Sqn/Ldr Miroslav Liškutín DFC, AFC, of 312 (Czechoslovak) Sqn, recalls the 19 August 1942, when the Allies made their ill-fated assault on the Channel port of Dieppe, France.
The Czechoslovak Wing, consisting of 310, 312 and 313 squadrons, redeployed from RAF Exeter to RAF Redhill, Surrey, to participate in that attack.
His memories of that day are:
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A big show was now on the cards and we moved to RAF Redhill in Surrey, for a special operation. Spitfires were painted with black and white recognition stripes; all available pilots were given preliminary briefing and confined to camp for the night. Th Royal Air Force was getting ready for the biggest air battle since of 1940 …for the somewhat controversial ‘Dieppe.
The day was 19th August 1942. The dawn looked just like another dawn, but on this occasion all available pilots had reported at the dispersal tent well before 05.00 hours. The intense weight of the moment was felt by everybody. Small groups of pilots stood around in thoughtful anticipation, awaiting briefing. Streams of aircraft were heard in the dark passing overhead, heading south, obviously on course for France. This gave the only clue where our next action may be.
The briefing gave us eventually the first information about what may be going on . . . but only the initial intentions. Total security was stressed as particularly important. I noticed that we were given only the essential information strictly relevant to our immediate task.
Our first job was a Hurribomber escort on a low level antishipping strike. The attack included shipping in Boulogne harbour, in the straits of Dover, and along the French coast towards Dieppe. There is no doubt that flying through Boulogne harbour was a nightmare at any time but on this occasion the experience exceeded the expectations. It looked as if the defences were expecting us and the anti-aircraft barrage seemed to be worse than ever. The surprising thing, however, was the fact that we did not lose a single Hurribomber and nobody in our squadron seemed to be seriously scratched either.
Continuing our sweep along the French coast we picked up the target squadron of ‘E’ boats at a moment when they were cutting through a fleet fishing boats. I was searching the skies for enemy aircraft, as per orders, not taking much notice of the target ‘E’ boats. However I do remember noticing that Joe Pipa took the opportunity and emptied his cannons into one of the speedboats, as a voluntary contribution to the Hurribombers’ task, even though it was not our job. From what I could see, the strike was effective. It was done with a professional efficiency. All the enemy boats were damaged, although I did not see any of them sinking.
After landing we had the usual de-brief with a short break for tea and cakes, while the ground crews topped up fuel and rearmed our guns. Then came the call for another briefing, for our next task. This was a target support over the Dieppe battle area. By then we all had an idea about the size of this show, but we certainly were not yet fully informed. At that time I was quite surprised to hear the Intelligence Officer saying that our troops were already pulling out. This was in the middle of the morning, less than five hours from the start. There was no question about it . . . the whole thing looked to me very much as if we had suffered a major defeat!
The instructions to us were to cross the Channel at sea level, and just before crossing the coast near Dieppe to climb to 8,000 feet. The allocated patrol line was to the south and east of Dieppe. The task called for the interception of any aircraft before they reached the city, the bridgehead or the Allied ships. Luftwaffe bombers were to be regarded as our priority targets. That sounded clear enough!
Not long after our first ‘about turn’ at the patrol area, I heard the sector controller warning us that there were hostiles approaching. And sure enough, soon afterwards I spotted the first Focke Wulfs heading towards our formation. I immediately called, ‘Tally-ho, bandits at two o’clock high!’ and with full engine power pulled up my Spitfire into a climb to attack.
Approaching the French coast, our formation started climbing and we had to penetrate a layer of cloud from 3,000 to 5,000 feet. Above this cloud the sky was completely clear. The squadron took up immediately the patrol in the designated area and we spread out into an open type of formation, all the Spitfires flying nearly in the line abreast. This was the type of battle formation most favoured by fighter pilots, although the leaders felt that it was not sufficiently manoeuvrable. I regarded it, in common with my friends, as the safest and generally the best battle formation; it certainly seemed better in every way than the officially favoured ‘line astern in sections . . . which did not appeal to me very much. I maintain that in the line abreast battle formation the pilots feel more comfortable as far as the handling considerations go and we felt more secure because each one of us could clearly what was going on.
