At 8,000 ft over Dover Harbor, a group of FW190s owned the sky. The English coast spread below them, defenseless. Then a British fighter appeared, closing fast. It had a massive four-bladed propeller, thick wings, and bold yellow stripes across its fuselage. The aircraft looked brutish, almost primitive compared to their sleek focal wolves.

 They dove to escape, but somehow the stripe fighter stayed glued to their tails. Its engine screamed at full throttle, a sound unlike any aircraft power plant they’d heard. Then came the 20 mm cannon fire. Weighed down by their bomb loads, the FW190s couldn’t shake their pursuer. In desperation, they jettisoned everything. Their ordinance splashing harmlessly into the channel below while they headed back to safety.

At 440 mph, the stripe fighter made clear the Lava’s dominance was over. [Music] England’s southern coast lay exposed in 1940 with defenders scanning gray skies for the next wave of loofah bombers. The supermarine spitfire and hawker hurricane while heroes of the battle of Britain faced an increasingly formidable opponent.

 The meases BF 109E with it superior rate of climb and speed at altitude began to systematically outclass Britain’s fighters. Air superiority, a cornerstone of defense, hung by a thread. RAF commanders understood this new threat. Intelligence warned that the Focalolf FW190, an advanced German fighter, would soon make existing aircraft obsolete.

 In response, the Air Ministry issued specification F-1837, calling for a fighter that could operate at speeds approaching 450 mph at 15,000 ft, armed with a powerful battery of cannons. Sydney Cam, the brilliant designer behind the Hurricane, faced an audacious challenge. His response was to install the massive Napier Saber engine into an entirely new airframe.

 The Saber’s 24 cylinders were arranged in an H configuration, displacing 2,238 C in, generating over 2200 horsepower, more than double the power of the Merlin engine in the Spitfire. Fully loaded, the new aircraft would weigh around 11,000 lb with a 41 ft wingspan and a 14 ft propeller, the largest ever on a single engine fighter.

Initial designs for armament included 12 303 in Browning machine guns, but it was quickly decided that the future lay with heavier firepower. On paper, the new aircraft, the Hawker Typhoon, promised to be a dominant force, capable of speeds of 400 mph at 18,000 ft. The Air Ministry, convinced by the projected performance, ordered 1,000 aircraft before the prototype had even left the ground.

The morning of February 24th, 1940, at Hawker’s Langley airfield was cold and gray. Philip Lucas, Jeep test pilot, squeezed into the cramped cockpit of Typhoon prototype P5212. He’d flown dangerous missions before, but nothing as experimental as this. The Napier Saber engine, 24 cylinders prying with exacting fuel and ignition timing, was a beast waiting to wake.

 Two Kaufman starter cartridges sat ready, explosive jolts to drag the engine into life. The first cartridge fired. The saber coughed, shuddered, then erupted in a roar that rattled hangers and sent ground crews diving for cover. Blue white flames spat 6 ft from the stub stacks. Taxi tests were unnerving.

 Controls were heavy, sluggish. Even at 40 mph, the rudder demanded every ounce of Lucas’ strength. Torque from the massive propeller yanked the Typhoon sideways with each throttle input. Takeoff magnified every danger. Lucas shoved the throttle forward. The Typhoon surged down the runway, hitting 100 mph in 8 seconds.

 Nose swinging wildly under torque. sweat beated as he wrestled the rudder, easing the stick only at 120 mph. The climb was furious, 2,740 ft per minute, but the plane trembled under its own power. Then at 15,000 ft, a violent flutter ran through the controls. Pressure shifted at the rear fuselage where the main section joined the aanage.

 The metal twisted, a jagged line splitting open, daylight glaring through the gap. Lucas’s mind raced. Bail out and risk the saber exploding or wrestle the typhoon down. He chose the ladder, gripping the controls, praying the fuselage held. The descent was a battle. The landing gear shuttered on contact, the airframe groaning, but Lucas coaxed the aircraft to a stop.

