, March 1943. Ibid. F.H. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, Volume I, (London: HMSO, 1979), 205; PRO WO 208/3248, Notes on CSDIC Mediterranean, 1941, Part 1, 1. AWM 54[423/4/24] Notes on the CSDIC, Cairo, Middle East, 1941, 1; PRO WO 208/3248 Notes on CSDIC Mediterranean, undated, Part 1. AWM 54[423/4/24] Notes on the CSDIC, Cairo, Middle East, 1941, 2. Ibid., Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, I, 205. AWM 54[423/4/24] Notes on the Combined Services Detailed Interrogation Centre, Cairo, Middle East, 1941, 2. Ibid. PRO WO 208/3248, Notes on CSDIC Mediterranean, undated, Part 1, 7. Ibid. For an understanding of the requirements for effective interrogation see Toliver, The Interrogator: The Story of Hanns Scarff, Luftwaffe’s Master Interrogator.

Notes 201 26 27 28

29

30 31 32

33 34

35 36 37 38 39 40

41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

PRO WO 277/34, Army Air Support and Photographic Interpretation, 1939–1945, Photographic Interpretation in the Middle East, 1. Ibid. LHCMA General Sir Richard O’Connor’s papers 4/3/1, An Account of Various Events Written by General Sir R.N. O’Connor whilst a prisoner of war in Italy May 1941; PRO CAB 106/685 Letter Regarding Difficulties Encountered While Commanding 13 Corps 1940/41. LHCMA General Sir Richard O’Connor’s papers 4/3/1, An Account of Various Events Written by General Sir R.N. O’Connor whilst a prisoner of war in Italy May 1941. Ibid. Ibid. PRO WO 169/1107, Report on Army Cooperation Carried out In Connection With the Land Operations in the Western Desert and Libya, 31 January 1941, sheet 2. PRO AIR 23/6478, Battle of Cyrenaica 41/42, Notes on Fighter Organization and Control. PRO WO 169/1107, Report on Army Cooperation Carried Out in Connection With the Land Operations in the Western Desert and Libya, 31/1/41, sheet 2. Ibid. Denis Richards, Royal Air Force, 1939–1945, I, 409; PRO AIR 25 index under 202 Group. PRO CAB 106/626, Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Longmore, Air Operations in the Middle East, 1 January to 3 May 1941, 3. Terraine, The Right of the Line: The Royal Air Force in the European War 1939–1945, 310–11. All maps in this document are courtesy of the Department of History, United States Military Academy. CAB 106/918, Despatch on Operations in the Western Desert From 7 December–7 February 1941, by General A. Wavell, 1; PRO WO 169/16, Operations in Western Desert October to December 1940 (Notes on Genesis and Working Out of ‘Compass’ Plan), 3. AHB, Air Support, 48. PRO WO 169/16, Operations in the Western Desert October to December 1940 (Notes on Genesis and Working Out of ‘Compass’ Plan, 3. Ibid. Ibid., 4; Corelli Barnett, The Desert Generals, (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1983), 31–4. PRO CAB 106/918, Despatch on Operations in the Western Desert From 7 December 1940 to 7 February 1941 by General A. Wavell, 7. Ibid. PRO WO 169/1107, War Diary of XIII Corps, Intelligence Summary No.8 for 8–9 January, 1941. RAFM Papers of Air Chief Marshal Sir A. Longmore DC 74/102/14 Despatch by Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Longmore, 1. Ibid., 2. Ibid. Ibid.

202 Notes 52 53 54 55 56

57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80

Richards, Royal Air Force, 1939–1945, I, 273. PRO AIR 41/44 Operations in Libya & The Western Desert September 1939–June 1941, 35. Richards, Royal Air Force, 1939–1945, I, 273. WO 169/1107, War Diary of XIII Corps, XIII Corps Intelligence Summary No.6, 17–19 January, 1941, 6. PRO WO 169/1107, Report on Army Cooperation Carried out in Connection With the Land Operations in the Western Desert and Libya, 31/1/41, sheet 8. PRO WO 277/34, Army Air Support and Photographic Interpretation, 1939–1945, 45. AIR 25/803 Operations Record Book 202 Group, Recognition of Ground Troops, 4 Sept 1939. John Ferris, “The British Army, Signals and Security”, 261. Ibid. PRO WO 201/353, Memorandum from the 4th Indian Division on operations November–December 1940. LHCMA, O’Connor Papers 4/2/19, Letter to Brig. A.R. Selby, Commander Matruh Forces, 14 December 1940. AHB, Air Support, 49. PRO AIR 41/25, Brief Report on Communications in the Western Desert Operations 1941–42, Appendix D (i), 1. Ibid., 4; PRO AIR 23/1344, Memorandum from the Chief Signals Officer to the Air Officer Commanding-in-Chief, Middle East, 13 April 1941. PRO AIR 23/6478, 10; PRO WO 106/2255 Lessons of the Operations in Cyrenaica – No.5, 13 Dec 1941. PRO WO 106/2255 Lessons of the Operations in Cyrenaica – No.5, 13 Dec 1941. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/6203, CSO HQ RAF ME, 6 Feb. 1942. PRO AIR 40/1817 Signals Appendix for Marshal of the Royal Air Force Lord Tedder’s Despatch on Middle East Operations, May 1941–Jan. 1943. PRO AIR 23/6478, 10. Robin Higham, Diary of a Disaster: British Aid to Greece, 1940–1941, (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1986), 7–8, also 13 and 54. Richard Lamb, Churchill as War Leader – Right or Wrong, (London: Bloomsbury, 1993), 127–8. LHCMA, Papers of General Sir Richard O’Connor 4/4/1 War Cabinet Defence Committee (Operations), 20 January 1941. PRO WO 106/2270, Military Intelligence Service, War Office, Notes and Lessons on Operations in the Middle East, January 30th 1943, 5. Terraine, The Right of the Line: The Royal Air Force in the European War 1939–1945, 301–18. Tedder, With Prejudice, 109. Ibid., 189. Richards, The Royal Air Force, 1939–1945, II, 166. PRO AIR 40/1817, German Numbers in the Mediterranean, April 1943; PRO AIR 40/1817 Marshal of the Royal Air Force Lord Tedder’s Despatch on Middle East Operations May 1941–January 1942, section entitled German Numbers in the Mediterranean, April 1943.

Notes 203 81 82

83 84 85 86 87 88

89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104

105 106

107 108

CAB 106/379 Despatch by General Sir A. Wavell, 9. Bennett, Ultra and Mediterranean Strategy. Initially, the term Ultra referred to information gained through breaking the Enigma, and later the Geheimschreiber, cipher. Later in the war, the term Ultra was expanded to include the decryption of high-grade ciphers of whatever source, German, Italian, or Japanese. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, I, 19. Ibid., 571. Ibid., 570. PRO AIR 23/1209 Intelligence Organization-Mobile Fighter Group, 31/5/43. PRO AIR 40/2342 ‘Y’ Service report, 5 May 1941. PRO AIR 23/6482 Signal from 253 Wing to 268 Wing, 3 November, 1941; NAM, Papers of Lt. Gen. Cunningham, Memorandum entitled What We Ask of the Air, undated. CAB 106/767 Report on Operations in Cyrenaica by Lt. Gen Neame, 7 April 1941, 5. Tony Devereux, Messenger Gods of Battle, (London: Brassey’s, 1991), 30, also 38 and 80–1. WO 169/1988, Report on Wireless Exercise 12/13 Aug. ’41, 18.8.41, 3. Ibid. PRO WO 201/369, Some Signals Lessons of the Libyan Campaign, Part One, November 1941 to February 1942, 1. PRO AIR 40/1817 Signals Appendix for Lord Tedder’s Despatch on Middle East Operations, May 1941–Jan. 1943. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. CAB 106/379 Despatch by General Sir A. Wavell, 9. LHCMA Papers of Maj. Gen A. Leakey 1 “Nine Lives: A Soldier’s Story”, 66–72. AHB, Air Support, 50. Ronald Lewin, The Life and Death of the Afrika Korps, (London: B.T. Batsford Ltd., 1977), 62; Richards, II, 59. LHCMA Papers of Major General Sir M. O’Moore Creagh, GOC 7 Armoured Division, Notes on Desert War, 1941. Tedder, 124; Barrie Pitt, The Crucible of War: Western Desert 1941, (London: Jonathan Cape, 1980), 296. PRO AIR 23/1391 Air Operations, 6 June 1941; PRO WO 106/2161 Secret Cipher Telegram from HQ RAF ME to the Air Ministry, Whitehall, 21 June 1941. LHCMA, Papers of Maj-Gen Sir M. O’Moore Creagh, GOC 7 Armoured Division, Notes on Desert War, 1941. Ronald Lewin, Rommel as Military Commander, (London: B.T. Batsford, 1968), 45–6; Hans Behrendt, Rommel’s Intelligence in the Desert Campaign 1941–1943, (London: William Kimber, 1985). PRO WO 106/2161, Most Secret Cipher Telegram from The War Office to 29 British Liaison Staff, Washington, 17 July 1941. John Rylands University of Manchester Library (JRUML), Papers of FieldMarshal Sir Claude Auchinleck, Item 304, Note by the Prime Minister to the Chief of Staff Committee, 29 August 1941.

204 Notes 109

110 111 112 113 114

115 116 117 118 119 120 121

122

123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136

National Army Museum (NAM), Papers of Lt. Gen. Cunningham, 8303104/17, Despatch on Operations, undated, 7, also 8303-104/19, Control of Air Forces, 4 October 1941. Ibid., Letter from Coningham to Cunningham, 4 November 1941. Tedder, With Prejudice, 189. PRO WO 201/369, Some Signals Lessons of the Libyan Campaign, November 1941 to February 1942 Part Two – Detailed Technical Lessons. PRO WO 169/1123, GS 30 Corps War Diary 1941, Notes on First Phase Operations in Libya 18 November–10 December, 1940. PRO WO 201/369 Some Signals Lessons of the Libyan Campaign, November 1941 to February 1942 Part Two – Detailed Technical Lessons, paragraph 16 (i). WO 169/1123 GS 30 Corps War Diary 1941 Lessons on First Phase of Ops in Libya 18 Nov–10 Dec 41, 25. Ibid. Ibid. PRO WO 169/3904, Eighth Army Main Headquarters Signals, December 1941. PRO AIR 40/1817, Signals Appendix for Marshal of the Royal Air Force Lord Tedder’s Despatch on Middle East Operations, May 1941–Jan. 1943, 9. PRO CAB 106/535 Operations in the Middle East, 5 July ’41–31 October ’41. PRO WO 201/488 Appendix B to D.O. Circular No.12, 16 January 1944, also NARA RG 331 Box 43, Reel 71-B, Records of Allied Force Headquarters (AFHQ), Air Liaison Officers’ Course, Italy 17 May to 2 June 1945. LHCMA De Guingand Papers IV/2/10a 21 Army Group, Some Notes on the Use of Air Power in Support of Land Operations and Direct Air Support, December 1944. PRO WO 277/34, Army Air Support and Photographic Interpretation, 1939–1945, Organization and Training of Air Liaison Officers, 35. PRO AIR 23/1209 Organization and Application of Air Intelligence in a Tactical Air Force, undated. Ibid.; IWM Papers of Lt. Col. R.R. Prentice, War Intelligence Course, undated. PRO WO 208/3248, Notes on CSDIC Mediterranean, Part 1, 2. Group Captain A. Lambert, The Psychology of Air Power, (London: RUSI, 1995), 6. AWM 54[423/4/24] CSDIC Mobile Unit; PRO WO 208/3248, Notes on CSDIC Mediterranean, Part 1, 7. Ibid; PRO WO 208/3248, Notes on CSDIC Mediterranean, Part 1, 2. AWM 54[423/4/24] CSDIC Mobile Unit. JRUML, Papers of Field-Marshal Sir Claude Auchinleck, Item 620 Notes on the Present Military Situation by GSI Adv. HQ 8th Army, 9 January, 1942. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1345 Answers to War Office Questions, 27 December 1941, 2. PRO AIR 23/6472, Report on reconnaissance before and after the formation of 285 Wing, 1945. RAFM Middle East Review No.2 January to March 1943, RAF HQ ME, 90. PRO AIR 23/6472 Report on reconnaissance before and after the formation of 285 Wing, 1945.

Notes 205 137 138

Ibid. PRO AIR 20/7706, War Diary of Panzer Army Africa, Panzer Army HQ Ia Report on RAF Operations, 5 September 1942. 139 PRO AIR 23/1345 Army Air Support, Answers to War Office Questions, 27 December 1941. 140 Ibid. 141 PRO WO 169/6638, War Diary of No.2 AASC, January and March 1942. 142 PRO AIR 41/25 The Middle East Campaigns, June 1941–January 1942, 62, also 129. 143 Ibid., 62, also 129. 144 Ibid., 61 145 Ibid., 60. 146 PRO WO 277/34, Army Air Support and Photographic Interpretation, 1939–1945, 4. 147 Ibid. 148 PRO WO 169/1123 GS 30 Corps War Diary 1941, Air Support and Signals Exercise, October 1941. 149 Ibid. 150 LHCMA, Papers of Major General McNeill 2/4 B4, memorandum entitled Ground/Air Recognition, Oct. 1941. 151 WO 169/1123 GS 30 Corps War Diary 1941 Appendix KK to 30 Corps Operation Instruction No.1, Ground/Air Recognition 7 Nov 41. 152 PRO CAB 106/650, The Crusader Operation 18 November–29 December 1941; James Lucas, Panzer Army Africa, (London, 1977), 66. 153 PRO WO 169/1107, War Diary of XIII Corps, 8 Nov. 1941. 154 Pitt, The Crucible of War: Western Desert 1941, 340. 155 Richards, Air Force, 1939–1945, II, 171. 156 Orange, Coningham, 84. 157 Ibid. 158 PRO AIR 41/25 The Middle East Campaigns, June 1941–January 1942, 87; also see Sebastian Cox “The Difference between White and Black: Churchill, Imperial Politics, and Intelligence before the 1941 Crusader Offensive”, Intelligence and National Security, Vol.9, No.3, July 1996, which deals with numbers of aircraft prior to ‘Crusader’, and how intelligence was distorted to reflect the wishes of superiors. 159 Richards, Air Force, 1939–1945, II, 175; I.S.O. Playfair, The Mediterranean and Middle East, Volume III, (London: HMSO, 1960), 66. 160 John Ferris “The Usual Source: Signals Intelligence and Planning for the ‘Crusader’ Offensive, 1941”, Intelligence and National Security, Vol.14, No.1 (1999), 112. 161 PRO WO 106/2255, Lessons from Operations – Cyrenaica No.1, 5 Nov. 41, p,2. 162 Lewin, Rommel as Military Commander, 66. 163 JRUML, Papers of Field-Marshal Sir Claude Auchinleck, Item 450, Situation Report from Battle HQ 30 Corps, 23 November 1941. 164 Lewin, Rommel as Military Commander, 76–8. 165 PRO WO 169/1107 War Diary of XIII Corps, Special Intelligence Summary Report on Operations, 13–15 September 1941. 166 Ibid.