Two FW190’s in a very loose formation were coming for a head-on attack, but suddenly changed course towards the south and away from our squadron. This was helpful to me. I closed in quickly and placed my gunsight onto the number two Focke Wulf.
As I pressed the firing button, however, I remembered the standard drill, to check quickly behind. Indeed as could expected, another FW190 was positioning behind me! A sharp evasive zig-zag placed me behind this aircraft with ease. A short burst from my guns caught his right wing, producing a spray of silvery sparks. Rather a fascinating sight, which I did not have time to appreciate. At the same moment I saw two glowing white rods appearing just above my head, accompanied by a rattling sound throughout my aircraft with smell of cordite filling mv cockpit.
In my memory this incident is like a slow playing film, although I know that it took only a fraction of a second. It suddenly dawned on me that there were more Focke Wulfs behind and one of them was shooting at me. It gave me a sensation of sudden and acute danger. My reaction was quick, and I think completely instinctive, to get out of his gunsight!
I stepped in the rudder, applied full ailerons, throttled back the engine and pulled back on elevators. My Spitfire performed a violent flick roll. Never before had I experienced a violence like it. Keeping the controls in extreme positions I continued deliberately with a spin. Obviously my aircraft was in bad shape and there was a possibility that one of the FW190’s might follow me to deliver the coup-de-grace while I was in no state for further combat!
My instant assessment of the situation led to a decision to keep spinning all the way into the cloud and delay attempt at recovery till below the cloud base. I remembered that the base was at about 3,000 feet, which would be more than ample for my purpose. Below the cloud I would have enough time to see if the Spitfire is still flyable or not.
In cloud at about 4,000 feet, I centralised the controls. The vicious bus rotation slowed down immediately, indicating a normal response A few months later, after falling out of the cloud, I recovered into level flight without difficulty.
It was easy to conclude that my aircraft was fully controllable. There was no sign of my opponents; not a single aircraft in my vicinity. My disengagement from the battle was successful. Without any time-wasting I turned the aircraft towards the coast and set course for Dieppe. However, it became quickly and painfully obvious that although my Spitfire was controllable, flying straight and level for any length of time might be a serious problem. The assessment of my battle damage seemed fairly discouraging. With a big hole in my right wing, the left aileron damaged, holes visible all over the aircraft, my chances of getting home across the Channel looked bleak.
Further evaluation showed that to fly level I needed nearly a full aileron deflection. This, of course, required considerable physical force, which had to be kept up continually. Applying the maximum rudder trim helped to ease this intolerable pressure, but the required force was still too much for a prolonged flight as necessary across the sea. At the same time as I was working out my flight problems, I had to remain on a look-out for enemy fighters. There were some unidentified aircraft flying in the area but, fortunately for me, the Luftwaffe did not interfere with my journey home.
My first assessment of the state of the airframe and the engine was fairly accurate. I assumed that the engine was not damaged and there was no sign of damage to radiators. On this I based my hopes of reaching England. But the damaged airframe remained for me the main question mark. Variation in airspeed helped me to find the least strenuous flight conditions, which gave me a good compromise at just below 200 mph.
I was aware of the ever present danger from enemy fighters, which could not be ignored so, to play it safe, I remained flying close to the cloud base. In case of any sudden appearance of enemy aircraft I would have to opt for entry into cloud and to continue the flight on instruments.
