Equally important was the use that could be made of X-Gerдt in daylight, especially during the cloudy weather that Britain experienced at this time. For an example of the accuracy of the method, one had only to remember the lucky raid by four Heinkels, which scored a surprising number of hits on the Spitfire factory at Castle Bromwich, Birmingham, on the night of Eagle Day. The Heinkels were from KGr 100, and it wasn't luck.

The mixed weather gave enough cover for the Air Fleets to launch attacks on Fighter Command airfields in Kent and Essex. One wave came towards the English coast from the east' and split for attacks on Debden, to the north-east of London, and Hornchurch, virtually in the capital's eastern suburbs.

Fearing an attack on London, Park put up seven squadrons to intercept the southern prong. The crews of the Dornier Do 17s had the terrifying experience of seeing their Bf 109 escorts turn for home just as the RAF fighters rose like a cloud of gnats. The long detour, which had let the raid approach the coast from an unexpected direction, made the Messerschmitts' fuel warning lights glow long before their targets were reached.

One of the fighter squadrons was from Croydon. It was about three o'clock that afternoon, as Peter Townsend led 85 Squadron's attack. Said Townsend, "Thirty minutes later a dozen Dorniers came sailing majestically towards us: an impeccable phalanx in vies [vees] of three, stepped up in line-astern." They were from KG 2— Fink's crews — and some of them were later to recall it as a flight for which they carried no bombs. The bomber crews believed that their role was to provide a decoy to attract the RAF fighters. If that was true it was to prove a costly tactic, for now that the range of the Bf 109s forced them to withdraw, the Dorniers were to pay a heavy price. Some observers reported that the leading Dornier fired coloured signals, and the whole formation turned for home, knowing that they would be cut to pieces long before they reached their target.

Townsend said:

I brought the squadron around steadily on a wide turn moving it into echelon as we levelled out about two miles ahead on a collision course. Ease the throttle to reduce the closing speed which anyway allowed only a few seconds' fire. Get a bead on them right away, hold it, and never mind the streams of tracer darting overhead. Just keep on pressing on the button until you think you're going to collide then stick hard forward. Under the shock of negative G your stomach jumps into your mouth, dust and muck fly up from the cockpit floor into your eyes, and your head cracks on the roof as you break away below.

Sammy Allard was flying with Townsend on that day. By now he had won the DFM and been promoted from Sergeant to Pilot Officer. He fired at one Dornier long enough to make both propeller blades stop, and then climbed and came round for another diving attack. He found a target and fired a three-second burst at it.

Two of the Dornier's crew jumped out. Its wounded pilot saw Rochford fighter airfield below, and decided to try to make a crash landing there.

Allard's victim lurched into the approach run for the airfield, watched with mixed feelings by those on the ground — who thought he was about to bomb — and by a Spitfire overhead. One of the people watching it from ground level was the Medical Officer from Hornchurch on a routine visit. The Dornier made a wheels-up landing, and with a scream of tearing metal slid on its belly all the way across the airfield, until it stopped almost where the MO stood. He ran to the wreck and with a struggle managed to get the injured pilot out of it and onto the grass:

I then looked around to see if there were any other crew members and to my horror I found myself looking into the muzzle of a machine gun pointed at me from the top turret, with the machine gunner gazing unflinchingly down the sights. I confess I felt goose pimples breaking out all over me, and I deliberately turned away to give aid to the injured pilot as proof of my good intentions. When I looked up again the gun was still pointing at me, so I made a quick dash for the shelter of the aircraft's wing. From there I made my way along the side of the fuselage to the turret. One look was enough to tell me that the gunner had fired his last shot.

The horror of bloody wreckage, the smell of fuel and blood and vomit, the gloomy interior pierced by sunlight from a thousand bullet holes, an exterior gleaming with the silver discs that hot metal burned into paint work, the struggle to extricate dead and dying, and the cries of men who would never fly again, these were all well known to the men of the Luftwaffe's bombing units, across all the airfields of northern France. No wonder these flyers began to believe that they were being used as decoys.

The weather was beginning to stabilize as a high-pressure region centred on north-west Europe. England had sunshine and showers with enough cloud along the south coast to make interception uncertain.

The radar screens remained dark all morning but about 3 p.m. small formations of Heinkel He 111s and Dornier Do 17s headed for the English coast between Beachy Head and Hastings. Thirteen fighter squadrons went into the air that afternoon, for behind the Heinkels and Dorniers there were more green blips. But these waves were higher, and at closer quarters they were identified as fighters. There were more than 500 Bf 109s, with almost all the Jagdgeschwader represented: JG 3 (Udet), JG 26 (Schlageter), JG 51 (the unit that was later to be named after Molders), JG 52, and JG 54 (Gr'unherz). And after them came a great wave of Bf 110s, from ZG 26 (Horst Wessel) and ZG 76.

As the trap closed upon the RAF fighter squadrons sen! to intercept, the voices of the Controllers were heard calling their aircraft home again. It was Park's instruction that the German fighters must be left to fly unchallenged in the English skies, and for the most part that order was obeyed.

As the German crews were debriefed that evening, the Luftwaffe intelligence no longer had any doubt that the RAF tactics were working. The Spitfires and Hurricanes were being preserved, while the Germans were losing aircraft and gaining very little. Grieved by the losses among his young pilots, old Theo Osterkamp told Molders and Galland that the Battle was going badly. He believed that the RAF were very far from the exhausted state that Göring described, and the Luftwaffe could not spare the high-quality air crews that were being sacrificed.

Some of ‘Onkel Theo’s' allegations were self-evidently true, but neither of the young aces could share the old man's pessimism about the outcome. Now Osterkamp decided that he should write a detailed report about the air battle. And yet by its very nature such a report must be critical of Göring. Osterkamp decided to send it to Milch.

Milch would not be difficult to contact. Since 20 August he had resumed his inspection trips. Piloting his own "Storch' liaison aeroplane, he visited units large and small. For those without an airstrip he went by the sort of big black Mercedes that had become the status symbol of the top Nazis. Unceasingly Milch scribbled notes in a little green Collins diary that was four years out of date. Nothing was too trivial to get his attention: fuel supplies, replacement parts, tactics, morale, and the bombs. And Milch was quick to evaluate the men with whom he spoke; for them he carried supplies of Brazilian cigars and various grades of medals.

Milch was showing particular interest in any shortcomings of the Junkers Ju 88. This excellent machine had been one of Udet's pet projects, firmly supported by the young Luftwaffe Chief of Staff, Generaloberst Hans Jeschonnek. # The devastating report that Milch was compiling about the bomber would strengthen his position in respect of both these, rivals.