206 Notes 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182

183 184 185 186 187 188

189 190

PRO AIR 23/6479 Air Operations During Phase I, Oct. 14, 1941. PRO AIR 24/1662, Operations Record Book, Air Headquarters Western Desert, 22 November 1941. Ibid. Richards, Air Force, 1939–1945, II, 175. AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum No.9, Ground Strafing by Single Seat Fighters, February 1942, 1–2. Ibid., 2. Orange, Coningham, 93. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum – The Employment of Beaufighters in Day Operations, November 1941. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1345, Secret Cipher Message from Air Marshal Tedder to the Air Ministry, Whitehall, 27 November 1941. PRO AIR 24/1080 A.875, Operations Record Book Appendices Middle East Air Staff 1942, 2 January 1942. Richards, Air Force, 1939–1945, II, 172. James J. Sadkovich, The Italian Navy in World War II, (London: Greenwood Press, 1994), 344. Ibid. JRUML, Papers of Field-Marshal Sir Claude Auchinleck, Item 595 Brief Appreciation of the Situation in the Agedabia area, by Commander, Eighth Army, 29 December, 1941. Lewin, Rommel as Military Commander, 96. PRO AIR 41/25 The Middle East Campaigns, June 1941–January 1942, 296. PRO CAB 106/650, The Crusader Operation 18 November–29 December 1941, 19. Major K.J. Macksey, Afrika Korps, (New York: Ballantine Books, 1968), 85. PRO CAB 101/136 Telegram from C-in-C Middle East A-O-C-in-C Middle East, 1942. PRO CAB 106/767 Despatch on Operations by General Sir Claude J.E. Auchinleck, Commander-in-Chief, The Middle East Forces 1st November, 1941–15th August 1942. Ibid. Ibid.

Chapter 3 1 2 3 4

5 6

Lewin, Rommel as Military Commander, 96. Richards, Royal Air Force, 1939–1945, II, 187. PRO AIR 24/443 Operations Record Book of Forward Desert Air Force, February 1942. PRO WO 169/6638 War Diary of No.2 AASC. This unit arrived in the Middle East on 28 January 1942, but was not fully functional until two months later. Ibid., 9 May 1942. Ibid., 14 March 1942.

Notes 207 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

Devereux, Messenger Gods of Battle, 82. PRO AIR 40/1817 Signals Appendix for Marshal of the Royal Air Force Lord Tedder’s Despatch on Middle East Operations, May 1941–Jan. 1943. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. John Ferris, “The British Army, Signals and Security”, in Intelligence and Military Operations, 278. IWM, Papers of Brigadier H.N. Crawford, 7th Armoured Division Secret Report on Operations 27 May to 31 July 1942, Appendix A, 7th Armoured Division W/T Communication as of 0600 27 May 1942. Ibid. Ibid. PRO WO 201/369 Some Signal Lessons of the Libyan Campaign November 1941 to February 1942. NAM, Papers of Lieutenant General Cunningham, 8303-104/17, Despatch on Operations, undated, 6. Cross, Straight and Level, 156–7. Bennett, Ultra and Mediterranean Strategy, 114. PRO DEFE 3/755, MK 5066, 7 May, 1942. J. Connell, Auchinleck, (London, 1959), 504, and 517. PRO WO 208/5077, GSI (s) to DDMI (I), 14 February, 1942; WO 208/5021, Military ‘Y’ Middle East, GSI (s), 2 March, 1942. Clayton, The Enemy is Listening, 151. PRO AIR 40/2345 Y Daily Reports Middle East for 20 May, 1942. Australian War Memorial (AWM) 54[423/4/24] Memorandum from Army Headquarters New Zealand Military Forces on the Interrogation of Prisoners of War, 22 June, 1942. AWM 54[423/4/24] CSDIC Cairo Memorandum on Prisoner of War information given, May 5, 1942. PRO WO 208/4193, Interrogation of Italian Prisoner I/S S.R.X. 111, August 1941. AWM 54[423/4/24] Memorandum entitled Items of RAF interest from PW Sources, 7 May 1942. PRO AIR 20/7706, War Diary of Panzer Army Africa 28 July–23 October, memorandum from Panzer Army HQ Ia, 5 September 1942. Ibid. PRO CAB 106/1219 General Playfair’s Correspondence about the Enemy Supply Situation, May 1942. PRO AIR 41/25 Enemy Supply System in Libya, November 1941. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. PRO WO 201/539 Instructions for the Collection and Quick Dissemination of Information, 9 May ’42.

208 Notes 41 42 43 44

45 46 47

48 49 50 51

52 53

54 55 56 57 58 59 60

61 62

63 64

65 66

Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. PRO WO 169/6638, War Diary of No.2 AASC, memorandum from Major McNeill to BGS 8th Army discussing the employment of the AASC, 1 April 1942. Ibid. PRO WO 277/34, Army Air Support and Photographic Interpretation, 1939–1945, Photographic Interpretation in the Middle East, 2–3. PRO AIR 23/6472 No.285 Reconnaissance Wing: Report on Organization and Operational Methods from Formation Until the Conclusion of the European War, 1945. PRO WO 201/539 Instructions for the Collection and Quick Dissemination of Information, 9 May 1942. Ibid. PRO AIR 40/1167, Photographic Reconnaissance; RAFM, Middle East Review No.2, Jan–Mar 1943, HQ RAF Middle East, 90. AIR 23/6472 No.285 Reconnaissance Wing: Report on Organization and Operational Methods from Formation Until the Conclusion of the European War, 1945. WO 201/539 Instructions for the Collection and Quick Dissemination of Information 9 May 1942. AIR 23/6472 No.285 Reconnaissance Wing: Report on Organization and Operational Methods from Formation Until the Conclusion of the European War, 1945. MA, Papers of Major General McNeill, 2/8 B8, Middle East Training Pamphlet 3A. Ibid., 59. PRO WO 277/34, Army Air Support and Photographic Interpretation, 1939–1945, 44. Orange, Coningham, 214. PRO AIR 41/25 The Middle East Campaigns Volume II, June 1941–January 1942, 60. PRO AIR 20/6130 Report by Air Marshal Sir T. Leigh-Mallory on his visit to North Africa, April 1943. PRO WO 201/488 The Application of Direct Support, December 1941, 14; LHCMA, Papers of Major General McNeill, memorandum entitled Tentacle Management, undated. Ibid. LHCMA, Papers of Major General McNeill, memorandum entitled Air Support Control, 2 November, 1942; PRO WO 201/585, Air Support Demonstration, February 1943. PRO WO 201/488 The Application of Direct Support, December 1941, 14. PRO AIR 23/6200, RAF Operations in the Western Desert and Eastern Mediterranean, Report entitled Aircraft Reinforcements to the Middle East Command 18 Nov. 1941–19 May, 1942; Richards, The Royal Air Force, 1939–1945, I, 247–9. Guedalla, Middle East 1940–42: A Study in Air Power, 192. Tedder, With Prejudice, 155.

Notes 209 67 68 69 70 71 72 73

74 75 76 77 78

79 80 81 82 83

84 85 86 87 88

89 90 91

92

93

PRO AIR 23/6200 RAF Operations in the Western Desert and Eastern Mediterranean, 1942. Air Ministry, RAF Middle East: The Story of Air Operations February 1942–January 1943, (London: Alabaster, Passmore & Sons, Ltd., 1945), 34. PRO AIR 23/6493, Maintenance, Supply, and Salvage Organization, Western Desert, 1942. Ibid. Ibid. Air Ministry, RAF Middle East: The Story of Air Operations February 1942–January 1943, 34–5. Air Marshal Sir Thomas Elmhirst, “Mobile Air Forces”, Journal of the Royal United Services Institute, Vol.96 (1951). Elmhirst was responsible for organizing RAF units so they were more mobile, and better able to operate in fluid battles. PRO AIR 23/6493 Maintenance, Supply, and Salvage Organization, Western Desert 1942. PRO AIR 23/1209, Organization and Application of Air Intelligence in a Tactical Air Force, 1942, 19. Ibid. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum No.9, February 1942, 1, also see Bill Colgan, World War Two Fighter-Bomber Pilot, (Blue Ridge Summit, PA: TAB Books Inc., 1985). Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1281, Middle East Training Memorandum No.3, Report on Trials on Salisbury Plain 24th June, 1941. Ibid. Ibid. LHCMA, Papers of Major General Sir Michael O’Moore Creagh, Notes on Summing Up by Army Command, Air Vice-Marshal Saul and GroupCaptain Cooper on Exercise “Rommel One”, Held 3–4 Feb. 42. PRO AIR 23/1281, Middle East Training Memorandum No.3, Report on Trials – Fighter v. Tank on Salisbury Plain 24th June, 1941. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1826 The Characteristics, Limitations and Tactical Employment of the Fighter-bomber – Some Comparisons with the Light Bomber, Senior Intelligence Staff Officer, Air Headquarters Desert Air Force, 13 April 1944, 3. Ibid. Ibid., 4. RAFM Papers of Air Marshal Robb, AC 71/9/153, Memorandum on the Effect of Withdrawing Fighter Bombers from Tactical Air Force, from HQ, NWTAF, 29 December 1943. PRO AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum No.10, Tactics Employed by day based upon Experiences Gained up to the Conclusion of the Present Campaign In Libya, December 1941. Ibid.

210 Notes 94 95

96 97

98 99 100 101 102 103 104

105

106

107 108

109 110 111 112 113 114

115 116 117

LHCMA MISC 26/5/4 Enemy Weapons Part IV German Infantry, Heavy AA and Divisional Artillery, published by the War Office in February 1943. Ibid.; PRO AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum No.8, Enemy Anti-Aircraft; PRO AIR 23/922 Operational Research Section Memorandum M.30, March 1942. Ibid. LHCMA Major General McNeill 2/21 B21, Middle East Training Pamphlet No.3B (Army & RAF), March 1943; PRO AIR 39/129 The Technical Aspect of Army Air Support, Air Tactics (Air Ministry), June 1942. PRO AIR 23/6485 Operation Order No.164 of 12 Squadron, SAAF, 14 September 1941. Ibid. Ibid; also AIR 23/6485 Operation Report 0.0.164 of 12 Squadron, SAAF, 15 September 1941. AIR 23/6485 Operation Report 0.0.164 of 12 Squadron, SAAF, 15 September 1941. Ibid. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1347 Secret Cypher Message from Air Marshal Tedder to the Air Ministry, Whitehall, 27 June 1942. Also see Ian Gooderson, “Heavy and Medium Bombers: How Successful Were They in Tactical Close Air Support During World War II?” Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol.15, No.3, September 1992. This assumption is based on the increasing number of fighter-bomber squadrons from late 1941 onward (see Richards, The Royal Air Force, 1939–1945, 385–90) and their suitability to close air support operations (see Richards, I, 204, 228, and 260; PRO AIR 24/1080 Operations Record Book Appendices Middle East Air Staff 1942, 2 January 1942). AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum – Hurricane I – Bombing and Ground Strafing Tactics, 5th February, 1942, 1; PRO AIR 30/129 The Tactical Aspect of Army Air Support, 3. AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum – Hurricane I, 5th February, 1942, 2. PRO AIR 23/1826 The Characteristics, Limitations and Tactical Employment of the Fighter Bomber – Some Comparisons with the Light Bomber, Senior Operations Staff Officer, 13 April 1944. PRO AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum No.9, February 1942, 1. Ibid. Ibid. AIR 23/1281, Middle East Tactical Memorandum No.20, Notes on the Employment of Kittyhawk Bombers, 1942. Ibid. PRO AIR 24/1080 A.874, Operations Record Book Appendices Middle East Air Staff 1942, Message to Air Ministry, Whitehall from HQ RAF ME, 17 January 1942. PRO AIR 27/873, Operations Record Book No.112 Squadron, R.A.F., 26 January 1942. Orange, Coningham, 82. PRO WO 169/6638 War Diary of No.2 AASC, 18 May 1942.

Notes 211 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139

140 141

142 143 144 145

Barrie Pitt, Crucible of War: Year of Alamein 1942, (London: Jonathan Cape, 1982), 31. Liddell Hart (ed.), The Rommel papers, 194. Lewin, Rommel as Military Commander, 111–12. Ibid., 110. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1347 Secret Cypher Message from Air Marshal Tedder to the Chief of the Air Staff, 21 June 1942. PRO CAB 106/1219 The enemy supply route round Bir Hacheim, 1942. PRO AIR 23/1347 Secret Cypher Message from Air Marshal Tedder to the Chief of the Air Staff, 21 June 1942. Richards, The Royal Air Force, 1939–1945, II, 199–200. PRO WO 169/6638, War Diary of No.2 AASC, June 3 1942. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 4 June 1942; Orange, Coningham, 213. PRO AIR 23/904 AHQ Western Desert Correspondence, Letter from Tedder to Coningham, 1 June 1942. Orpen, War in the Desert. Vol.III of South African Forces in World War Two, 268. Pitt, Crucible of War: Year of Alamein 1942, 82. Ibid., 80. Ibid., 99. Ibid. Richards, Air Force, 1939–1945, II, 225. Macksey, Afrika Korps, 85. Martin Van Creveld, Supplying War: Logistics from Wallenstein to Patton. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1977), 197; PRO AIR 20/7706 War Diary of Panzer Army Africa, memorandum from Army battle HQ to OKW Operational Staff, 1 August 1942. Van Creveld, Supplying War, 190. PRO AIR 20/7706, War Diary for Panzer Army Africa, memorandum from Army Battle HQ to German General at HQ Italian Armed Forces, Rome, 2 August 1942, also a memorandum from Army Battle HQ to Army General Staff Operations Department, 8 August 1942. Francis de Guingand, Generals At War, (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1964), 182. Lieutenant General Lewis Brereton, The Brereton Diaries, (New York: Morrow, 1946), 137–8. PRO WO 106/2270, Military Intelligence Service, War Office, Notes and Lessons on Operations in the Middle East, January 30 1943, 14. LHCMA, Papers of Major General McNeill, 1/1, Report on Period 30th August–18th October, 1942.

Chapter 4 1

CAB 106/703 Address to Officers of HQ Eighth Army by General Montgomery On Taking Over Command of the Army, 13 August 1942.