The burning city of Dieppe with a column of black smoke gave me a good visual indication and confirmation of my course home. As the final scene of my combat had occurred about half way between Paris and Dieppe, it took now quite a few minutes of flying at my reduced speed to reach the coast. My initial and limited aim had to be set at reaching the sea, perhaps beyond the column of black smoke, where ships were available to provide a rescue service for ditching aircraft. All my thoughts were concentrating on doing the right moves to reach the Allied airspace. This seemed to be the most important task. The thought that I might finish as a prisoner war did not appeal to me at all. I felt sure, with the minimum of good luck and no matter how painful my physical state may be, I should make it at least to the Channel. Only when over the sea could the next decision be safely made. Tiredness was overwhelming me and the pain in my arms felt unbearable. It was difficult to suppress thoughts about abandoning the aircraft because my physical state was becoming marginal. I kept repeating to myself, ‘I will not bale out …no matter what’ and further: ‘Am I a man or a mouse?’ But real question was; could I keep it up long enough?
Just outside the Dieppe harbour was a burning ship from which black smoke emanated. Beyond that marker on my way I could see a line of ships forming into a convoy, preparing for the return to England. It seemed obvious that the evacuation was finished and the beaches were again in German hands. This was another reminder to me that I could not abandon my aircraft just yet anyway. I must keep flying further, towards the middle of the Channel, where the Allied ships looked evenly spread. As I staggered along, the line of vessels appeared to extend all the way ahead. This gave me the needed assurance that, if need be, I could bale out at any moment and the chances of rescue would remain fair.
After a few minutes of flying beyond Dieppe and well away from the enemy coast I realised, with a degree of finality, that the effort of keeping my aircraft in level flight had gone beyond my physical strength and endurance. The tiredness and pain changed into a paralysing cramp. It was at this stage that I remembered the refuelling crowbar inside the cockpit doors. Experimenting with the possible use of this tool, I found it could be placed against the side of the fuselage and the steering column in such a way as to take up some of the unbearable strain. And it worked! This did, in fact, save the dav for me.
With the crowbar in a suitable position, the rolling force was neutralised and I felt able to continue my flight with much reduced discomfort. Although I was desperately exhausted and the general feeling of pain seemed barely endurable, there was now a glimmer of hope that I might reach the English coast. Chewing it over, I decided to aim for a belly landing on a beach in Sussex.
By the time the beaches became visible, I started weighing the probable risk of land mines, which were planted everywhere. Perhaps by then my numbness to the physical pain and to the general exhaustion was of such proportions that I felt anaesthetized. It was comparatively easy to re-set my aim. I decided to hold out and to continue to Redhill, regardless. Quite suddenly it looked a much better idea anyway and it was not so very far now! So, telling myself the lines about the nerves, heart and sinews, from Rudyard Kipling’s ‘If, I just kept plodding on.
While still at 2,000 feet, I checked the functions of my undercarriage and the aircraft’s behaviour at low speeds. I then assured myself that a normal landing was possible, preferable and indeed, desirable. With hindsight I can say that this long-drawn out and agonising decision was the right answer.
The stalling speed of the damaged wing was around 160 mph. Above this speed the Spitfire was behaving nearly the same as usual. My plan of action would therefore call for an accurate approach speed of 165 mph, and this would have to be maintained right to the point of crossing the airfield boundary.
With another look at the holes in my flaps I concluded that the risk connected with the use of flaps would be unacceptable; it would have to be a flapless landing. My intention, quite naturally, was to make a wheeler landing, using the brakes as soon and as hard as possible . . . even risking a ground loop or damage to the propeller. All these considerations went through my mind again and again. It was chewed over and accepted.
The approach and landing was then done as intended. It was rough, just as I expected, but it worked without a hitch. The zig¬zagging pattern of braking did not break the undercarriage and neither did it cause the propeller to graze the ground. The undercart withstood the controlled swing at the end of my landing run! I must admit to a feeling of a mixture of elation and amazement that, after touching down at nearly 165 mph, the Spitfire pulled up safely without any further damage, on the available grass landing strip run of some 1,000 yards!
The squadron had landed well ahead of me and I was reported as ‘in action, presumed killed’. Owing to a bullet hole in my radio I did not hear anything and could not talk to anybody during the previous 45 minutes. My unexpected arrival and the unserviceable state of my Spitfire seemed to have created quite a stir. But for me the safe landing and the welcome on arrival at the squadron dispersal formed some of the most joyous memories of that time. The friendly greetings from pilots and ground crews alike really cheered me up. And of course, Laďa Sitenský was there as usual with his camera to record the scene for posterity.