The Typhoon survived, but its troubles had only just begun. Hawker’s design team raced through the summer of 1940 to fix the flaws exposed by Lucas’s test flights. The Typhoon’s tail section was redesigned with external fish plates and internal bulkheads were reinforced. Wing spars were strengthened to handle the massive engine’s torque.

 The original 12 gun layout was scrapped in favor of four 20mm Hispano cannons, giving the fighter a sharp increase in firepower. September brought the second prototype P5216, but new problems surfaced. The Napier Saber sleeve valve timing remained erratic. Cylinder temperatures swung wildly and power surged unpredictably, causing frequent engine failures.

Starting the engine had become an elaborate ritual of fuel priming, ignition timing, and sheer hope. Mechanical gremlins haunted every flight. Fuel vapor ignited on hot exhausts, forcing pilots to scramble free, while crews douse the nose with foam. Engines often had to be replaced entirely.

 Even more insidious was carbon monoxide leaking into cockpits, forcing pilots to wear oxygen masks even below 10,000 ft. In training, a typhoon suddenly twisted into a spin. His pilot overcome by fumes before he could react. It plunged toward the ground. Another hazard was the car door canopy hinged like an automobile door. It made ground servicing easier, but in combat turned into a cage.

 At speed, wind pressure jammed it shut, trapping pilots inside damaged aircraft, even when fire spread through the cockpit. As one pilot put it, describing the stop gap protections, quote, “They got fire extinguishers like they’re going out of fashion.” By December 1940, the Typhoon program teetered on the brink.

 Every flight revealed new mechanical or structural failures, and squadrons reported more losses from faults than enemy action. The fighter meant to dominate European skies to become a liability. But salvation would come from an unexpected source. June 1941 brought alarming intelligence from RAF photo reconnaissance over northern France.

 German airfields revealed short-winged radial engine fighters unlike anything seen before. By August, the Focalolf FW190 began appearing over the English Channel. Designed by Kurt Tunk, the FW190 was a compact machine. Its BMW 801 radial engine produced 1677 horsepower in an 8770lb frame with wing loading around 42.3 lb per square foot.

 It had exceptional maneuverability, while top speeds exceeded 400 mph at 20,600 ft. faster than the Spitfire Mark 5 at operational altitudes. Armament was equally formidable. Two 13mm machine guns and two to four 20mm MG15120 cannons allow German pilots to engage from long range with devastating effect. RAF fighter command faced a crisis.

Spitfire Mark 5s were outclassed below 25,000 ft. The FW190’s blistering roll rate gave Lufafa pilots clear advantages, allowing German formations to strike coastal targets before interceptors could respond. Squadron leader Douglas Bader, the legless ace, encountered FW190s over northern France in August 1941.

After an engagement where his squadron lost three Spitfires without downing a single German fighter, he reported facing aircraft that quote clam like rockets and rolled faster than anything we’ve seen. The Typhoon program suddenly became urgent. But despite its mechanical flaws, it offered one critical edge.

Speed. Below 15,000 ft, the FW190’s favorite altitude, the Typhoon could reach over 400 mph in level flight with dive speeds exceeding 520 mph, allowing pilots to chase fleeing Germans across the channel. Flight Lieutenant Ian Mallet recalled the acceleration when hot pursuit was set in motion.

 Quote, “It was like being hit in the back with a sledgehammer when you opened the throttle.” The typhoon, once on the verge of abandonment, would find its purpose. By December 1941, number 56 squadron was operational at RAF Duxford. The Typhoon still had reliability headaches, but key improvements enhanced safety and performance. Car door canopies were swapped for sliding bubbles, giving pilots better visibility and a real chance to escape if things went wrong.

 Tail sections received external fish plates, and oxygen masks became standard to fight carbon monoxide leaks. On January 20th, 1942, Typhoon pilots flew the aircraft’s first operational interception. A Mark 1B decorated in bold yellow recognition stripes closed in on German fighters over Dover Harbor at 8,000 ft. The Napier Saber screamed at full throttle, pushing the fighter to 440 mph, unheard of speed at that altitude.

