his superiors’ knowledge.
JG 77 had escaped to Sicily by the skin of their teeth, landing at Trapani on 8 May. Their Messerschmitts had been covered in bullet holes and hadn’t been serviced for days, but in the fuselage of each one had crouched a mechanic with whatever tools he could carry. It had been dangerous, but the gamble had paid off. None the less, to a man, from Steinhoff down to the most junior pilot, they knew they’d been whipped. Everyone was physically and mentally exhausted, and they all realized there was little chance of their fortunes improving any time soon. General von Richthofen might have issued memos about Luftwaffe personnel readying themselves to fight on the beaches and instigating training programmes, but Steinhoff wasn’t playing ball. Nor did he stand on ceremony. His men, unshaven, wore a range of odd uniforms and non-regulation clothing, with sandals on their feet and a variety of scarves, headscarves and hats on their heads. ‘Let me just say,’ Steinhoff commented, ‘we had developed the beach mentality.’5
The day after their arrival, Kesselring drove over to see them, appearing just after Allied bombers had been over and given Trapani a pasting. The field marshal was less shocked by the ambulances screaming past hither and thither than he was by the state of the pilots.
‘Steinhoff,’ he exclaimed, ‘do your men know that there is a war on?’6
‘Yes, Herr Feldmarschall,’ Steinhoff replied, ‘we have been fighting it for about four years now.’ Kesselring, ever the optimist, liked to appear cheerful and was known as ‘Smiling Albert’ but he was certainly not smiling now.
‘Tell your men to at least pretend that they are German soldiers. This is a disgrace. What if the Reichsmarschall had come here and seen this?’
‘I do not think we have a chair that would support his weight, Herr Feldmarschall,’ replied Steinhoff with all the insolence of a man at his wits’ end. Around him the men started to snigger. Kesselring ordered them to stand to attention, then asked Steinhoff a number of questions. How were things going? Rotten, Steinhoff replied; he had just forty aircraft and right now, not one of them was serviceable. So no, they were not combat ready. And no, they did not have enough aircraft or ammunition. He implored Kesselring to allow his men a brief rest.
‘Sir,’ Steinhoff pleaded, ‘the group is no longer a battle-worthy unit.7 Its combat value is precisely nil. Do, please, believe me when I say that after coming through the murderous defensive battles in North Africa and Tunisia my pilots are absolutely all in. The heavy casualties have utterly demoralized them. May I therefore request that they have a few weeks off operations?’
‘The overall situation demands that your group remain operational,’ Kesselring replied icily. Then he got into his car and left to go and see the troops arriving at the tiny port of Marsala. The next day, however, while conferring at a house near the harbour where he had stayed overnight, it was hit by a bomb during an air raid. Lucky to survive, he managed to escape by sliding down a rope to the street below, burning his hands in the process. At least he was alive, which was more than could be said for his ADC. Later, he appeared back at Trapani and, before flying out, told Steinhoff his Geschwader could move to Bari in southern Italy for a few weeks. ‘But be quick about it,’ he added.8 ‘I shall want the group back in Sicily soon, fit for action.’
Steinhoff’s men were not the only ones having a bit of downtime. So too were the Allied Tactical Air Force. Air Marshal Mary Coningham was determined to enjoy the recent victory, having spotted a luxury villa overlooking the sea at Hammamet which he had decided would make a splendid new HQ. As he pointed out to Tommy Elmhirst, they had roughed it ever since arriving in North Africa and most likely would be roughing it again soon. Elmhirst had been packed off to get Alexander to sign a piece of paper confirming the Villa Sebastian was allocated to C-in-C Tactical Air Force. Alex had looked at him ‘a bit sideways’ as he knew one of the divisional commanders was already occupying it; on the other hand, the army were about to move, so he signed it. Coningham had his villa.