Later on I learned that Flight Sergeant Jarda Dobrovolný had given a colourful description of the happenings over France of how my combat was seen from his point of view. He described how he had seen Spitfire DU-V firing on a Focke Wulf FW190 and, at the same time, another FW190 shooting at Spitfire DU-V. Dobrovolný also reported that he had seen pieces of aircraft falling off Spitfire DU-V. To him it seemed my aircraft was obviously out of control as it spun into the cloud. Fie was watching the falling Spitfire until it disappeared in cloud, and he concluded that there was no doubt the pilot was dead.
After my de-briefing, Squadron Leader Čermák, our squadron commander, offered me the rest of the day off duty to recover but as I felt this was not really necessary, I declined with thanks. In fact I recovered so completely after some physical exercises and a cup of tea that I felt as good as new. The armourers came to tell me that I fired 48 rounds from my cannons and 124 rounds from machine guns. This was the moment I missed the opportunity to enquire about my combat film. Pity!
I was then promptly placed back in readiness but without a serviceable aircraft. Looking at this situation I remembered that one of our pilots was unwell but still remained on duty. My enquiry whether he would mind lending me his aircraft, together with the suggestion that he should be in bed, was accepted without much resistance. Immediately I placed Spitfire DU-O against my name on the operations board.
The lessons from my previous flight were crystallising in my mind and I was able to draw reassuring conclusions about my mistakes in that combat. It was now important to know how I intended to go about the next encounter. Of course I realised everything would be different but so would be my responses. I felt confident that I had the the right clues and expected better results.
On the next sortie our squadron was detailed to take up patrol outside Dieppe, over the convoy of Allied ships. There were indications that Luftwaffe bombers would attack the ships under the cover of their fighters. Various possibilities occurred to me and I was pre-planning my options as we flew across the sea towards Dieppe. I was hoping to bag a Focke Wulf even though I knew that the bombers be must be regarded as our priority targets.
It was not very long after we took up the patrol outside Dieppe at 2,000 feet, when the expected developments started turning into reality. A Dornier Do217 bomber came out of the lowering cloud, immediately followed by others. In a few moments they appeared all over the place, heading towards our ships, but there were no fighters to protect them. This looked most unusual, really unbelievable.
I gave the customary ‘Tally-ho’, giving the position of approaching bombers and my Spitfire was set on interception course with full power, aiming for the nearest bomber. This time I made sure that there were no FW190s behind me as I closed in for firing. My brief burst from cannons at a longish distance showed no visible strikes, but the bomber’s astro-dome flew off. Actually I was not clear whether it was a part of the top gun turret or perhaps even a piece of the upper fuselage. It seemed to be encouraging, though I did not pay much attention to it. Then, closing nearer for the second burst, I now saw the starboard engine start burning. At that moment I nearly collided with another Spitfire who flew momentarily right under the nose of my aircraft.
Although there were no signs of enemy fighters, I realised quite suddenly that my attention to the environment was slacking. The near-collision shook me somehow, but without pausing I pressed on with my attack. A final long burst from all guns then sent the Dornier into the waves. Without hesitation I made an extra pass to take a cine-shot of the burning wreck in the sea.
Climbing away I turned back towards the convoy and immediately saw another Do217 trying to get away, but, I had no more ammunition! The available few seconds of firing time were carelessly used up and now, sitting on the tail of another enemy aircraft I was powerless.
Just at that moment a fresh squadron of Spitfires were taking up patrol position near Dieppe, turning around the convoy barely a mile away. It was clear that from their position, turning away from me, thev could not see this Do217. My immediate and repeated call on our common frequency was effective; one of their sections peeled off and promptly sent that Dornier into the sea off Dieppe too.