212 Notes 2 3 4 5 6 7

8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Montgomery, The Montgomery Paper, 109. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1299, Air Power in the Land Battle, 1943. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1299, Air Power in the Land Battle, 1943; Craven and Cate, The Army Air Forces in World War Two, I. Stephen Brooks (ed.), Montgomery and the Eighth Army: A Selection from the Diaries, Correspondence and other Papers of Field Marshal The Viscount Montgomery of Alamein, August 1942 to December 1943, (London: The Bodley Head, 1991), 149–50. Ibid., 150. Nigel Hamilton, Monty: Master of the Battlefield, 1942–1944, (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1983), 12. PRO CAB 146/27 Evaluation of the British and American Commands and Troops in North Africa, 1943. B.L. Montgomery, The Memoirs of Field-Marshal The Viscount Montgomery of Alamein, (London: Collins, 1958), 137–8. Ibid., 138. Bennett, Ultra and Mediterranean Strategy, 112. Ibid., 126. PRO DEFE 3/770 MKA 2239, 13 August 1942, and MKA 2094 and 2095, 15 August 1942. Bennett, Ultra and Mediterranean Strategy, 142. Ibid., 157. WO 208/5077, GSI (s) to DDMI (I), 14/2/41; WO 208/5021, Military ‘Y’ Middle East, GSI (s), 2/3/41; Clayton, The Enemy is Listening, 151. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, II, 215. Clayton, The Enemy is Listening, 200. PRO AIR 40/2252 Mediterranean Air ‘Y’, 18 September 1942, 2. PRO AIR 23/6472 No.285 Reconnaissance Wing: Report on Organization and Operational Methods from Formation Until the Conclusion of the European War, 1945. Ibid. PRO WO 277/34, Army Air Support and Photographic Interpretation, 1939–1945, 4. PRO WO 169/6638, War Diary of No.2 Army Air Support Control, 28 August 1942. Ibid., memorandum entitled Ground to Air Recognition Signals, 23 August 1942. PRO WO 169/6640 War Diary of No.5 Army Air Support Control, 21 July 1942. Ibid. LHCMA, Papers of Major General McNeill 1/1, Intelligence summary for Period 30th August–18th October. Tedder, With Prejudice, 120. Ibid. W.H. Tantum and E.J. Hoffschmidt (eds), The Rise and Fall of the German Air Force, (Greenwhich: WE Inc., 1969), 137–45.

Notes 213 33

34 35 36

37 38 39 40

41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53

54

55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63

PRO AIR 40/1817 Marshal of the Royal Air Force Lord Tedder’s Despatch on Middle East Operations May 1941–January 1942, section entitled German Numbers in the Mediterranean, April 1943. Ibid. PRO AIR 26/22, War Diary of No.7 (SA) Wing: SAAF, 1 September 1942. PRO AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum No.10, Tactics Employed By Light Bomber Squadrons By Day Based Upon Experiences Gained Up to the Conclusion of the Present Campaign (Phase I) In Libya, December 1941, 2 paragraph 5. Orange, Coningham, 145. PRO WO/6640, War Diary of No.5 Army Air Support Control, 16 July 1942. PRO AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum No.21, The Operational Employment of the Hurricane IID, September 1942. PRO AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum No.21, The Operational Employment of the Hurricane IID, September 1942, also PRO WO 169/6083 War Diary of No.2 AASC, Appendix A, 23 July 1942. PRO AIR 23/1281 Middle East Tactical Memorandum No.21, The Operational Employment of the Hurricane IID, September 1942. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. PRO AIR 41/50, The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia July 1942–May 1943, 279. Ibid. Liddell Hart (ed.), The Rommel Papers, 295. PRO AIR 39/141 Suggestions for Direct Air Support By Night, circulated by Air Tactics HQ RAF Middle East, February, 1942. Ibid. PRO AIR 20/7706 War Diary of Panzer Army Africa 28 July–23 October 1942 Memorandum on RAF Operations, 8 September; PRO AIR 41/50 Appendix 10, Advanced Air Headquarters, Western Desert Operation Instruction No.5, 21 October, 1942. PRO AIR 20/7706 AIR 20/7706 War Diary of Panzer Army Africa 28 July– 23 October 1942 Memorandum on RAF Operations from Panzer Army HQ Ia to Panzer Army Africa, 8 September 1942. Ibid. WO 169/6638 War Diary of No.2 AASC, 30 August 1942. WO 169/6638 War Diary of No.2 AASC, 30 August 1942. Ibid, also RAFM RAF Middle East Review No.1, 28. Pitt, Crucible of War: Year of Alamein 1942, 134. PRO AIR 20/7706, War Diary of Panzer Army Africa, Memorandum on the Situation regarding personnel from Battle HQ, 25 August 1942. Lewin, Montgomery as Military Commander, 55. Playfair, III, The Mediterranean and Middle East, 278–9. Brian Horrocks, A Full Life, (London: Collins, 1960), 108.

214 Notes 64

65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74

75

76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98

Wolf Heckmann, Rommel’s War in Africa, (New York: Doubleday, 1981), 311, also see Michael Howard, British Intelligence in the Second World War, Volume V., Strategic Deception, (London: HMSO, 1990). Lewin, Rommel as Military Commander, 154. AHB, Air Support, 81. Papers of Marshal of the Royal Air Force Charles Portal, Folder 8, Letter from Tedder to Portal, 30 June 1942, quoted in Orange, Coningham, 102. Ibid. Lewin, Rommel as Military Commander, 151. PRO AIR 20/7706, War Diary of Panzer Army Africa, Assessment of the Situation and the State of Panzer Army Africa on 15 August, 1942. Ibid. Ibid. Barrie Pitt, Crucible of War: Year of Alamein 1942, 224. PRO AIR 20/7706, War Diary of Panzer Army Africa, memorandum to OKW Operations Staff, OKH Operations Department, and German General at HQ Italian Armed Forces, Rome, 29 August, 1942. Lewin, Rommel as Military Commander, 157; PRO AIR 20/7706, War Diary of Panzer Army Africa, Daily Report from Panzer Army Africa, 31 August 1942. David Hunt, A Don At War, 125. PRO AIR 20/7706, War Diary of Panzer Army Africa, memorandum from Army Battle HQ to Panzer Army Africa Ia, 2 September, 1942. Lewin, Rommel as Military Commander, 160. PRO AIR 20/7706, War Diary for Panzer Army Africa, memorandum to Fliegerfuehrer Africa, 2 September 1942. Ibid. Ibid., Report on the Bombing Attack on the unit carried out during the Night of 31 August/1 September, 1942, 3 Sept. 1942. Ibid. Ibid; PRO WO 169/6638, War Diary of No.2 AASC, 1 September 1942. PRO WO 169/6638, War Diary of No.2 AASC, 1 September 1942. Liddell Hart, (ed.), The Rommel Papers, 283. Ibid. Ibid., 286. Ibid. B.L. Montgomery, 135; PRO WO 106/2254, Order Issued by G.O.C.-inC. Eighth Army for Final Break Through, 30 October 1942, 2. Duncan Anderson, World At War, (Singapore: Library Books Ltd., 1991), 248. Pitt, Crucible of War: Year of Alamein 1942, 248. Ibid. PRO WO 169/3802 GHQ, MEF Intelligence Summary No.604, 13 October 1942 to 14 October 1942. Liddell Hart, (ed.), 290. Sadkovich, The Italian Navy in World War II, 344. Ibid., 344. Ibid. Ibid.

Notes 215 99 100

101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113

Field Marshal Earl Alexander of Tunis, The Alexander Memoirs 1940–1945, John North (ed.), (London: Cassell, 1962), 53. PRO AIR 20/7706 21st Panzer Division Report on the Battle of Alamein and the Retreat to Marsa El Brega, Appendix to the Report for the Period 23 October–20 November, 1942. Liddell Hart, (ed.), The Rommel Papers, 298, also 305. PRO AIR 20/7706 15th Panzer Division Report on the Battle of Alamein and the Retreat to Marsa El Brega, 2 November 1942. PRO AIR 20/7706, 21st Panzer Division Report on the Battle of Alamein and the Retreat to Marsa El Brega. PRO DEFE 3/778 QT3024 8/10/42; Liddell Hart (ed.), The Rommel Papers, 307. PRO AIR 41/50, The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia July 1942–May 1943, 320. Ibid. Ibid., 280. LHCMA, Papers of Major General McNeill 1/1, Period 19 October to 3 November 1942. PRO Air 41/50, RAF Bomb Weights Dropped by Desert Air Force, 3 November 1942. PRO WO 208/4202 First summary of information gained during the interrogation of General Der Panzertruppe von Thoma, 2. Ibid. PRO WO 208/4193 Interrogation of Italian Prisoners of War, I/S R.X. 126, 1942. PRO AIR 41/50 The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia July 1942–May 1943, 20.

Chapter 5 1 PRO WO 169/647 Operation ‘Grapeshot’, 2 November 1942. 2 Ronald Walker, Alam Halfa and Alamein, Vol.14 of War History Branch, Official History of New Zealand in the Second World War 1939–45, (Wellington: Historical Publications Branch, 1967), 423; PRO DEFE 3/783 QT 5794 and 5797 for 10 November 1942. 3 PRO DEFE 3/783 QT 5794 and 5797 for 10 November 1942. 4 PRO AIR 23/1776 Advanced Air Headquarters Western Desert Operation ‘Buster’, 11 October 1942. 5 PRO AIR 41/50 The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia July 1942–May 1943, 361. 6 Orange, Coningham, 114. 7 PRO AIR 41/50 The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia July 1942–May 1943, 365. 8 Ibid. 9 PRO CAB 106/386 Appendix A to “Lessons from Operations for INT to take to U.K”. Extracts of report by GSO I Eighth Army, 1943. 10 Ibid., AHB, Air Support, 75. 11 RAFM Papers of Air Marshal Robb, AC 71/9/109, Air Power in the Land Battle – A Note by the Chief of the Air Staff, Air Ministry 1943, 3.

216 Notes 12 IWM Bernard Montgomery Collection BLM 29/1 The Battle of Egypt 1942, The Pursuit – 5 November–25 November, 1942. 13 AHB, Close Air Support, 75. 14 RAFM Papers of Air Marshal Robb, AC 71/9/109, Air Power in the Land Battle – A Note by the Chief of the Air Staff, Air Ministry June 1943, 4. 15 Ibid., 5. 16 PRO AIR 23/1209 Intelligence Organization – Mobile Fighter Group, 30 May 1943, 3. 17 Ibid., 1. 18 Ibid., 1–3. 19 PRO AIR 23/1209 Organization and Application of Air Intelligence in a Tactical Air Force, 13. 20 Ibid., 15. 21 Ibid., 16. 22 Ronald Walker, Alam Halfa and Alamein, Vol.14 of War History Branch, Official History of New Zealand in the Second World War 1939–45, (Wellington: Historical Publications Branch, 1967), 423; PRO DEFE 3/783 QT 5794 and 5797 for 10 November 1942. 23 Hamilton, Monty: Master of the Battlefield, 64; PRO WO 214/18 Alexander Papers, letter from Montgomery to Alexander, 18 November 1942. 24 Hamilton, Monty: Master of the Battlefield, 65. 25 PRO WO 201/2155 ‘Y’ Service Report No.354, 2 November 1942. 26 PRO DEFE 3/782 QT 5032, 2 November 1942, also Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, II, 447–8. 27 PRO WO 208/3248 Notes on CSDIC Mediterranean, Part 1. 28 Ibid. 29 Australian War Memorial (AWM) 54[423/4/24] Outline of Information Given by Prisoners 5 May 1942. 30 PRO WO 208/4199 Extracts from German and Italian PW Interrogation Reports, Extract 9, undated. 31 WO 208/4180 CSDIC Report on General interrogation of German Military, Naval and Air Force Prisoners of War during February 1943, 2. 32 Ibid., 3. 33 PRO WO 208/3248 Notes on CSDIC Mediterranean, Part 1, Appendix III Notes on the Use of Air Photos and Photo Intelligence Material in the Detailed Interrogation of Prisoners of War. 34 PRO CAB 146/27 Evaluation of the British and American Commands and Troops in North Africa, Appreciation by Freemde Heere West, 18 May 1943. 35 Ibid. 36 Hans-Otto Behrendt, Rommel’s Intelligence in the Desert Campaign, (London: William Kimber, 1985), chapter 5, argues that although some sources of intelligence had dried up, the Panzer Army still conducted limited reconnaissance, and had some success against British signals traffic. They were able to determine British orders of battle with considerable accuracy, but Montgomery’s hesitancy baffled the Axis commander. 37 PRO AIR 41/50 The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia July 1942–May 1943, 365. 38 Ibid., 467.

Notes 217 39 PRO AIR 26/402 Operations Record Book No.285 Wing, R.A.F. M.E. November 1942–January 1943. 40 PRO AIR 41/50 The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia July 1942–May 1943, 467. 41 PRO WO 208/4197 German and Italian Prisoner of War Interrogation reports. 42 Ibid. 43 PRO AIR 26/402 Operations Record Book No.285 Wing, R.A.F. M.E. November 1942–January 1943. 44 PRO AIR 24/1662 Operations Record Book of Air Headquarters Western Desert, Administrative Instruction No.132, 23 February 1943. 45 RAFM RAF Middle East Review No.2, January to March 1943, RAF HQ Middle East, 90. 46 PRO WO 201/572 Plan for the Agheila Battle, 10 December 1942. 47 Ibid. 48 Nigel Hamilton, The Making of a General, 1887–1942, (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1981), 732. 49 Stephen Hart in his article “Montgomery, Morale, Casualty Conservation and ‘Colossal Cracks’: 21st Army Group’s Operational Technique in NorthWest Europe, 1944–45”, Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol.19, No.4, 1996, argues that conservation of morale and avoiding unnecessary casualties forced Montgomery to build up his forces to a point where he could overwhelm his opponent. This argument is weakened by the intelligence in Montgomery’s hands about the dismal state of the Panzer Army, and the overwhelming British moral and material advantage. If Montgomery’s style was to act to preserve his army’s morale only if he was ensured of material advantage, certainly he should have acted more firmly to destroy the remnants of the Panzer Army. Given such excellent intelligence, the best way to prevent casualties and ensure continued morale was to crush his exhausted and poorly supplied enemy. 50 PRO AIR 41/50 The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia July 1942–May 1943, 399. 51 JRUML Papers of Field-Marshal Sir Claude Auchinleck, Item 304, Note by the Prime Minister to the Chief of Staff Committee, 29 August 1941. 52 Ibid., 368 Air Officer Commander-in-Chief’s despatch of 5 November 1942. 53 Orange, Coningham, 117. 54 Ibid. 55 Liddell Hart (ed.), The Rommel Papers, 321. 56 PRO AIR 25/816 Operation Record Book for 205 Group, 4/5 November 1942. 57 Ibid., 5/6 November 1942; PRO AIR 27/631 Operational Record Book of No.73 Squadron, 5/6 November 1942. 58 Liddell Hart, (ed.), The Rommel Papers, 339. 59 See Map 5.2, black circle. 60 PRO AIR 27/821 Operations Record Book of 104 Squadron RAF, 10 November 1942. 61 PRO AIR 25/816 205 Group Operational Summary, 7 November 1942. 62 Liddell Hart, (ed.), The Rommel Papers, 345. 63 PRO AIR 27/95 Operations Record Book of No.6 Squadron RAF November 1942.

