BATTLE OF THE BAY
By J. L. HODSON
91 HE bay is Biscay, those thousands of square miles of stormy Jt waters. The battle is being fought on and beneath the sea and in the skies, a battle between air-power and sea-power—our weapon on this occasion being air-power. In short, we are waging an offensive against enemy U-boats (mostly German, but from time to time Italian also), which plough their way to or from their bases at Brest, St. Nazaire, Lorient, La Pallice and Bordeaux. Possibly there are other U-boat shelters (of concrete, many feet thick) along that coast.
Prom Murmansk to the Caribbean, and the Caribbean to the Solomons is a tract so vast for the mind to rang; and the names of Stalingrad, Egypt and New Guinea come forth from the radio so regularly and so pat, that this battle in the Bay—comparatively near home—has seldom gained, much prominence. It deserves more, for it is a vital part of the Battle of the Atlantic (which ranks in importance with Russia's superb achievements), mil it is a fight being waged by our British airmen in the main, but British magnifi- cently supported by Australian squadrons and Poles and Czechs (some of the latter older than pilots usually are, even a trifle bald and grey), and by Canadians, Free French and Belgians. The four-engined Sunderland flying boats have long been used in this fight, but of late months they have been joined by the "White Whitleys and Wellingtons "—painted thus in camouflage—by Ameri- can Liberators, by Hudsons, and by the protective Beaufighters, which range hither and thither like swords to cut down the Ju 88s, the Arado float-planes, and the rarer Focke-Wulffs which the enemy has sent into the lists, and sends in growing numbers. The Ju 88s are now to be encountered from time to time in sixes. For the truth is, the battle increases in intensity. It is, as the pilots say, thickening up.
The other afternoon I had the opportunity of glancing at a R.A.F. headquarters map of the Bay, stuck with its customary pins, yellow for attacks on U-boats,, mauve for air combats, purple for attacks on enemy shipping. There were places where those pins formed thick dusters, for the number of U-boats in that bay at one time can be remarkably high, and seldom a day passes without further pins of one colour or another being called for. On one single recent day this chronicle was made: a Whitley attacked a U-boat ; a Sunderland attacked a U-boat, and the tell-tale bubbles rose to the surface ; a Whitley fought an Arado ; yet another Whitley drove off a Fodce-Wulff Kurier ; two Beaufighters fought three
Arados, one of which was damaged ; a Wellington fought three Ju 88s, one of which dived apparently out of control.; a second Wellington fought a Ju 88; a third Wellington was shot down into the sea, but our rescue boats picked up the crew. (One need not say that we are not always so fortunate. The Bay keeps its reputation for storms—not often could a Sunderland land on its waters without being soon broken to pieces,) We are not always evenly matched—sometimes we are superior, in speed and firepower, sometimes the reverse, but what is constant is our fine, calm gunnery (so that a Wellington on one occasion fought off six Ju 88s), and our good tactics. We have Australians who have flown over 1,000 hours above the sea—one or two 3,000 hours—and it is extremely doubtful whether the enemy can match them ; there is a touch of the sailor in them. As a pilot with many submarine fights to his. credit said to me in the mess : "One thinks of the machine as a ship. Bringing the ship safely home is the thing—more important than personnel. The Bay seems to have got into my blood—it has become an obsession." He had just returned from patrol, and had been fighting a merchant ship running the blockade—had ordered his breakfast on his Sunderland for 4.30 a.m., but had to wait six hours before he could cat it, so occupied was every moment. He had made the attack on the merchant ship at dawn—flares were dropped (another Sunderland combined with him), and flak came up, red, yellow, green. I asked: "Was a flak ship protecting it?" He replied drily: "They didn't need one."
I gathered he rather dislikes these attacks on shipping because they get in the way of the real job, which is hunting U-boats. You may search for hours, of course, before you see one. (I met an observer who has cruised for 300 hours and seen nothing, neither submarine nor enemy aircraft.) If you are fortunate, as you sail in the heavens, part of the crew watching the tumbling waters, part the sky for Ju 88s, you see a short thin black line on the water and a slight wake behind it. You see it and pray they haven't spotted you in return, but in all likelihood they have—frequently it is simultaneous.