Many visitors would call in at the Villa Sebastian over the coming weeks, from Alex to the prime minister to the King, who even rather gamely joined in for a skinny-dip in the sea as no one had trunks. Not all the visitors were VIPs, however. One was Hugh ‘Cocky’ Dundas, who at just twenty-two was the youngest wing commander in the RAF. A veteran of Dunkirk and the Battle of Britain who had already commanded a wing of Typhoons, he had been sent to North Africa to take command of 324 Wing only to learn that the existing Wingco, George ‘Sheep’ Gilroy – nicknamed for his former life as a Scottish shepherd – had recovered from a minor wound in the arm and was carrying on. So Dundas joined as supernumerary wing commander. After the end in Tunisia, Gilroy had been promoted to group captain and so Dundas had expected to take over 324 Wing after all. He was as pleased as anyone about the recent victory and, like many others, had driven out to see the POWs in one of the many temporary camps. He’d been shocked to see tens of thousands of them, dirty, disarmed and dejected. ‘Well, fuck ’em all, I thought,’ he noted.9 ‘They were the defeated ones, but they were safe. That was more than could be said for me and my friends. We had won; so we had to go on and start all over again.’
Dundas was impressed by Coningham’s villa – he honestly believed he had never seen a more beautiful place – and was treated to fresh coffee and brandy followed by a delicious lunch. They chatted widely, Dundas wondering why he’d been summoned, but eventually Mary got to the point. Air Vice-Marshal Harry Broadhurst, the current commander of the Desert Air Force, didn’t want him as commander of 324 Wing. It was no reflection on Dundas’ capabilities or leadership, Coningham emphasized. ‘You know Broadie,’ he said.10 ‘He likes to choose his key men. And I have always let him do so.’
Although this meant he could very possibly take a safe desk job for a while, Dundas couldn’t help feeling both deeply disappointed and ashamed. Coningham explained: apparently, Dundas had once clashed with Broadhurst over a matter of tactics; the superior officer had sided with Dundas, and Broadhurst had taken a dim view of being trumped by a junior officer. Coningham tried to placate the young pilot; he would find him a good post outside the Desert Air Force, and more immediately, he wanted him to fly one of two Typhoons that had arrived for trials from Casablanca to Cairo; but for Dundas, it was by far the most shattering experience of his short but celebrated career to date.
While the tactical air forces were training and refitting, the strategic air forces were as busy as ever. After the Tunisian victory Tedder and Spaatz had immediately sat down to work out a clear and comprehensive plan of action for the Allied air forces to support HUSKY. They envisaged four major stages: they were to neutralize the enemy air forces as far as possible before the invasion, so that whatever airfields they could not immediately capture on the ground would be unable to offer much resistance; they were to destroy enemy communications; they were to isolate the expected battlefield by making it as difficult as possible for enemy ground forces to rapidly deploy troops towards the Allied bridgehead; then, once the invasion had taken place, they were to offer close air support to the ground forces. In addition, Allied air forces were to support naval operations, provide convoy cover, deliver airborne troops, protect base areas and offer ample air–sea rescue. In other words, the demands were both many and varied.
Between now and the invasion, however, it was the bombers who would be expected to do the heavy lifting, albeit supported by fighters operating from Cap Bon and Malta. Already, as early as 7 May, just a few days after the final HUSKY plan was agreed, Spaatz had sent General Jimmy Doolittle, commander of the US Strategic Air Forces, orders to pummel the western part of Sicily. Palermo, Marsala and Trapani were all to be hit ‘as critical points in the enemy’s lines of communications.’11 The aim was to deny the enemy the use of the ports and any other facilities that might be of use to the Axis – railway lines, warehouses, vehicles or roads. ‘A high degree of destruction is therefore indicated,’ added Spaatz.12 ‘It is desired that you critically analyse the size and distribution of your effort and the types of bombs and fuses to be used, in order to insure the complete demolition of areas attacked.’
Now the Allied air forces had their foot on the Axis throat there was to be no release of pressure; this was emphatically underlined by Spaatz’s tough, severe and uncompromising orders. And Doolittle was swift to respond, with Palermo and Trapani hit heavily on both