218 Notes 64 PRO AIR 20/7706 War Diary of 15th Panzer Division, 6 November 1942. 65 Sadkovich, The Italian Navy in World War Two, 344. 66 IWM Bernard Montgomery Papers (BLM) 29/1 The Pursuit – 5 Nov. to 25 Nov., 3; PRO DEFE 3/787 QT 7772, QT 7789, and QT 7903, 5 December 1942. 67 PRO AIR 20/7701 VII/66 Air Operations by the 5th Squadra Aerea (Italian Air Force Command in Africa) Between October 20, 1942 and January 31, 1943 translated from the official war diaries. 68 Ibid.; IWM, Montgomery Papers 29/1, The Battle of Egypt, 1942; LC Carl Spaatz Papers I: 12 Special Report: The Air Situation in the Mediterranean Theatre, 7 January 1943. 69 PRO WO 201/572, Plan for the Agheila Battle. This plan included the allotment of tentacles to the forward troops, and the assignment of ground/air recognition signals. 70 Bennett, Ultra and Mediterranean Strategy, 177. 71 PRO DEFE 3/789 QT 8601, 15 December 1942. 72 IWM Montgomery Collection BLM 29/1 The Pursuit – 5 Nov. to 25 Nov, 3. 73 Major William George Stevens, Bardia to Enfidaville, Vol.15 of War History Branch, Official History of New Zealand in the Second World War 1939–45, (Wellington: Historical Publications Branch, 1962), 78. 74 Nigel Hamilton, The Making of a General, 1887–1942, 20. 75 Ibid. 76 PRO CAB 106/572 Account of Operations of Eighth Army Formations under Comd First Army in the Final Phase of the North African Campaign, Appendix 1, Axis Losses in the African Campaigns.

Chapter 6 1 2

3

4 5

6

7 8

LHCMA, Papers of Major-General McNeill 1/2 A2, 1. David R. Mets, “A Glider in the Propwash of the Royal Air Force?”, Daniel Mortensen (ed.), Airpower and Ground Armies, (Maxwell AFB Alabama: Air University Press, 1998), 48. H.H. Arnold, Global Mission, (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1949), 379; Daniel R. Mortensen, A Pattern For Joint Operations: World War II Close Air Support North Africa, (Washington D.C., Office of Air Force History, 1989). Hughes, Overlord. General Pete Quesada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War II, 156–7. David Ian Hall, “The Birth of the Tactical Air Force: British Theory and Practice of Air Support in the West, 1939–1943”, D.Phil. thesis from the University of Oxford, 1996, Chapter 9, 28–9. Dwight D. Eisenhower, Crusade in Europe, (New York: Doubleday, 1948), 27, also Martin Blumenson, The Patton Papers, Volume II, 1940–1945, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1974), 79. George C. Marshall, The Papers of George Catlett Marshall, Vol.3, ed. Larry I. Bland, (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1991), 158. J.R.M. Butler, Grand Strategy, Vol.3, Part II, (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1964), 675.

Notes 219 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

22 23 24 25

26 27 28

29 30 31

32 33

Winston S. Churchill, The Grand Alliance, (Boston: Houghton, 1950), 646. Maurice Matloff and Edwin M. Snell, Strategic Planning for Coalition Warfare, 1941–1942, (Washington: Department of the Army, 1953), 196. Ibid., 104. Marshall, The Papers of George Catlett Marshall, Vol.3, 271. Ibid., 277. Arnold, 321; LC, Arnold Papers, Letter from Arnold to the U.S. Army Chief of Staff, 19 August, 1942. Blumenson, The Patton Papers, II, 81–2. PRO CAB 106/1220 The Structure of A.F.H.Q., undated. Eisenhower, Crusade in Europe, 75. NARA RG 331 AFHQ Box 73 Reel 24-C, Signal Operation Instruction United States – British Security and Priority Classification, 8 October 1942. PRO AIR 47/13 Operation ‘Torch’ (Plan ‘B’) Air Appreciation by Air Marshal Sir William L. Welsh, 5 September 1942. PRO AIR 20/7703 Memorandum to Army General Staff, Operations Division, from OKW Operations Staff, 17 October 1942. J.C. Masterman, The Double Cross System in the War of 1939–1945, (New Haven: 1972), pp.109–10, also see Denis Smyth, “Screening ‘Torch’: Allied Counterintelligence and the Spanish Threat to the Secrecy of the Allied Invasion of North Africa in November 1942”, Intelligence and National Security, Vol.4, No.2, (1989), and John C. Beam, “The Intelligence Background to Operation Torch”, Parameters: The Journal of the U.S. Army War College, Vol.XIII, No.4, December 1983. RAFM, Papers of Air Marshal Robb AC 71/9/3, Principles of War and Strategy by Air Vice-Marshal W. Brook. AHB, Air Support, 82. Eisenhower, Crusade in Europe, 101. George F. Howe, Northwest Africa: Seizing the Initiative in the West, Vol.II, Part 1 of The United States Army in World War II, (Washington D.C., Department of the Army, 1957), 40; LHCMA Papers of Major General F. Davidson File No.50 Visit by DMI Section VI, undated. Howe, Northwest Africa: Seizing the Initiative in the West, 42–3. Ibid., 31; Eisenhower, Crusade in Europe, 91. NARA RG 331 Records of Allied Operational and Occupation Headquarters, World War II, Entry 49A Box 8, AFHQ, General Staff, G-3 Section Operations Subsection, Center Task Force Plan Annex 5 Paratroop Plan and Air Support Plan, AFHQ, General Staff, G-3 Section Operations Subsection, September 1942. Hallion, Strike From the Sky, 164; Col. W.H. Hardy, “The Air Support Command”, Military Review, Vol.XXIII, No.4, July 1943. David Syrett, “The Tunisian Campaign, 1942–43”, 157. NARA RG 331 Records of Allied Operational and Occupation Headquarters, World War II Entry 49A Box 6, Air Force Annex to Administrative Order #1, 4 October 1942. Howe, Northwest Africa: Seizing the Initiative in the West, 52. PRO AIR 23/6560 Army Cooperation Plan, Operation ‘Torch’, 5 October 1942; The initial landings were to be undertaken by American forces, to be supplemented by British forces if the landings were successful. The

220 Notes

34 35 36

37 38 39 40 41

42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

51

52 53 54

reason for the use of American forces was to limit the resistance of the French defenders. If the landings were British in character, it was felt the resistance would have been much greater due to the attack on the French fleet in Mers el Kebir by British forces in 1940, and the subsequent British support of de Gaulle. The U.S., by contrast, maintained diplomatic contact with the Vichy government until the landings. PRO AIR 23/6575 Plans – Op ‘Torch’ (EAC and AFHQ) Sept/Oct 1942 Army Cooperation Plan Operation ‘Torch’. Ibid. PRO AIR 40/2358 Axis Air Operations North Africa and Mediterranean, The Last Phase in North Africa 1st January 1943–12th May 1943; NARA RG 331 Box 196 Reel 51-F AFHQ Comparative Air Force Strength Mediterranean Area, 26 January 1943. Ibid. This did not take place as scheduled, and the U.S. forces fighting in Tunisia were most often under the operational control of II U.S. Corps. Howe, Northwest Africa: Seizing the Initiative in the West, 37. Hall, ‘The Birth of the Tactical Air Force: British Theory and Practice of Air Support in the West, 1939–1943’, chapter 8, 6. Hall, “The Birth of the Tactical Air Force: British Theory and Practice of Air Support in the West, 1939–1943”, chapter 8, 12; PRO CAB 80/37 COS (42) 351 Continental Operations 1943: Operational Organization and System of Command of the RAF, 21 July 1942. Hall, ‘The Birth of the Tactical Air Force: British Theory and Practice of Air Support in the West, 1939–1943’, chapter 8, 8. PRO PREM 3/8 Organization of Air Support for the Army in Continental Operations, 14 November 1942. PRO AIR 47/13 Operation ‘Torch’ (Plan ‘B’) Air Appreciation by Air Marshal Sir William L. Welsh, 5 September 1942, 5. Ibid. Ibid. LC Papers of Carl Spaatz, I: Box 12, Memorandum on the Organization of American Air Forces by Brigadier General L.S. Kuter, 12 May 1943. LC, Papers of Carl Spaatz, I: Box 10, Memorandum by Spaatz on 17 January 1943. Orange, Coningham, 130. Robb was an old friend of Coningham. JRUML Papers of Field-Marshal Sir Claude Auchinleck, Item 304 Note by the Prime Minister to the Chief of Staff Committee, 29 August, 1941. PRO AIR 41/33 The North African Campaign November 1942–May 1943. In December 1942, conflicting tasks allotted to Twelfth Air Force caused the formation of composite commands such as XII Bomber Command and XII Air Support Command; Howe, Northwest Africa: Seizing the Initiative in the West, 294. Ibid., 36. Ibid. RAFM Papers of Air Marshal Robb, AC 71/9/109, Talk by Air Vice Marshal (AVM) Sir A. Coningham to British and American Senior Officers, 16 February 1943.

Notes 221 55

56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74

75 76 77 78

79 80 81 82 83 84 85

PRO AIR 23/6561 AFHQ Air Staff Memorandum for Commander-in-Chief, Allied Forces entitled Problems Connected with the Development of Allied Air Power in the North African Theatre, 30 November 1942. PRO AIR 24/469 Eastern Air Command Operational Summaries, December 1942. PRO AIR 41/33 The North African Campaign November 1942–May 1943, 76. Ibid.; Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, II, 739–40. PRO AIR 41/33 The North African Campaign November 1942–May 1943, 76. Ibid. Ibid. PRO AIR 25/1040 Operational Record Book of 242 Group RAF, Organizational Memorandum No.1, 6 December 1942. PRO AIR 41/33 The North African Campaign November 1942–May 1943, 77. Ibid., 79. Ibid. Ibid., 80. Ibid. Cross, Straight and Level, 257. AIR 27/244 Operations Record Book of No.18 Squadron RAF, 4 December 1942. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, II, 739. Ibid., 739–40. PRO DEFE 3/783 QT 5720, 9 November 1942. Ibid., QT 5896, 10 November 1942. NARA RG 331 Mediterranean Allied Air Force Directorate of Operations and Intelligence, E258 Box 13, Anglo-American ‘Y’ Liaison, undated; NARA RG 331 Mediterranean Allied Air Force Directorate of Operations and Intelligence, Box 74 Reel 33-C Notes and Maxims on the ‘Y’ Service in the Mediterranean Intelligence Aspects. PRO WO 204/938 AFHQ G-2 Section Report of 17 March 1943 entitled Intelligence Lessons from North Africa, 10. PRO WO 204/938 Allied Force Headquarters A/COS G-2 report, 17 March 1943. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, II, 741. NARA RG 331 Entry 258 Box 6, Mediterranean Allied Air Force Director of Operations and Intelligence, Signals Intelligence Sub-section, Mediterranean Air ‘Y’, 4; PRO AIR 40/2252 Mediterranean Air ‘Y’, 18 September 1943, 4; Clayton, The Enemy is Listening, 226. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, II, 744. Ibid. Ibid. Lieutenant Colonel Chandler and Colonel R.W. Robb, Front-Line Intelligence, (Washington: Infantry Journal Press, 1946), 145. RG 331 Box 55 Allied Force Headquarters APO 512, 25 May 1943. Ibid. Ibid.

222 Notes 86 87 88

89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100

101 102

103 104

105 106 107

PRO AIR 23/7434 Report on Air Operations by 242 Group RAF in Support of 1st Army, 1943. PRO AIR 23/6571 EAC Intelligence Summaries, No.4 PRU, 8/11/42–31/ 12/42. NARA RG 331 Entry 270 Box 2 Photographic Reconnaissance, Chapter 1 The Algiers Period. The USAAF’s 3rd Photo Group had no qualified photographic interpreters as late as the middle of December 1942. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. AIR 23/7434 Report on Air Operations by 242 Group RAF in Support of 1st Army, January 1943. PRO AIR 27/1395 Operations Record Book 225 Squadron, December 24 1942. Ibid. Ibid. Bennett, Ultra and Mediterranean Strategy, 190. LC Papers of Carl Spaatz, I: Box 12, Memorandum on the Organization of American Air Forces by Brigadier General L.S. Kuter, 12 May 1943. PRO AIR 27/2120 Operations Record Book 614 Squadron RAF 5 December 1942. PRO AIR 27/181 Operations Record Book, 13 Squadron RAF January 1943. PRO CAB 146/27 Evaluation of the British and American Commands and Troops in North Africa, Appreciation by Freemde Heere West, 18 May 1943. PRO AIR 41/33 The North African Campaign November 1942–May 1943, 121. Craven and Cate, The Army Air Forces in World War Two, Vol.II, 140, also LC Spaatz Papers I: 68 Order Establishing the Allied Air Support Command 23 January 1943. PRO AIR 41/33 The North African Campaign November 1942–May 1943, 121; LC Spaatz Papers I: Box 68, HQ AAF January 1943. NARA RG 331 Entry 251 Box 1, Mediterranean Allied Air Force, Director of Operations and Intelligence, Air Staff Registry, Report on Operations Conducted by XII Air Support Command USAAF Tunisia 13 January 1943– 9 April 1943, 2. Ibid. Ibid., 3. Ibid., 4.

Chapter 7 1 2 3 4

PRO CAB 106/670 Commander-in-Chief’s Dispatch North African Campaign 1942–1943, 37. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1710 Report on Operations of the NWATAF in the Tunisian Campaign 18 February–12 May 1943. PRO CAB 106/670 Commander-in-Chief’s Dispatch North African Campaign 1942–1943, 37.

Notes 223 5 6 7 8 9

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25 26

27 28

29 30 31 32

33

LC Carl Spaatz Papers I: 12 Memorandum to the Air Commander-in-Chef, Allied Air Forces entitled Organizational Changes, 1 February 1943. Blumenson, The Patton Papers, II, 206, also see Carlo D’Este, A Genius for War: A Life of General George S. Patton, (London: HarperCollins, 1995), 480–3. Tedder, With Prejudice, 410–11. NARA RG 377 Entry 55 Box 965 “What the Soldier Thinks”, No.2, August 1943. Maintenance requirements and airfield construction were high on the priority list of the Allied forces, but even until March 1943, pilot and ground crew training needed to be given more attention. LC Papers of General Carl Spaatz I: 12 General Operational Directive from Air Marshal Coningham 2 March 1943, indicates the training standard for pilots and ground crews needed improvement. PRO CAB 106/670 Commander-in-Chief’s Dispatch North African Campaign 1942–1943, 38. Orange, Coningham, 140. Ibid. PRO AIR 23/1710 Headquarters Northwest African Tactical Air Force Final Phase of Tunisian Operations, February to May 1943, 37. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. NARA RG 331 Entry 272 Box 29 Memorandum to NATAF from HQ NWAAF, Agreed Rules US/UK, 19 March 1943. PRO CAB 106/572 Account of Operations of Eighth Army Formations under Command First Army in the Final Phase of the North African Campaign, Part 1, General Notes, 1943. PRO CAB 106/386 Eighth Army Report on Operations, 1943. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. NARA RG 331 Entry 253 Mediterranean Allied Air Force (MAAF) Directorate of Operations and Intelligence, Operations Section, Army-Air Cooperation, Appendix ‘D’, 13 March 1943. Ibid., Appendix ‘E’. NARA RG 331 Records of Allied Force Headquarters Box 72 Reel 6-C Allied Force Headquarters Office of Assistant Chief of Staff, G-2, Memorandum entitled Intelligence Procedure to B.G.S.I., 18 Army Group, 10 February 1943. Ibid. Ibid. Brooks, Montgomery and the Eighth Army, 383; Carrington, “Army/Air Cooperation, 1939–1943”, 38. PRO WO 175/16 HQ 18 Army Group G (Ops) Memorandum on the Visit to Adv HQ First Army and HQ ‘E’ Squadron GHQ Liaison Regt to discuss possibilities of amalgamation of ‘J’ and Phantom Units, 27 February 1943. Ibid.