For the U-boats, when on the surface, either lying still charging their batteries (they must do this, I believe, once in 24 hours), or ploughing along at their eight or twelve knots, sail with, as a rule, four men, more or less back to back on the narrow steel deck. These watth the heavens as we search the seas. On seeing us, their customary tactic is to crash-dive—they can do this in thirty seconds or so—and it is a race between our swooping towards them and their getting underneath. Sometimes they are too quick for 'us, but three times out of four we either catch them before they havs. gone, or we know enough of their whereabouts to justify our attack.
Occasionally, however, they stay on the surface and fight it out, and, curiously enough, the Italians appear to do this oftener than the Germans. Whether it is that Italian submarines are less able to resist explosive when under the water than the German boats, or whether it is that if they must perish, they prefer to perish on top, I don't pretend to know. But fight they sometimes do, and both they and the Germans are pretty well equipped to do so, with their 4-inch gun, and two or three lighter ones, machine-guns or others. Our craft come low to the attack—fifty feet or so probably—and gun duels are not infrequent. There was an occa- sion the other day when we machine-gunned a gunner on deck, and he toppled into the sea. The U-boat then dived instantly, leaving another member of its crew, unwounded on deck, struggling in the sea. Anothei fight, more curious, was with an Italian. First, a gun duel occurred, and we inflicted some damage and casualties, but our Sunderland was towards the end of its 1,500 miles patrol, petrol was short, and she had to depart. On the following day a Wellington—crew Polish—found the Italian still on the surface, and attacked at once. No fire came back, but suddenly ten Italians, wearing red and yellow bathing trunks, climbed out of the conning tower in quick succession, and dived into the sea. Then the sub- marine slipped back slowly beneath the waves. What mystery lay there?
Nobody can say with certainty how many of our attacks destroy the U-boat, and how many gravely damage it. The German craft
are very strongly, although sometimes a trifle roughly, built, the majority of them of 500 tons or so. Their crews are young, and the commanders often below thirty years of age. It is a battle of youth against youth. There is no evidence as yet of the U-boat men's morale seriously falling, though every attack we make must tell. These boats have often left Germany, sailed to America by the North Atlantic, and are found by us as they make a return to a new base in France. The Battle of the Bay is one that has grown steadily in violence since the United States entered the war. Judging by the fashion in which Germany is bringing more air- craft to attack ours, and defend her submarines, we are achieving results, but it would be unsafe to put it higher than that. It is a contest of nerve and wits, and developing technique and machines. The next phase and the battle's progress depends on who can put into the fight more and better aircr4t. Could we stay on patrol longer, bomb more heavily, defend ourselves against attack more powerfully, and, in addition to that, put more Beaufighters into the battle, it is plain our successes would grow. The enemy, on his part, mass-builds his U-boats, and has reinforced his aircraft. It is possible also that he is using armed trawlers to escort his sub- marines—certainly numbers of these trawlers have been met with and the general picture in the Bay is added to by Spanish fishing- trawlers, by French tunny-fishers, and by enemy merchant ships from a few hundred tons to ro,000 tons, keeping inshore, armed with their own ack-ack guns and guarded by fighters.
It is a fascinating business watching the flying boats go off on patrol, making their how-wave and flurry of spray, lifting from the water like great birds. Two pilots are busy in the take-off (the ships carry three), and two busy again when they circle round and touch down, their long, arduous 1,5oo miles patrol finished. They may come or go by night as well as day, for there is no hour when Biscay goes unsearched and unwatched. It is a cold job, notwith- standing they visit a warmer clime (down to the coast of Spain). But on the Sunderlands they are lucky ; they carry a cook, and his galley. You may sink a U-boat, and half an hour later be having steak and chips over the tumbling waters. No wonder it fascinates these Australians, these sheep farmers, barristers, engineers, bank clerks, business men, and the rest. They know there is no more important job in this war. They are all out on it.
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