German pilots pushed to their limits, broke formation, and dove for the French coast. The Typhoon stayed glued to them, 20 mm cannon fire tearing through wings and fuselage. The Germans weren’t ready. Shocked by the Typhoon speed, they jettisoned their bombs and fled back east. Within weeks, these low-level interceptions became routine, sealing the Lufafa daylight fate over the channel.

 By March 1942, German daylight raids had effectively ended. With its role locked in, the Typhoon was reshaped into the RAF’s most feared ground attack weapon. But the aircraft’s transformation was far from complete. [Music] The Typhoon had proven its worth against FW190 formations, but by late 1942, RAF planners envisioned a more aggressive role.

Any invasion of Nazi occupied Europe would demand aircraft capable of destroying armor, fortifications, and supply lines. The Typhoon’s immense Napier Saber engine provided power unmatched by other fighters. While the Spitfire Mark 9 struggled with a single 500lb bomb, the Typhoon was capable of lifting 2,000lb bombs with minimal effect on its handling.

Number 181 Squadron, formed at RA of Duxford in September 1942, was the first to fly bomb equipped Typhoons operationally. Press correspondents quickly dubbed them bomboons, a nickname that stuck despite official scowls. Squadron leader Derek Walker Smith led the first missions in October to strike German supply dumps and coastal batteries near Sherborg.

His formation cut through thick coastal haze, a fragile cloak against the dangers below. Waiting in the gray sky, German 88mm flack guns, radar directed and potent shredded the air. Walker Smith’s flight often plunged straight into a flack wall, exploding fragments whistling past, hammering wings and fuselage.

Each Typhoon carried its 2,000lb bombs with delayed fuses, forcing pilots to hold level straight flight for 15 10 seconds under concentrated fire. Every nerve screamed to maneuver or peel away, but discipline held them steady. Then the bombs dropped, detonating in towering fireballs that shattered supply dumps below.

[Music] Yet the cost was stark. Two typhoons never returned and three more limped back with heavy flack damage. Aircraft would return riddled with holes, trailing fuel vapor and often requiring major repairs. The limitations of bombing heavily defended targets were becoming clear, but a revolutionary solution was already in development.

The solution came from the RP3 rocket. The 60lb projectile with a high explosive or armor-piercing warhead could penetrate up to 4 in of armor. Unlike bombs, rockets allowed for attacks from varying altitudes and angles, letting pilots maneuver defensively while striking with immense firepower. Installation was tricky.

 Each Typhoon carried eight rockets on rail launchers, four under each wing. The rails added 400 lb and created significant drag. The rocket’s forward center of gravity altered the aircraft’s trim, forcing pilots into extensive retraining. Additional armor was added to protect the pilot and critical systems. Combined with its four Hispano autoc cannons, the Typhoon’s firepower was so destructive that it earned comparisons to a naval destroyer.

 A 2cond burst could deliver 86 cannon shells. In October 1943, number 181 squadron launched the first operational rocket strikes with RP3s against German coastal radar stations near Ka. Each rocket carried a 25lb warhead aimed at the concrete bunkers and flack positions of the Atlantic wall. Pilots dove at shallow angles, rockets streaking past wing tips in pairs.

The warheads ripped through fortifications that had shrugged off conventional bombs. Concrete splintered, steel twisted, and radar antennas toppled in clouds of smoke and dust. The strikes were precise, ruthless, and spectacular. A new weapon that turned previously impregnable positions into shattered wrecks.

By December, 18 rocket equipped squadrons formed the core of the RAF’s second tactical air force. Intensive training covered target identification, ammunition selection, and coordination with forward ground controllers. By spring 1944, the Typhoon had transformed from a troubled interceptor into a fearsome fighter bomber.

The morning of June 6th, 1944, began with an eerie stillness over the fields of southern England. In briefing huts lit by dim lamps, young pilots leaned forward, listening as fingers traced lines across a giant map of Normandy. The German defenses were marked in thick red. A wall of artillery and armor waiting on the far shore.

Outside, crews worked furiously in the gray dawn. Paint still tacky on their hands. They slapped on new invasion stripes overnight. Black and white bands circling fuselage and wings. It was a desperate safeguard to prevent Allied gunners from mistaking friend for foe in skies about to fill with hundreds of aircraft.