224 Notes 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

44

45 46 47 48 49 50

51 52

53 54 55 56

57

58 59 60 61

Ibid. Ibid. PRO WO 175/16 Discussion of proposed amalgamation of ‘J’ and Phantom Units, Appendix ‘A’, 25 February 1943. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., Orange, Coningham, 145. NARA RG 331 Entry 253 MAAF Directorate of Operations and Intelligence, Operations Section, Army-Air Cooperation, Appendix ‘E’, 13 March 1943. Ibid. Ibid. NARA RG 407 The Adjutant General’s Office WWII Operations 1940–48 Special File, Box 24593, Air Cooperation Operations Memorandum, 15 February 1945. Anderson did not receive Ultra directly until April 1943. NARA RG 331 Entry 253 Box 5, MAAF Directorate of Operations and Intelligence, Operations Section, Army-Air Cooperation, 12 March 1943, Appendix ‘B’. NARA RG 331 Entry 253 Box 5, Recognition Signals, 2 March 1943. NARA RG 331 Entry 253 Box 5 MAAF Directorate of Operations and Intelligence, Operations Section, Army-Air Cooperation, 31 March 1943. Ibid. PRO CAB 106/386 Eighth Army Report on Operations, 1943. Clayton, The Enemy is Listening, 265–6. NARA RG 331 Entry 258 Box 7 MAAF Director of Operations and Intelligence, Intelligence Section, Signals Intelligence Subsection, Memorandum entitled Mediterranean ‘Y’ Cover, from Chief Signals Officer, Mediterranean Air Command to the Deputy Air Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean Air Command, 6th May 1943. Clayton, The Enemy is Listening, 353–5. NARA RG 331 Entry 258 Box 7 MAAF Director of Operations and Intelligence, Intelligence Section, Signals Intelligence Subsection, Memorandum entitled Mediterranean ‘Y’ Cover, from Chief Signals Officer, Mediterranean Air Command to the Deputy Air Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean Air Command, 6th May 1943. Ibid. Both of these officers were from the RAF. PRO AIR 23/1710 Memorandum entitled Wireless Intelligence circulated by the Chief Intelligence Officer, NATAF, 13 May 1943. Ibid. I.S.O. Playfair, The Destruction of the Axis Forces in Africa, Volume IV, The Mediterranean and Middle East, (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1960, 358. NARA RG 331 Records of Allied Force Headquarters, Box 74 Reel 38-C, RAF (Middle East) Wireless Intelligence Service, Routes of German Transport Aircraft, Report No.4 of 5 April 1943. Howe, United States Army in World War II, II Part I, 601. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, II, 745. PRO WO 208/3478 CSDIC and PWIS’s – General Policy, undated. PRO WO 208/3248 Notes on CSDIC Mediterranean, undated, Part 1, 3; PRO WO 208/3478 CSDIC and PWIS’s – General Policy, undated. Teams of

Notes 225

62 63

64

65 66

67 68 69 70 71 72

73 74 75 76 77

78 79 80

81

between two and six interrogators were allocated per Corps, with a further eight or ten at Army Headquarters to be sent forward as needed. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, II, 32. WO 208/4197 German and Italian Prisoner of War Interrogation reports M159 General Thoma – General der Panzertruppe – Captured MIDDLE EAST, 4 November 42. PRO CAB 106/1220 The Structure of A.F.H.Q., undated; NARA RG 331 Records of Allied Force Headquarters Box 72 Reel 6-C Allied Force Headquarters, Office of Assistant Chief of Staff, G-2 Memorandum on Intelligence Procedures, 10 February 1943, WO 208/4197. The volume of interrogation reports increased substantially after February 1943. NARA RG 165 Entry 79 Box 640, CSDIC (AFHQ) Report A.22. Preliminary Review of Documents Captured in Tunisia, 31 May 1943. Cross, Straight and Level, 243, also 245. When Cross discovered that the US armed forces had no liaison section similar to the RAF’s system in which the air force learned what the army wanted, and taught what was possible, he had 225 Squadron RAF respond to reconnaissance requests from II Corps. When Bradley saw the difference between American and British reconnaissance reports, he asked if 225 Squadron could handle all requests. PRO AIR 23/7434 Report on Air Operations by 242 Group RAF in support of 1st Army, Tunisia 1943. Ibid. PRO AIR 20/6310 Report by Air Marshal Sir T. Leigh-Mallory on his visit to North Africa, March/April 1943. PRO AIR 23/7434 Report on Air Operations by 242 Group RAF in support of 1st Army, Tunisia 1943. LC Papers of Carl Spaatz I: 12 Memorandum from Major General McCreery CGS to NWATAF, 12 March 1943. PRO AIR 41/7 Photographic Reconnaissance, Vol.II 62–5; NARA RG 331 Entry 250 Box 4 MAAF Director of Operations and Intelligence, APO 650 14 April 1943; NARA RG 331 Entry 250 Box 4, MAAF Director of Operations and Intelligence, Air Plans Section, Northwest African Photographic Reconnaissance Wing, 27 February 1943. Ibid. Ibid. NARA RG 331 Entry 270 Box 2, Mediterranean Allied Photographic Intelligence Wing, 1943. Ibid. NARA RG 331 Entry 270 Box 2 Photographic Reconnaissance Chapter 1, The Algiers Period; PRO AIR 23/6570 Message for Spaatz from Bottomley at the Air Ministry in Whitehall, 8 February 1943. Ibid. Craven and Cate, The Army Air Forces in World War II ,II, 169. NARA RG 331 Entry 251 Box 1 Mediterranean Allied Air Force Director of Operations and Intelligence, Air Staff Registry, XII Air Support Command Operations in Tunisia, 23 June 1943. PRO AIR 23/7434 Report on Air Operations by 242 Group RAF in Support of 1st Army, Tunisia 1943.

226 Notes 82

83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90

91

92 93 94

95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107

108

RG 18 Entry 7, World War II Combat Operations Reports 1942–46, Box 2280 52nd Fighter Group Reports show that when following these standard procedures, the effect of enemy flak was lessened. Ibid. Ibid. NARA RG 331 E251 MAAF Directorate of Operations and Intelligence, Boxes 1 and 2 contain the bulk of these memoranda. PRO CAB 146/25 The Axis in Tunisia, February 1943. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., Howe, United States Army in World War II, II Part I, 502. Liddell Hart ed., The Rommel Papers, 406; PRO CAB 146/25 The Axis in Tunisia, February 1943. Rommel’s assertion that 5 Panzer Army had 19 Tigers is correct. Twenty Tigers were shipped to Tunisia in November, with one lost on 31 January to enemy action. Whether von Arnim refused to send them is debatable, as some were under repair following action. However, at least thirteen were ready for action on 20 February, and were not sent to help Rommel. PRO CAB 146/27 Evaluation of the British and American Commands and Troops in North Africa, Appreciation by Freemde Heere West, 18 May 1943; PRO CAB 146/25 The Axis in Tunisia, February 1943. PRO WO 214/11 Most Secret Cipher Message to War Office from General Alexander, 19 February 1943. Eisenhower, Crusade in Europe, 139. PRO CAB 146/25 The Axis in Tunisia, February 1943. After Rommel’s Medenine offensive, which began on 6 March, Axis troops in southern Tunisia were renamed 1st Italian Army under General Meese, along with von Arnim’s 5th Panzer Army in the north. Both formations were part of Panzer Army Group Africa. Ibid. Bennett, Ultra and Mediterranean Strategy, 201. Orange, Coningham, 137–8. PRO AIR 24/1041 Operations Record book of 242 Group RAF, 16/17 February 1943. LHCMA, Papers of Lieutenant General Allfrey 3/9 Letter from Coningham to Lt. Gen. Anderson, 2 March 1943. LC Papers of Carl Spaatz I: Box 10, Memorandum by Spaatz, 23 February 1943. Ibid., 2: Box 270 Air Power in Peace and War, North Africa, undated. PRO AIR 24/1041 Operations Record book of 242 Group RAF, 18/19 February 1943. Ibid., 23 February 1943. Ibid. Orange, Coningham, 142. Ibid. PRO DEFE 3/801 VM 4907; PRO DEFE 3/802 VM 5028, VM 5050, VM 5068, VM 5095, VM 5111, VM 5182, VM 5197, VM 5207, VM 5244, VM 5262, VM 5273; PRO DEFE 3/803 VM 5722, 6 March 1943. Hugh Skillen, Spies of the Airways, 249.

Notes 227 109

110 111

112

113

114 115 116 117 118

119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131

Bennett, Ultra and Mediterranean Strategy, 379; CAB 146/26 The Axis in Tunisia, The Battle of Medenine, March 1943. The Axis claimed forty-one tanks lost. CAB 146/26 The Axis in Tunisia, The Battle of Medenine, March 1943, 81. Liddell Hart, ed., The Rommel Papers, 421. Rommel believed Eisenhower should have thrown his weight into southwest Tunisia in order to divide the First Italian from the Fifth Panzer Army, following this up by destroying the First Army in conjunction with Montgomery. Then he should have switched his effort to Pont du Fahs or Medjez el Bab in order to destroy Fifth Army. General Omar N. Bradley, A General’s Life: An Autobiography of General of the Army Omar N. Bradley, (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1983), 140–2. The lack of confidence in the American ground forces by Bradley and Eisenhower was replaced with satisfaction following the Kasserine battles. See Joseph Hobbs, Dear General: Eisenhower’s Wartime Letters to Marshall, (London: Johns Hopkins Press, 1971), 75–6. PRO CAB 106/468 Account of the Attack of 50th (N) Division on the Mareth Line, March 1943, sheet 5, also LHCMA Papers of Brig. Gen. Sydney Divers 2/5, Account of “Left Hook” at Mareth. PRO CAB 106/468 Account of the Attack of 50th (N) Division on the Mareth Line, March 1943, sheet 5. IWM Montgomery Papers, BLM 31/4 Operation ‘Pugilist’ General Plan of Eighth Army. CAB 106/468 Account of the Attack of 50th (N) Division on the Mareth Line, March 1943, sheet 4. Orange, Coningham, 143, also Cross, Straight and Level, 241. PRO WO 214/11 Most Secret Cipher Message for Prime Minister copy to CIGS from General Alexander 8 March 1943; IWM Montgomery Papers, BLM 31/4 Operation ‘Pugilist’ General Plan of Eighth Army; LHCMA, Papers of Divers 2/5, Account of the “Left Hook” at Mareth. PRO WO 214/11 Most Secret Cipher Message for PM and CIGS from General Alexander 29 March 1943. PRO AIR 23/1708 Comment by AOC Tactical Air Force – The Eighth Army Break-Through at El Hamma, 26th March 1943. Ibid; Orange, Coningham, 144. NARA RG 331 Entry 272 Box 34 Operation ‘Pugilist’ General Plan of Eighth Army, 26 February 1943. PRO CAB 106/531 MT Instructional Circular No.13, 28 April 1943, 3. Ibid; Francis de Guingand, Operation Victory, (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1947), 256. PRO CAB 106/531 MT Instructional Circular No.13, 28 April 1943, 4. PRO AIR 23/1818 Report on Forward Bomber Control, May 1943. Ibid. PRO AIR 41/50 The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia, 400. PRO CAB 106/531 MT Instructional Circular No.13, 28 April 1943, 4. PRO AIR 41/50 The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia, July 1942–May 1943, 502. PRO AIR 23/1710 Report on Operations of the NWATAF in the Tunisian Campaign 18 February–12 May 1943.

228 Notes 132 133 134

135 136

137 138 139

140 141 142 143

144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153

154 155

156

PRO CAB 106/531 MT Instructional Circular No.13, 28 April 1943, 3. Richards, The Royal Air Force, 1939–1945, II, 266. PRO AIR 23/1708 Comment by AOC Tactical Air Force – Operations N. Africa, Report of the air action which contributed to the break-through of the Eighth Army at El Hamma, April 1943. Ibid. NARA RG 331 Entry 272 Box 34 Report on Operations in Tunisia, Phase II from 15th March to 6th April 1943; Liddell Hart, ed., The Rommel Papers, 392. Rommel felt it was not possible for his mobile forces to hold fronts at El Hamma and Gafsa, and or the Mareth Line. He also knew the position could be outflanked by experienced British desert troops. PRO AIR 23/1710 Report on the Operations of the NWTAF in the Tunisia Campaign 18 February–12 May 1943. PRO AIR 41/33 The North African Campaign November 1942–May 1943, 179. PRO AIR 41/50 The Middle East Campaigns Vol.IV Operations in Libya, the Western Desert and Tunisia, July 1942–May 1943, 516; NARA RG 165 P File Box 5 HQ NWAAF A-2 Section, Weekly Intelligence Summary No.21 from 3 April to 9 April. This intelligence summary is the first to report a serious decline in Axis morale. Orange, Coningham, 152. Sadkovich, The Italian Navy in World War II, 343. PRO CAB 146/27 The Axis in Tunisia. The End in Africa April–May 1943, Appendix 30, 15. PRO AIR 41/33 The North African Campaign November 1942–May 1943, 185. Although Ultra had provided little information on the German army, since it was able to rely on landline communication in the final stages of the campaign, it did aid in the location of re-supply efforts, see Bennett, Ultra and Mediterranean Strategy, 215. Ibid. Ibid., 185–6. Alfred Goldberg (ed.), A History of the United States Air Force 1907–1957, (New York: D. van Nostrand Company Ltd., 1957), 60. Tedder, With Prejudice, 412. WO 208/4199 Extracts from German and Italian PW Interrogation Reports, extract 8, undated. Ibid. Tedder, With Prejudice, 414. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, II, 611–14. Tedder, With Prejudice, 415. NARA RG 331 Records of Allied Force Headquarters Box 72 Reel 6-C 18 Army Group, Operation Instruction No.13, 3 May 1943; AHB, Air Support, 90. LHCMA, Papers of Major-General McNeill 1/2 A2 10–11. CAB 106/572 Account of Operations of Eighth Army Formations under Command First Army in the Final Phase of the North African Campaign, Appendix I, Axis Losses in the African Campaigns. PRO WO 214/11 Most Secret Cipher Message to Prime Minister from Alexander, 13 May 1943.