To think of 19th August 1942 just as ‘another day’ would be completely unrealistic. As far as I am concerned, that day has to be regarded as something quite out of the ordinary. It was a day of feverish activity, a day full of dangers, a day of some extraordinary memories The historians would certainly say something for-or- against the Dieppe battle of 1942. The tacticians would offer their armchair criticism of this operation, as it looked from hind-sight. However, writing as one who was there, not knowing the intentions, nor the strategy, nor the intended tactics of our chiefs, for me it was just the expected activity within the frame of my duty. My memories do not hold criticism of anybody, as I assume we all tried to do our best. For me, personally, this was a time to get on with the job and achieve maximum results. A time for me to try hard; to die, if need be. It was one of those times when ‘England expects every man to do his duty!’
The squadron returned the following day to RAF Harrowbeer, where I eagerly awaited the evaluation of my combat films. In the first place there was a shock for me in learning that Laďa Sitenský, our squadron photographer, had lost my first combat film. This was my film record of the encounter with the Focke Wulfs south-east of Dieppe. He said that he remembered taking the film cassette out of my Spitfire and placing it, temporarily, onto a trolley accumulator near the aircraft. Then he continued taking more pictures of my damaged Spitfire. During the general excitement he forgot about my film. By the time he remembered, the trolley accumulator was gone from DU-V and the cassette was lost; probably thrown into a box with empty cassettes. And as there was no marking to differentiate combat films from training films, it was lost forever. It was a great loss to me. It was an important document and my essential evidence. Furthermore my feeling of dismay was aggravated by Jarda Dobrovolný’s unhelpful report. He was the nearest eye witness to my combat and he could not remember what became of my target FW190. As he said, it had happened so quickly and he was completely absorbed in watching me spinning down into the clouds.
The second combat film was developed and evaluated. It showed my attack on a Dornier Do217, starting at 700 yards and ending at 150 yards. There was also a clear picture of the burning wreckage in the sea. It provided a complete proof of the destruction of a Do217. However, it also gave evidence of my inaccurate shooting. The evaluation team made some unflattering remarks about wasting ammunition and shooting at longer than optimum range. They also rapped me over the knuckles because of careless and unsteady aim.
It is interesting to note what at that time was not appreciated: that I did not use up all my ammunition. I did actually use all the available 120 rounds from my cannons but a stoppage of all machine guns had occurred after firing only 490 out of the 1200 rounds that I carried. This technical fault has never been explained. But, just the same, I knew that the evaluating team were right in their criticism. My shooting was below acceptable standard. It called for a real heart-searching effort to make sure of doing better in the future.
Over a period of many weeks afterwards I tried to reassure myself that I could do better. In a number of practice air-to-air firing exercises I did my best and the results were satisfying. As a contrast to my poor accuracy over Dieppe, all my practice shoots were good. Some of them even extremely good!
During one of my firing practices, using two guns with 100 rounds each, I achieved 76 holes in the ‘flag’ target, which was flying at 120-140 mph. With the fixed-ring gunsight which we used at that time, the result was unbelievably good. It had created quite a stir in our Wing Headquarters in Exeter, being by far the best ever achieved. However, as far as I was concerned, it did not matter what anybody else might have achieved or not achieved. For me it represented the essential reassurance that my air firing technique was good and I should have no difficulties in applying this professional competency against the Luftwaffe.
The self-doubting chapter had to be closed: the inevitable self-confident conclusion was that I could shoot well. My mediocre performance in shooting down the Do217 was due to excessive tension in the heat of the battle. This identified the problem . It was quite clear to me that to be successful in combat the pilot must remain calm, fly accurately and press the trigger at 250 yards distance, plus or minus 50 yards. And, be sufficiently lucky not to be shot down at the same time! My own eyesight at that time was at its best, I could fly accurately, and in any future combat my problem was to remain calm. Coolness in the heat of battle, remaining calm in the presence of death.
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This extract from ‘Challenge in the Air‘ by kind consent of its author Sqn/Ldr Miroslav Liškutín DFC, AFC.
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