The Hawker Typhoon squatted on the grass. Brutish machines built not for grace but for power. Their four-bladed props gleaming in the first light. Ground crews pulled the chocks. Compressed air hissed. Then the sabered engines came alive with a guttural snarl. They shook the huts and rattled windows. One by one.

 The typhoon surged forward. They climbed into a bruised sky. Clouds hanging low and heavy. Beneath them stretched the English Channel. Gray and restless yet transformed by the invasion armada. From horizon to horizon, ships covered the water. Destroyers, transports, landing craft, and battleships. The Typhoons leveled off at speed, 380 mph, each carrying eight rocket projectiles and the brutal punch of four 20 mm cannons.

The crossing lasted 20 minutes. Then the coastline broke through the clouds. Normandy spread below, already torn by naval bombardment. Pillars of smoke twisted into the sky. Roads behind the beaches were crawling with German reinforcements. Panzer fours, halftracks, supply trucks funneling forward through hedgerros.

The RAF’s revolutionary close support system kicked into motion. Forward observers looped the fields with white phosphorous markers. Each burst planting a target in the vocage. Typhoons rolled into dives, the horizon flipping as the Saber engines howl deepened into a growl. At 800 yd, pilots let loose their rockets.

 They ripped away in streaks of fire, slamming into lead ponzers and other German positions. More followed in quick succession, squadrons peeling into deep attacks, cannons hammering, halftracks disintegrated, anti-tank crews broke and scattered as 20 mm shells walked across their positions. In the hedros, vehicles burned.

By afternoon, the 21st Ponder Division’s assault timetable lay in ruins. German commanders grimly reported that daylight movement near the beaches had become impossible. Above the invasion fleet, the typhoon circled back through the clouds, their wings empty. The RAF’s close air support in Normandy broke with every tradition.

 Forward air controllers advanced alongside the infantry. BHF radios clutched securely. With a smoke marker and a quick call, Typhoon strikes could hammer enemy positions within minutes, bypassing the slow, bureaucratic chains of command that had plagued earlier battles. This immediacy became the key that unlocked the German defenses.

Through June and July 1944, Typhoon squadrons became the spearhead of Allied tactical air power. They tore through German armor, columns of troops and headquarters with mounting accuracy. One raid near Lan left an unforgettable mark. Typhoon struck a German headquarters, wounding General Gear of Anreenborg, commander of Punupa West, and eliminating most of his staff.

German armored coordination stalled for two full days, granting the Allies crucial breathing room to press forward. The strike’s efficiency sent a chilling message across the battlefield. The tempo was relentless. Four or five sorties per pilot per day became routine. A punishing cycle of climb, attack, and return.

On the ground, typhoon turnarounds were a spectacle of organized chaos. Ground crews smeared with oil and sweat, replaced rocket loads in under 10 minutes, often while pilots remained strapped in. The typhoon struck with a force that seared itself into memory. Horse Fabber and SS Panzer Grenadier remembered, quote, “We had four Tiger tanks and three Panther tanks.

 We were convinced that we would gain another victory here, that we would smash the enemy forces, but then Typhoons dropped these rockets on our tanks and shot all seven to bits, and we cried.” Steuart Hills, a British tank commander, recalled what happened when his column was ambushed by a Tiger on August 2nd, 1944.

 Quote, “The typhoons came in very low and with a tremendous roar. The second plane scored a direct hit, and when the smoke cleared, we could see the Tiger lying on its side, minus its turret, and with no sign of any survivors. But the heavily defended intersections of inland France, lay ahead.” Nobody spoke it aloud, but every pilot understood.

 This would be one of the hardest runs since D-Day. The morning briefing carried a weight all its own. Reconnaissance photos lay across the table, cold and clinical. A lattice of tracks converged on fillets, siding jammed with fuel wagons and ammunition cars. Over 40 flat positions ring the target, the inner defenses bristling with radar guided 88 mm guns.