Notes 229

Conclusions 1 2 3 4 5

6

7 8

9 10

11 12 13

14 15

16 17 18 19

20 21 22 23 24 25

Hallion, Strike From the Sky, 174. Orange, Coningham, 137. Ibid., 150. Richards, The Royal Air Force, 1939–1945, II, 161. David Mets, “A Glider in the Propwash of the RAF?”, Daniel Mortensen (ed.), Airpower and Ground Armies, (Maxwell AFB Alabama: Air University Press, 1998). AIR 41/66 The Liberation of Northwest Europe Volume I, The Planning and Preparation of the Allied Expeditionary Air Force for the Landings in Normandy, 5. AIR 20/6130 Report by Air Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory on his visit to N. Africa March/April 1943. PRO AIR 37/1057 Minutes of the Allied Air Commanders’ Conference, 14 June 1944. Montgomery’s relationship with Coningham and LeighMallory was degraded by Leigh-Mallory’s rejection of Montgomery’s plan to capture Caen with airborne forces. Hughes, Overlord. General Pete Quesada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War II, 281–2. AIR 20/6130 Report by Air Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory on his visit to N. Africa March/April 1943. A Composite Group consisted of fighters, fighter-bombers, bombers of various types, and reconnaissance aircraft. Ibid. Ibid. LC, Quesada Papers, May 1975 Interview section 2, 30. Quesada commented that Coningham was very good at integrating intelligence from a variety of sources into his operational planning. AIR 20/6130 Report by Air Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory on his visit to N. Africa March/April 1943. PRO AIR 23/1209 Intelligence Organization – Mobile Fighter Group, 30 May 1942, also AIR 23/7434 Report on Air Operations by 242 Group RAF in Support of 1st Army Tunisia 1943. LC, Spaatz Papers I: Box 9, Letter from Craig to Spaatz, 23 December 1942. Orange, Coningham, 150. Ibid., 181. PRO AIR 37/1213 Allied Expeditionary Air Force. Note on Planning and Preparation of NW France by Personal Secretary to Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory, 1944. Ibid. Ibid. Brereton, The Brereton Diaries, 254–5. PRO AIR 8/1181 Allied Expeditionary Forces: Reorganization, 1944. Syrett, “The Tunisian Campaign, 1942–43”, 184. NARA RG 337 Entry 55 Box 970, Field Manual 100-20, July 1943; NARA RG 331 Entry 272 Box 1, Mediterranean Allied Air Force Headquarters, Army Air Training Instruction No.1, July 1943.

230 Notes 26 RG 331 Entry 272 Box 1, Mediterranean Allied Air Force Headquarters, Army Air Training Instruction No.1, July 1943, 1. 27 Ibid. 28 NARA RG 337 Entry 55 Box 970, Field Manual 100-20, 1, RG 331 Entry 272 Box 1, Mediterranean Allied Air Force Headquarters, Army Air Training Instruction No.1, July 1943, 4. 29 NARA RG 337 Entry 55 Box 970, Field Manual 100-20, 2. 30 Muller “Close Air Support, The German, British, and American Experiences, 1918–1941”, 186. Muller is correct to assert that FM 100-20 dealt more with organization and control of air forces and less with the practicalities of delivering close air support. However, Army/Air Training Instruction No.1 discussed practical methods for the employment of various types of aircraft in various roles. Also, organization and control are critical to the success of close air support operations, and the significant practical experience gained by personnel in Tunisia provided the practicalities of delivering close air support. 31 Ibid., 12. 32 NARA RG 337 Entry 55 Box 970, Field Manual 100-20, July 1943, 10. 33 Ibid., 2. 34 NARA RG 337 Entry 55 Box 970, Review of FM 100-20 (Advance Copy) July 1943. Dr. Ian Gooderson, in his book Air Power at the Battlefront, (London: Frank Cass, 1998), 51, incorrectly focuses on the low ranking given to close air support as being a dismissal of its value rather than an acknowledgment of the infrequency of the need for it, in relation to the continuous attack on supply columns and enemy aircraft. 35 General der Flieger Paul Deichmann, et al., German Air Force Operations in Support of the Army, (New York: Arno Press, 1962), 123. 36 NARA RG 337 Entry 55 Box 970, Field Manual 100-20, July 1943, 13. 37 Hallion, Strike From the Sky, 174. 38 IWM Headquarters 9th Air Force Report on Tactical Air Cooperation, Organization, Methods, and Procedures, July 1945, 116. 39 Ibid. 40 Ibid. 41 LC, Arnold Papers, Box 42 9/23 File “Employment of Air Forces”, General H.H. Arnold to Commanding Generals, All Air Forces, All Independent Army Air Force Commands, Commandant Army Air Forces School of Applied Tactics, July 1943. 42 Hallion, Strike From the Sky, 174. 43 Ibid.; Hughes, Overlord. General Pete Quesada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War II, 215. 44 PRO AIR 40/1131 General Bradley and the U.S. 12 Army Group Air Effects Committee, Effects of Air Power on Military Operations, Western Europe, Wiesbaden, German: U.S. 12 Army Group Air Branches, G-3 and G-2, 15 July 1945, 41–2. 45 Martin Blumenson, Breakout and Pursuit, (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 1961), 309. 46 See David Zucchino, David. Thunder Run: The Armored Strike to Capture Baghdad, (New York: Grove/Atlantic, 2004), Tood S. Purdum, A Time of Our Choos-

Notes 231

47

48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73

ing: America’s War in Iraq, (New York: Times Books, 2003), Agency Group 09, Remembering the 3rd Infantry Division’s Thunder Runs, (Federal Document Clearing House, Regulatory Intelligence Database, 2004), and Peter Maass, “The Thunder Run”, New York Times Magazine, Vol.153, Issue 52697, December 2003. Sandra I. Erwin, “Close Air Support Tactics Sharpened in Iraq”, National Defense, (June 2003), accessed online 24 November 2006 at: http://www. nationaldefensemagazine.org/issues/2003/Jun/Close_Air.htm. The kill-box is from pilot vernacular, and describes the area assigned to close air support aircraft. The kill-box is typically allocated by the air-war commander, based on available aircraft and the knowledge that no friendly ground troops are operating in the area. Ibid. Ibid. Lt. Col. John Hixson and B.F. Cooling, Combined Operations in Peace and War, (Carlisle: U.S. Army Military History Institute, 1982), 111. IWM Headquarters 9th Air Force Report on Tactical Air Cooperation, Organization, Methods, and Procedures, July 1945, 10. Ibid. LC, Spaatz Papers I: Box 12, Organization of American Air Forces, 12 May 1943. Ibid. Futrell, Command of Observation Aviation, 25. Ibid., 26. Ibid. Ibid., 28. Ibid. IWM Photo Recon for Mediterranean Allied Tactical Air Force (MATAF) and 15th Army Group by 3rd Photo Group, 1945, 1. Ibid., 4. Air Ministry, Air Publication 1300 (4th Edition) Royal Air Force Operations Manual, March 1957, 66. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 25. Ibid., 33 and 66. Hughes, Overlord. General Pete Quesada and the Triumph of Tactical Air Power in World War II, 305. Colonel John R. Stoner, “The Closer the Better”, Air University Review, Vol.XVIII, No.6, Sept.–Oct. 1967, 31. Major Robert I. Weber, “Close Air Support in the Carolinas”, Air University Review, Vol.XV, No.2, Jan–Feb 1964. Department of the Army, U.S. Army Field Manual 100-5 Blueprint for the AirLand Battle, (New York: Brassey’s, Inc., 1991), 47. Ibid. Ibid. Group Captain Timothy Garden, “The Air-Land Battle”, in Air Vice-Marshal R.A. Mason (ed.), War in the Third Dimension: Essays in Contemporary Air Power, (London: Brassey’s, 1986), 150.

232 Notes 74 75 76 77 78 79

Ibid., 165. Ibid. Air Ministry, Air Publication 3000, (London: HMSO, 1999), section 1.3.1. Ibid. Garden, “The Air-Land Battle”, 165. Ibid.

Bibliography

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234 Bibliography WO 208 – Directorate of Military Intelligence WO 214 – Papers of Earl Alexander of Tunis WO 277 – War Office: Department of the Permanent Under Secretary of State, C.3. Branch: Historical Monographs Imperial War Museum The Personal Papers of: • Brigadier General H.N. Crawford • Major General Lloyd-Owen • General Sir Gordon MacMillan • Field Marshal the Viscount Montgomery • Lieutenant Colonel R.R. Prentice Journals: • Royal Air Force Quarterly • Army Quarterly Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives The Personal Papers of: • Lieutenant General C.W. Allfrey • Air Chief Marshal Sir H.R.M. Brooke-Popham • General Sir Jock Burnett-Stuart • General Michael O’Moore Creagh • Major General Francis Henry Norman Davidson • Major General Sir Francis De Guingand • Brigadier General Sydney Divers • Major General Arundel Rea Leakey • Captain Sir Basil Henry Liddell Hart • Major General J.M. McNeill • General Sir Richard O’Connor • Miscellaneous File 26 Royal Air Force Museum – Hendon The Personal Papers of: • Air Marshal Sir Trafford L. Leigh-Mallory • Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Longmore • Air Marshal Robb • Marshal of the Royal Air Force Arthur William Tedder, First Baron of Glenguin • Marshal of the Royal Air Force Lord Trenchard Papers Other Files: File: DC 73/90/2 • Secret Reports on Air Operations 1939–1945 Journals: • RAF Middle East Review John Rylands University of Manchester Library Papers of Field-Marshal Sir Claude Auchinleck

Bibliography 235 National Army Museum Papers of Lieutenant General A.R. Cunningham 2. Australia Australian War Memorial 54[423/4/24] • Memorandum from Army HQ New Zealand Military Forces on the Interrogation of Prisoners of War • (C.S.D.I.C.) Cairo, Middle East Appendix B, Method of Interrogation. Notes on the Combined Services Detailed Interrogation Centre, Cairo, Middle East • CSDIC Mobile Unit • CSDIC Cairo memorandum on Prisoner of War Information Given • Items of RAF Interest from PW Sources 3. United States of America National Archives in Washington Record Group 18: Records of the Army Air Forces Record Group 165: Records of the War Department General and Special Staffs Record Group 331: Records of Allied Operational and Occupation Headquarters, World War II Record Group 337: Headquarters, Army Ground Forces Record Group 407: Records of the Adjutant General’s Office Library of Congress Manuscript Division The Personal Papers of: • General Henry (Hap) Arnold • General Benjamin D. Foulois • General Carl Andrew Spaatz • Major General Elwood ‘Pete’ Quesada Bolling Air Force Base, Washington D.C. United States Air Force Historical Research Agency (USAFHRA) United States Military Academy All maps in this document are courtesy of the Department of History, United States Military Academy

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236 Bibliography Association of Royal Air Force Photographic Officers, The History of Air Photography in the Royal Air Force. London: Association of Royal Air Force Photographic Officers, 1987. Blumenson, Martin, The Patton Papers Volume II, 1940–1945. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1974. Bradley, General Omar N., A General’s Life: An Autobiography of General of the Army Omar N. Bradley. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1983. Bradley, Omar, A Soldier’s Story. New York: Holt, 1958. Brereton, Lieutenant General Lewis, The Brereton Diaries. New York: Morrow, 1946. Brooks, Stephen, (ed.), Montgomery and the Eighth Army: A Selection from the Diaries, Correspondence and other Papers of Field Marshal The Viscount Montgomery of Alamein, August 1942 to December 1943. London: The Bodley Head, 1991. Churchill, Winston S., The Grand Alliance. Boston: Houghton, 1950. Clausewitz, Carl von, On War. Michael Howard and Peter Paret, (eds), New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1984. Clayton, Aileen, The Enemy is Listening. London: Hutchinson, 1980. Colgan, Bill, World War Two Fighter-Bomber Pilot. Blue Ridge Summit, PA: TAB Books Inc., 1985. Cox, Sebastian, (ed.), The Strategic Air War Against Germany, 1939–45. London: Frank Cass, 1998. Cross, Air Chief Marshal Sir Kenneth, with Professor V. Orange, Straight and Level. London: Bugg Street, 1993. De Guingand, Major-General Sir Francis, Operation Victory. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1947. De Guingand, Major General Sir Francis, Generals At War. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1964. De Seversky, Major Alexander P., Victory Through Air Power. New York: Garden City Publishing Co., Inc., 1943. Deichmann, General der Flieger a. D. Paul, (eds), Dr. Littleton B. Atkinson, Brig. Gen. Noel F. Parrish, and Dr. Albert F. Simpson, German Air Force Operations in Support of the Army. New York: Arno Press, 1962. Eisenhower, D., Crusade In Europe. Garden City: Doubleday, 1955. Foulois, Benjamin and Carroll Glines, From the Wright Brothers to the Astronauts: The Memoirs of Major General Benamin D. Foulois. New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co., 1968. Heither, Dr. Joseph, The Development of Tactical Doctrine at AAFSAT and AAFTAC. Manhattan Kansas: Military Affairs/Aerospace Historian, 1944. Hobbs, Joseph Patrick, Dear General: Eisenhower’s Wartime Letters to Marshall. London: Johns Hopkins Press, 1971. Horrocks, Brian, A Full Life. London: Collins, 1960. Hunt, David, A Don At War. London: William Kimber, 1966. Ironside, General Sir Edmund, Time Unguarded: The Ironside Diaries 1937–1940, (ed.), R. Macleod and D. Kelly, Westport: Greenwood Press, 1962. Liddell Hart, B.H., (ed.), The Rommel Papers. London: Collins, 1953. Marshall, George C., The Papers of George Catlett Marshall. Vol.3., (ed.), Larry I. Bland. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1991. Montgomery, B.L., The Memoirs of Field-Marshal the Viscount Montgomery of Alamein. London: Collins, 1958.

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242 Bibliography Ferris, John, “The British Army, Signals and Security in the Desert Campaign, 1940–42”. John Ferris, (ed.), Intelligence and Strategy: Selected Essays, London: Routledge, 2005. Ferris, John, “The Usual Source: Signals Intelligence and Planning for the ‘Crusader’ Offensive, 1941”. Intelligence and National Security, Vol.14, No.1, 1999. Foster, Group Captain, “Air Power and Its Application”. Journal of the Royal United Service Institute, Vol.73, 1928. Futrell, Robert, “US Army Air Forces Intelligence in the Second World War”. Horst Boog, (ed.), The Conduct of the Air War in the Second World War. Oxford: Berg Publishers Limited, 1988. Garden, Group Captain Timothy, “The Air-Land Battle”. Air Vice-Marshal R.A. Mason, (ed.), War in the Third Dimension: Essays in Contemporary Air Power. London: Brassey’s, 1986. Gooderson, Ian, “Heavy and Medium Bombers: How Successful Were They in Tactical Close Air Support During World War II?” Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol.15, No.3, September 1992. Greenhous, Brereton, “Evolution of a Close-Support Role for Aircraft in World War I”. Military Affairs, Vol.39, No.1, February 1975. Hallion, Richard P., “Battlefield Air Support – A Retrospective Assessment”. Air Power Journal, Vol.4, No.1, Spring 1990. Hardy, Colonel Wilfred, “Aviation in Support of Ground Troops”. Military Review, Vol.XXIII, No.3, June 1943. Hardy, Col. W.H., “The Air Support Command”. Military Review, Vol.XXIII, No.4, July 1943. Hart, Stephen, “Montgomery, Morale, Casualty Conservation and ‘Colossal Cracks’: 21st Army Group’s Operational Technique in North-West Europe, 1944–45”. Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol.19, No.4, 1996. Irwin, Alistair, “The Buffalo Thorn: The Nature of the Future Battlefield”. Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol.19, No.4, 1996. Jacobs, W.A., “Air Support for the British Army, 1939–1943”. Military Affairs, Vol.46, 1982. Kennett, Lee, “Developments to 1939”. B.F. Cooling, (ed.), Case Studies in the Development of Close Air Support. Washington D.C.: Office of Air Force History, 1990. Kiszely, John, “Achieving High Tempo – New Challenges”. Journal of the Royal United Services Institute, Vol.14, No.6, December 1999. Leigh-Mallory, T., “The Maintenance of Air Superiority in a Land Campaign”. Royal Air Force Quarterly, Vol.II, No.2, April 1931. Leigh-Mallory, T., “Air Co-operation with Mechanised Forces”. Journal of the Royal United Service Institute, Vol.75, March 1930. McHogg, Captain A., “Aeroplanes in Future Warfare”. Army Quarterly, Vol.IX, No.1, October 1924. Maass, Peter, “The Thunder Run”. New York Times Magazine, Vol.153, Issue 52697, December 2003. MacKay, C.J., “The Influence in the Future of Aircraft Upon the Problems of Imperial Defence”. Journal of the Royal United Service Institute, Vol.67, May 1922. Mets, David R., “A Glider in the Propwash of the Royal Air Force?” Daniel Mortensen, (ed.), Airpower and Ground Armies. Maxwell AFB Alabama: Air University Press, 1998.

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Index AAPIU, see Army Air Photographic Interpretation Unit AASC, see Army Air Support Control ACTS, see Air Corps Tactical School Advance Air Stores Park, 76, 85 AFHQ, see Allied Force Headquarters Afrika Korps, 3, 4, 5, 9, 12, 41, 42, 52, 58, 59, 60, 63, 67, 69, 70, 72, 92, 94, 95, 102, 110, 113, 114, 116, 120, 121, 128, 129, 161, 179 15th Panzer Division, 12, 67, 110, 113, 116, 128, 169, 172 21st Panzer Division, 12, 67, 110, 113, 116, 165, 166, 169, 172 90th Light Division, 63, 67, 116 Air Control, 2, 27, 29, 37, 41, 51, 179 Air Corps Tactical School, xvi, 23, 24, 25 Importance of air support in its training program, 24 Air Headquarters, Western Desert, 10, 27, 47, 51, 62, 80, 81, 82, 118, 172 Advance Air Headquarters, Western Desert, 81, 172 Rear Air Headquarters, Western Desert, 76 Air Liaison Officer, xvi, 46, 62, 80, 81, 119, 162 Importance to the air support system, 62, 80–1, 119, 162 Air Ministry, 21, 28–9, 31, 34, 35, 38, 62, 72, 184 Conflict with War Office, 21, 28–9, 34, 38 Air Service Command, 154 Air Support Control, 114, 123, 126, 136, 157, 158, 159 Air Support Control Officer, 136 Air Support Party, xvi, 136 Air Support Board, 27 Air War Planning Department, xvi, 24

Alam Halfa, 4, 108–12, 120, 169 Effect of air support in, 4, 108–12 Albacore, 97, 103, 107, 127, 172 Alexander, General (later Field Marshal) Sir Harold, 99, 156, 165–6, 171, 176, 178 As Commander-in-Chief Middle East, 99 As Commander 18th Army Group, 156, 165–6, 171, 176, 178 Assessment of American combat ability, 165–6 Algiers, 133, 135, 136, 137, 138, 141, 145, 161 ALO, see Air Liaison Officer Allied Air Support Command, 150, 166 Allied Captured Intelligence Centre, 161 Allied Force Headquarters, xvi, 133, 141, 142, 143, 145, 148, 156, 161, 162, 163 Anderson, Lieutenant General Sir Kenneth, 136, 139, 141, 142, 143 AWPD, see Air War Planning Department Andrews, Major General Frank, 22, 27 Arcadia Conference, 132 Army Air Photographic Interpretation Unit, xvi, 82 Army Air Support Control, xvi, 51, 65, 76, 81, 82, 83, 102, 104, 105, 106, 124, 136, 137, 158, 159, 162, 163 Forward Air Support Links, 83 Rear Air Support Links, 83, 105 Tentacles, 66, 82, 124, 136, 137, 158 Army Cooperation Manual, 31 Army Cooperation Report, 33 Army Cooperation Squadron, 33, 34, 39, 46, 47, 62, 64, 80, 82, 103, 123

244

Index 245 Arnold, General Henry ‘Hap’, 131, 133, 186, 188, 190 ASP, see Air Support Party AWPD, see Air War Planning Department Auchinleck, Field Marshal Sir Claude, 2, 35, 53, 60, 73, 74, 78, 92, 95, 102, 190, 191 As Commander-in-Chief Middle East, 53, 60, 73, 74, 78, 79, 92, 95, 102, 190, 191 B-17 Flying Fortresses, 87, 161 Baltimore, 87, 123 Bardia, 46, 49, 50, 51, 67, 72, 73 ‘Battleaxe’, 59, 67 Beaufighters, 13, 71, 72, 176 Benghazi, 12, 46, 50, 53, 56, 59, 72, 118 Bennett, Ralph, 129 Bir Hacheim, 92–4 Bizerta, 148, 161, 176, 177 Blenheim, 50, 71, 142 Bisley, 142, 143, 146, 166, 169 ‘Bolero’, 132 Bomb-line, 13, 83, 157, 158, 172 Bradley, Major General (later General) Omar, 131, 171, 180 Brereton, Major General Lewis H., 97, 131, 151, 182, 183 Assessment of Command Ability, 131 ‘Brevity’, 59 British Army, xiii, 3, 8, 18, 32, 38, 41, 47, 49, 52, 60, 61, 95, 100, 104, 145, 146, 165, 179, 182, 190 X Corps, 120, 129, 171 XIII Corps, 46, 51, 61, 67, 73, 108, 112 XXX Corps, 61, 67, 108, 112, 113, 124 British Troops in Egypt, xvi, 34, 46, 51 Command relationships in early Western Desert campaign, 46, 51

Eighth Army, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 12, 13, 15, 18, 43, 60, 61, 64, 72, 73, 77, 78, 80, 81, 82, 92, 95, 96, 97, 99, 100, 102, 107, 108, 110, 111, 112, 114, 116, 118, 119, 121, 123, 124, 125, 127, 128, 130, 131, 139, 145, 152, 154, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 164, 166, 169, 171, 172, 174, 176, 177, 178, 179, 185 First Army, 133, 137, 138, 139, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 148, 149, 157, 158, 159, 161, 162, 163, 169, 176, 177, 188 Problems with signals security, 15, 58, 59, 61, 101, 129, 156 Western Desert Force, 8, 46, 47, 50 Brooke, General Sir Alan, 138 BTE, see British Troops in Egypt Burnett-Stuart, General Sir Jock, 34 ‘Buster’, 116, 118 C3I, see Command, Control, Communications, and Intelligence Captured Enemy Documents, 12, 63, 79, 80, 97, 112, 122, 145, 162 As a source of strategic intelligence, 12, 63, 79, 80, 97, 112, 145, 162 Casablanca, 133, 135, 138, 150, 152 Casablanca Conference, 150, 152 Centre Task Force, xvi, 135, 136 CGSS, see Command and General Staff School Chief of the Imperial General Staff, xvi, 28, 34, 38, 138, 150 Churchill, Winston, 28, 29, 37, 54, 60, 92, 125, 132–3, 139 Champions Invasion of French North Africa, 132–3 Directive for air support, 60 Pressures Auchinleck, 92 CIGS, see Chief of the Imperial General Staff

246 Index Close Air Support, 4, 5, 9, 10, 11, 13, 14, 16, 26, 39, 43, 44, 63, 64, 69, 72–3, 76, 78, 87, 88–90, 94–6, 97, 98, 101, 103, 105, 107, 109, 110, 113, 114, 115, 119, 129, 143, 178, 179, 180, 183, 184, 185, 186, 189, 190 Complements interdiction operations, 4, 5, 16, 26, 69, 87, 109, 115 Damage inflicted, 4, 13, 70–3, 90, 94, 107, 110, 113, 114, 169 During ‘Compass’ battles, 49–50 During ‘Crusader’ battles, 69, 70–3 During El Alamein and Alam Halfa, 13, 101, 103 During ‘Gazala’ battles, 94–6 During the Pursuit to Tunisia, 129 Equal to German, 179 Effect on Enemy Morale, 13, 44, 79, 114 Fighter-bombers, 13, 87, 89–90, 105 Heavy and Medium bombers, 87–9, 142 Importance of C3I to, 5, 9, 11, 14, 16, 43, 44, 63, 64, 69, 76, 78, 90, 95, 98, 101, 103, 113–14, 119, 135–9, 152–64 In the Tunisian Campaign, 143, 164–9, 171–3, 178 In ‘Torch’ landings, 131, 135–9 Combined Services Detailed Intelligence Centre, xvi, 44, 45, 63, 79, 122, 161 Combined Services Detailed Intelligence Centre, Allied Force Headquarters, 161 Command and General Staff School, xvi, 23, 24 Importance of Air Support in its training program, 24 Command, Control, Communications, and Intelligence, ix–xiv, xvi, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7–18, 26, 38, 39, 42, 43, 49, 51, 58, 59, 60, 62, 65, 69, 74, 76, 82, 89, 90, 92, 95, 103, 104, 107, 115,

129, 131, 137, 139, 143, 140, 150, 152, 163, 164, 173, 174, 176, 179, 180, 183, 190 Role in effective air support, 5, 9, 11, 14, 16, 43, 44, 63, 64, 69, 76, 78, 90, 95, 98, 101, 103, 113–14, 119, 135–9, 152–64 ‘Compass’, 8, 43, 49, 50, 51, 54, 60, 65, 80, 119 Effect of Air Support in, 51, 60 Coningham, Air Marshal Sir Arthur, xiii, 2, 4, 8, 9, 35, 36, 60, 67, 70, 71, 78, 83, 90, 94, 96, 97, 100, 105, 109, 110, 111, 114, 116, 118, 125, 128, 138, 139, 152, 153, 154, 158, 159, 166, 169, 173, 174, 178, 179, 180, 182, 183, 185, 191 Craig, Colonel (later Brigadier General) Howard, 138, 152, 182 Cross, Air Chief Marshal Sir Kenneth, 78, 171 ‘Crusader’, 7, 8, 12, 45, 52, 61, 63, 65, 66, 67, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 80, 82, 87, 90, 103, 106, 141 Effect of Air Support in, 67, 69, 70–3 CSDIC, see Combined Services Detailed Intelligence Centre CSDIC (AFHQ), see Combined Services Detailed Intelligence Centre, Allied Force Headquarters CTF, see Centre Task Force Cunningham, Lieutenant-General Sir Alan, 60, 78 Cyrenaica, 3, 12, 43, 47, 53, 56, 58, 59, 67, 104, 127 Dakar, 135 Dawson, Air Vice Marshal G.G., 54, 84 Role in assisting air support efforts, 54, 84 de Guingand, Major General Sir Francis, 97, 102, 124 Desert Air Force, see Western Desert Air Force

Index 247 Doctrine, xi, xiii, 1, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 16, 17, 18, 19–21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 29, 30, 38, 40, 41, 70, 125, 131, 178, 179, 180, 181, 185, 186, 189, 190, 191 Doolittle, General James, 133, 135, 137, 153 Opposes reorganization of Allied Air Forces, 153 Douhet, Guilio, 22 EAC, see Eastern Air Command Eaker, General Ira, 22 Eastern Air Command, xvii, 137, 139, 141, 142, 143, 146, 148, 150, 152, 153, 155 Eastern Task Force, xvii, 135, 136, 139, 144 Eden, Sir Anthony, 53 Egypt, xvi, 3, 31, 34, 35, 41, 42, 46, 47, 67, 69, 84, 92, 95, 96, 97, 99, 108, 125 Eisenhower, General Dwight, 5, 121, 131, 133, 138, 139, 154, 156, 171, 180, 183 El Agheila, 44, 53, 56, 72, 124, 128, 129 El Alamein, xv, 4, 5, 13, 78, 81, 96, 98, 99, 100–3, 106, 112–15 Effect of Air Support in, 78, 96, 100, 102, 104–7, 108, 109–15 El Aouina, 144, 161 Elmhirst, Air Marshal Sir Thomas, 129 Embeck, Major General Stanley, 132 ETF, see Eastern Task Force Employment of Air Forces with the Army in the Field, 34 Enigma, 55, 56, 78, 79, 122, 145, 171 Field Manual 31-35, 27, 131, 185 Fighter-bomber, 13, 25, 69, 70, 71, 76, 86, 86, 87, 89, 90, 94, 97, 102, 105, 106, 111, 115, 118, 119, 153, 159, 181, 182, 183, 184 Effectiveness in air support operations, 13, 69, 70, 71, 76, 86–90, 105, 106, 111, 115, 181 Fighting Intelligence, 11

‘Flax’, 160, 176 Fliegerfuehrer Afrika, 129 FM 31-35, see US Army Field Manual 31-35 Foulois, General Benjamin, 23 Fredendall, Major General Lloyd, 135, 138 Understanding of how to employ aircraft, 138 Free French, 94, 95, 106 French XIX Corps, 138, 156 In ‘Gazala’ operation, 94 Fuka, 125, 127 Gazala, 3, 8, 15, 55, 67, 74, 77, 81, 85, 92, 95, 96, 97, 102, 131, 191 Effect of Air Support in, 3, 94–5 The ‘Cauldron’, 94–5 GC&CS, see Government Code and Cipher School German Air Force, see Luftwaffe G.H.Q., Middle East, 44, 46, 78 Goering, Hermann, 107, 149 Government Code and Cipher School, xvii, 42, 55, 62, 143, 159 ‘Grapeshot’, 124 ‘Gymnast’, 132, 133 Halifax, 127 Hawker Hurricane, 51, 56, 64, 69, 70, 71, 89, 90, 104, 105, 106, 118, 127, 162, 173, 176 ‘Hurribomber’, 89 Hurricane IID tank-buster, 104, 105, 106, 118, 127, 173 Himeimat ridge, 104, 106 Hitler, Adolf, 24, 29, 107, 125 HQ Royal Air Force Middle East, 80 Hurricane, see Hawker Hurricane Interdiction, xii, 4, 5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16, 26, 43, 44, 50, 54, 59, 63, 64, 69, 70, 72, 79, 80, 87, 90, 95, 98, 101, 103, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 115, 120, 127, 128, 129, 143, 176, 177, 178, 180, 183, 185, 189 Complements Close Air Support, 4, 5, 16, 26, 66, 76–7, 84, 87, 90, 103, 107, 108, 111, 121, 170

248 Index Interdiction – continued Damage inflicted, 72, 90, 107, 113–15, 128 During ‘Battleaxe’ battles, 59 During ‘Compass’ battles, 50 During ‘Crusader’ battles, 70–2 During El Alamein and Alam Halfa, 103, 107, 108, 109, 110–15 During ‘Gazala’ battles, 94, 95 Effect on Morale, 4, 44, 54, 63, 79, 109, 110, 115, 122, 127 Importance of C3I to, 152–64 In ‘Torch’ landings, 143 In the Tunisian Campaign, 176, 177, 178 Italian Army, 3, 41, 42, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 58, 67, 72, 109, 112, 116, 122, 128, 166, 174, 178, 179 Allied assessment of fighting ability, 49 Ariete Armoured Division, 67, 92, 94 Brescia Division, 67, 92 German assessment of fighting ability, 122 Pavia Division, 67, 92 Sabratha Division, 92 Trento Division, 67, 92 Trieste Motorised Division, 6, 92, 94, 95