On the dispersal line, Typhoons crouched beneath eight RP3 rockets and full 20 mm belts. The extraordin added more than 12,200 lb weight that dulled agility and climb. Rocket rails dragged at top speed. Overcast skies offered concealment, but the hidden landmarks, horse navigation by compass and gut instinct.

Fallets emerged from the haze. The railards sprawled below them, smoke curling from earlier strikes. Then the flack opened. Black puffs of 88 mm fire blossomed at 3,000 yd. The typhoon shuddered as fragments ripped it wings and fuselage. The shorter bursts of 40mm bowor and 20 mm cannons stitched the sky with flashes.

Approaching from the southwest, pilots dove at 420 mph, air screaming past the canopy. White rocket trails arked across the maelstrom, bracketing moving targets with pinpoint timing. Within seconds, pilots calculated range, wind, and target speed, firing pairs and singles in rapid succession. During the pull out, chaos filled their cockpits.

 Concussion waves rocked the fuselage, shrapnel pinged against armored glass, and cylinder temperatures spiked as saber engine strained. The stick shuttered in the pilot’s hands, every control heavy and sluggish, G-forces slamming them into their headrests. Compressibility buffeted the wings past 500 mph, shaking the airframe and testing every ounce of skill, but the run was a success.

 The file strikes left the Germans reeling. Ammunition depots and marshalling yards burned. Tracks twisted under rocket impact. Tanks rendered immo. Typhoons had not just attacked. They had shredded the infrastructure of resistance, carving a corridor for the allies to push deeper into France. The liberation of Paris in August 1944 shifted momentum, but German resistance stiffened as Vermach units fell back toward the Rine.

Typhoon squadrons adapted quickly, shifting from close support to exact strikes on command and logistics networks. Ultra intelligence revealed the locations of headquarters and staff officers, allowing typhoons to hit key targets with devastating effect. RAF’s second tactical air force typhoons loaded with armor-piercing RP3 rockets dove on enemy buildings.

Within minutes, headquarters were reduced to smoldering ruins, valuable officers buried with them. Communications got shredded and operations paralyzed for days. German commanders scrambled, moving HQs underground or dispersing staff, making coordination even more fragile through the war’s final months. In March 1945, Operation Varsity, the massive Allied airborne assault across the Rine, put Typhoons to their next test.

Over 1,700 transports and gliders carried two divisions behind German lines. Typhoon suppressed radar directed 88mm guns along the Rine, attacking low to avoid detection, yet within range of light anti-aircraft fire. Rockets tore through imp placements, scattering crews and neutralizing defenses. Over 400 sorties delivered paratroopers, often with pilots, flying six missions a day, while ground crews refueled and reared in near assembly line fashion.

By April, Group Captain J.R. Baldwin scored his 15th and final Typhoon victory. Pilots were credited with roughly 246 enemy aircraft destroyed, an extraordinary record for a primarily ground attack plane. Victory in Europe Day arrived on May 8th, 1945, but Typhoon squadrons faced uncertainty.

 The RAF rapidly demobilized. Aircraft that had been indispensable months earlier became surplus. By October, squadrons disbanded. Typhoon scrapped and the Napier Saber engines dismantled. Despite this, the Typhoon’s impact endured. Its constant attacks in Normandy disrupted German counterattacks, accelerating the breakout. Field Marshal Garrett von Runstet later called Allied air power, particularly rocket equipped aircraft, quote, absolutely decisive.

Sydney Cam learned the hard way with the Typhoon. Thick wings, compressibility quirks, and an engine that could bite back. Those lessons shaped the Hunter. Thin swept wings, and a sleek airframe built to slice cleanly through transonic flight. With the Harrier, Cam went further. Rugged, simple airframe wrapped around the radical Pegasus vector thrust engine.

 Wrestling the Napier Saber taught him how to harness raw power without letting it destroy the aircraft. From Typhoon to Hunter to Harrier, Cam’s genius was clear. Build tough machines around brutal engines and push the limits. Today, only one Typhoon remains displayed at the RAF Museum in Henden, North London. [Music]