Leigh-Mallory, Air Chief Marshal Sir Trafford, 31, 181–3 Efforts to ensure the adoption of Middle East system, 181 Final victim of the collapse of the Luftwaffe, 183 LeMay, General Curtis, 19 Libya, 42, 49, 54, 67, 69, 72, 79, 88, 112, 128, 137 ‘Lightfoot’, 112–14, 124 Effect of Air Support in, 113–14 Lloyd, Air Vice Marshal Sir Hugh, 153 Longmore, Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur, 54 Long Range Desert Group, xvii, 43–4, 127, 128, 171 Providing strategic intelligence, 43–4, 127, 128, 171 LRDG, see Long Range Desert Group Luftwaffe, xii, xiii, 25, 54, 55, 70, 92, 96, 97, 104, 118, 121, 125, 153, 183, 185 Focke Wulf 190, 144 Ju 52, 160, 176 Me 109, 71, 176 Me 323, 160, 176 Similarities in air support with that developed by the Allies, 8, 10, 179 Stuka, 94 Lumsden, Lieutenant General Herbert, 15, 120, 129 Hesitancy in pursuit of the Axis forces, 120

‘J’ Service, xvii, 101, 105, 157

MAC, see Mediterranean Air Command MacArthur, General Douglas, 23 Maison Blanche, 136, 145, 146 Malta, 72, 92, 96, 104, 112, 121, 123, 128, 137, 163, 176 Mann, Group Captain W.E.G., 56 Manual of Combined Operations, 30 Manual of Frontier Operations, 36 Mareth, 9, 44, 123, 129, 161, 166, 169, 171, 174 Marshall, General George Catlett, 25, 27, 132, 183 McNair, Lt. General L.J., 27, 186

Kasserine Pass, 153, 159, 163, 164, 165–6, 174 Kenney, General George, 25 Kittyhawk, see P-40 Kittyhawk Kesselring, Field Marshal Albert, 104, 165, 169 Kidney ridge, 113 Kuter, General Lawrence, 150, 166, 182, 187 La Senia, 136 Lawson, Air Commodore, 139, 141

Index 249 McNeill, Lieutenant Colonel J.M., 76, 158 Attached to 18th Army Group, 158 Role in development of AASC, 76, 158 Mediterranean Air Command, xvii, 152, 155, 160, 182 MEIU, see Middle East Interpretation Unit Mersa Matruh, 47, 50, 52, 79, 128 Middle East Cipher School, 77 Middle Eastern Air Command, 54 Middle East Interpretation Unit, xvii, 81, 103 Middle East Signals School, 77 Mitchell, General Billy, 21, 22 Montgomery, Field Marshal Sir Bernard, xiii, xvi, 1, 2, 4, 5, 35, 78, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 108, 109, 110, 112, 113, 114, 116, 118, 119, 120, 121, 124, 125, 128, 129, 165, 169, 171, 173, 180, 190, 191 Air Control Experience, 2, 35 As Commander, 1, 4–5, 97, 98, 105, 106, 107, 109, 110, 111, 116, 118–19, 120–1, 122, 124–30, 169, 171, 182, 190, 191 Brings the system together, xiii–xiv, 4, 78, 98, 114 Personality, 35, 113 Views on the appropriate relationship with Air Forces, 96, 173 Morocco, 132, 135, 137 Mussolini, Benito, 102, 108

Northwest African Air Force, xviii, 152, 154, 155, 163 Northwest African Coastal Air Force, xviii, 153, 180 Northwest African Strategic Air Force, xviii, 153 Northwest African Tactical Air Force, xviii, 8, 153, 155, 159, 160, 162, 163, 164, 166, 174, 176, 177, 178, 182, 183 NWAAF, see Northwest African Air Force NWACAF, see Northwest African Coastal Air Force NWASAF, see Northwest African Strategic Air Force NWATAF, see Northwest African Tactical Air Force

NACIU, see North African Central Interpretation Unit New Zealand Corps, 171 New Zealand Division, 44, 70, 72, 97, 119, 124, 172 During ‘Crusader’, 69, 70, 72 No.2 AASC, see No.2 Army Air Support Control No.2 Army Air Support Control, 76, 124, 158 North African Central Interpretation Unit, xviii, 146, 148, 163

P-40 Kittyhawk, 13, 87, 90, 176 P-40 Warhawk, see P-40 Kittyhawk Patton, Lieutenant General George S., 9, 133, 135, 153, 171 Fight with Coningham, 153–4 ‘Phantom’ Squadrons, 157 Photographic Reconnaissance, xviii, 12, 37, 45–6, 56, 62, 64, 70, 81, 82, 85, 98, 103, 110, 116, 122, 123, 125, 146, 148, 157, 158, 162, 163, 164, 172, 174, 186, 187, 188, 189

Observe, Orient, Decide, Act, xviii, 2, 6, 7, 9, 11, 49, 58, 74, 95, 99, 101, 179 O’Connor, General Sir Richard, 46, 49, 52, 53 O’Moore Creagh, Major General Sir Michael, 59 Office of Strategic Services, xviii, 135 OODA, see Observer, Orient, Decide, Act Operational Intelligence, 5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 45, 51, 82, 95, 102, 121, 123, 145, 161, 162, 164, 174, 180 Oran, 133, 135, 136, 138 Orange, Vincent, 125 OSS, see Office of Strategic Services

250 Index Photographic Reconnaissance – continued As a source of operational intelligence, 37, 45–6, 62, 64, 70, 82, 85, 103, 110, 112, 123, 146, 148 As a source of strategic intelligence, 12, 80, 116, 122, 125, 157, 174 Photo Reconnaissance, see Photographic Reconnaissance Portal, Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir Charles, 137 Port Sudan, 83 Prisoner of War Interrogation, xviii, 44, 45, 49, 50, 51, 56, 63, 79, 80, 97, 114, 116, 121, 123, 145, 161–2, 172, 177, 187 As a source of operational intelligence, 116, 121, 122, 161–2 As a source of strategic intelligence, 44, 50, 51, 56, 63, 79, 80, 97, 114, 121, 168, 172, 177, 187 Pure Intelligence, 11 PW, see Prisoner of War Interrogation Quesada, Major General Elwood ‘Pete’, 24, 25, 180, 182, 183, 186 Views on the importance of air support, 24, 25, 180, 182, 183, 186 Radio Telephony, xviii, 36, 43, 52, 56, 58, 61, 76, 77, 80, 81, 90, 102, 121, 144, 156, 160 RAF, see Royal Air Force Red Army, 132 Regia Aeronautica, 47, 54 Repair and Salvage Unit, 76, 84–5 Ritchie, Lieutenant-General Sir Neil, 15, 78, 95 Robb, Air Vice Marshal James, 138, 152 Rommel, Field Marshal Erwin, 4, 5, 12, 42, 43, 55, 58, 59, 67, 69, 70, 72, 77, 78, 81, 86, 92, 94, 96, 97,

100, 102, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 121, 122, 124, 125, 127, 128, 129, 130, 165, 166, 169, 174 ‘Rommel One’, 86 Roosevelt, Franklin Delano, 23, 24, 108, 133 ‘Roundup’, 132 Royal Air Force, xiii, xviii, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 25, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 45, 46, 47, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 64, 65, 66, 67, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 76, 77, 78, 79, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 88, 89, 90, 92, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 107, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 118, 119, 121, 123, 124, 125, 127, 128, 129, 131, 136, 137, 138, 141, 142, 144, 145, 146, 148, 153, 155, 157, 158, 160, 162, 163, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 184, 188, 189, 190, 191 4th Photographic Reconnaissance Unit, 146 4 PRU, see 4th Photographic Reconnaissance Unit 204 Group, 47 205 Group, 97, 99, 107, 127 242 Group, 78, 142, 148, 153, 155, 158, 162, 166, 169, 171, 174 276 Wing, 102, 121, 160 380 Wireless Unit, 144, 160 381 Wireless Unit, 144, 160 Royal Naval Air Service, 28 Royal Navy, 28, 72, 128, 135, 136 Force ‘K’, 112 HMS Argus, 135 HMS Avenger, 135 HMS Formidable, 135 HMS Victorious, 135 R/T, see Radio Telephony Salmond, Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir John, 16, 30, 35 Shuttle Service, 85, 90 Sidi Barrani, 49, 50, 51, 52

Index 251 Signals Intelligence, ix, xiv, 12, 16, 43, 44, 96, 100, 103, 123, 143, 160, 187, 190 As a source of operational intelligence, 16, 100, 123 As a source of strategic intelligence, 12, 103, 187, 190 Slessor, Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir John, 2, 31, 35, 36, 137 Sollum, 67, 72, 127 Spaatz, General ‘Tooey’, 25, 138, 150, 152, 153, 169 SLU, see Special Liaison Unit South African Air Force, xvii, 13, 71, 88, 104, 106, 118, 123, 131, 176 Soviet Red Army, xi, 132 Special Communication Unit, xviii, 143 Special Liaison Unit, xviii, 143 Spitfire, 25, 81, 114, 123, 146, 162, 163, 169 Squadron Intelligence Officer, 62, 80, 120, 162, 184 Staff Information Service, see ‘J’ Service Strategic Intelligence, 5, 11, 12, 14, 16, 17, 42–4, 46, 54, 63, 64, 95, 121, 144, 159, 162, 164, 174, 180 Strategic Reconnaissance, 45, 64, 80, 90, 103, 123, 127 Strategic Reconnaissance Flight, 64, 65, 80, 103, 123 Stumme, General Georg, 113 Supply, 4, 5, 6, 12, 17, 22, 26, 32, 37, 43, 54, 59, 65, 66, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 77, 78, 79, 80, 82, 85, 90, 92, 94, 95, 96, 102, 103, 105, 108, 109, 110, 112, 115, 118, 120, 121, 122, 124, 125, 127, 128, 129, 145, 149, 152, 154, 160–1, 164, 166, 169, 174, 176, 177, 178 Allied difficulties, 5, 54, 72–3, 90, 96, 118, 125, 129, 149, 154 Axis difficulties, 4, 54, 70, 71, 72, 78, 79, 80, 90, 94–7, 102, 108, 109, 110, 112, 115, 117, 120–1, 128, 149, 160–1, 169, 174, 176, 177, 178

Tactical Bomber Force, 155, 157, 158, 174 Under Coningham’s Command, 158, 174 Tactical Intelligence, 13, 42, 43, 51, 58, 78, 83, 103, 122, 145, 158, 161 Tactical Reconnaissance, xvii, 46, 56, 64, 69, 76, 81, 98, 99, 103, 123, 136, 138, 139, 148, 158, 162, 163, 164, 169, 173, 174, 186, 187, 188 Tafaraoui, 136 Takoradi, 83, 84 Tedder, Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir Arthur, 2, 4, 35, 54, 59, 60–1, 72, 76, 78, 84, 94, 99, 109, 114, 125, 137, 138, 150, 153, 154, 178, 179, 180, 190 Personality, 35 Relationship with Coningham, 4, 59, 60, 78, 94, 109, 114, 125, 138, 153–4, 179 Relationship with Montgomery, 4, 114, 125 Telecommunication Centre, Middle East, 77 Thoma, General Ritter von, 114, 123, 161 Tobruk, 12, 46, 50, 53, 59, 67, 69, 70, 73, 74, 80, 92, 96, 97, 118 ‘Torch’, vii, viii, 5, 10, 18, 27, 100, 131, 133, 135, 137, 138, 142, 146, 153, 156, 159, 161, 178, 183 Tomahawk, see P-40 Kittyhawk Trenchard, Marshal of the Royal Air Force Sir Hugh, 28, 29, 31 Tripoli, 12, 53, 72, 80, 97, 118, 121, 122, 124, 129, 130 Troop Carrier Command, 154 Tunis, 136, 137, 142, 144, 148, 149, 161, 165, 176, 177 Tunisia, 2, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10, 14, 38, 40, 42, 44, 60, 78, 116, 118, 119, 120, 121, 123, 129, 130, 133, 136, 137, 139, 141, 142, 143, 144, 146, 149, 150, 152, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 163, 165, 166, 169, 171, 174, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 183, 184, 185, 187, 190

252 Index Twelfth Air Force, 135, 136, 137, 139, 143, 150, 152 Type X Machine Cipher, 156

US Army, see United States Army US Army Field Manual 31-35, 27 US Naval Task Force 34, 135

Ultra, 43, 54, 55, 56, 59, 62, 63, 69, 78, 79, 90, 97, 102, 108, 112, 116, 120, 121, 125, 128, 129, 143, 144, 159, 166, 169, 176, 183 As a source of strategic intelligence, 43, 54, 78, 90, 97, 102, 108, 116, 120–1, 125, 128, 159, 166, 169 United States Army, 8, 188, 190 II Corps, see II US Corps II US Corps, 9, 138, 153, 154, 156, 157, 158, 160, 163, 165, 171, 176 British assessment of fighting ability, 165, 171 United States Army Air Corps, xviii, 2, 20, 22, 23, 25 United States Army Air Forces, xviii, 2, 3, 5, 10, 16, 18, 19, 21, 22, 27, 29, 40, 97, 118, 131, 137, 138, 139, 142, 143, 146, 148, 153, 155, 159, 160, 163, 166, 176, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188 3rd Photographic Reconnaissance Group, 146 12th Air Force, see Twelfth Air Force XII Air Support Command, 135, 148, 155 XII Air Support Control, 138, 150, 153, 155, 158, 159, 160, 165, 166, 171 XII ASC, see XII Air Support Control United States Army Air Service, xix, 19 USAAC, see United States Army Air Corps USAAF, see United States Army Air Forces USAAS, see United States Army Air Service

Vichy French Government, 126 War Department, 11, 25, 44, 171, 174 War Office, xix, 21, 28, 29, 33, 34, 39, 44, 97, 139, 165, 184 Wavell, General Sir Archibald, 37, 46, 49, 53, 58, 60 WDAF, see Western Desert Air Force Wehrmacht, xi, xii, xiii, 51 Wellington, 50, 87, 103, 107, 127 Welsh, Air Marshal Sir William, 133, 137 Western Air Command, 137 Western Desert, xix, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10, 14, 18, 27, 34, 35, 42, 46, 47, 50, 51, 56, 62, 65, 76, 78, 80, 81, 82, 84, 97, 102, 118, 123, 139, 142, 145, 152, 153, 155, 158, 159, 162, 163, 164, 165, 171, 172, 178, 179, 181, 184, 187, 188 Western Task Force, xix, 135, 137 Western Desert Air Force, xix, 18, 47, 97, 148, 152, 153, 155, 156, 158, 160, 164, 169, 171, 172, 173, 178,181, 182, 185 Wigglesworth, Air Vice Marshal Vincent, 152 Wilson, General Sir Henry, 28, 29, 46, 49 Wing Intelligence Officer, 119, 120 Wireless Telegraphy, xix, 36, 43, 53, 55, 56, 61, 76, 77, 80, 102, 118, 121, 144, 155, 160 W/T, see Wireless Telegraphy WTF, see Western Task Force ‘Y’, xix, 43, 53, 55, 56, 59, 69, 78, 79, 90, 98, 102, 103, 121, 143, 144, 145, 155, 157, 159, 160, 161, 169, 172, 176

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