Why This ‘Flying Porcupine’ Made Luftwaffe Fighters Turn Away

June 2nd, 1943, somewhere over the Bay of Bisque, Flight Lieutenant Colin Walker of 461 Squadron, Royal Australian Air Force, watched eight junkers, J88s, form up around his Sunderland flying boat, three on each beam, one on each quarter.

The first burst hit the port outer engine and ignited it.

An incendry round shattered the compass beside Walker’s knee.

His cockpit erupted in flames.

Walker himself was burning.

For the next 45 minutes, a single lumbering patrol aircraft would fight off 20 separate attack passes from cannon armed fighters, claimed three of them destroyed, and limp 300 m home on three engines to crash land on a Cornish beach.

The British press called this aircraft the Flying Porcupine.

Whether German pilots actually used that name remains disputed, but they had good reason to respect it.

The Short Sunderland looked like an anacronism even when it entered service in 1938.

A hulking 4engine flying boat with a wingspan of 112 feet 6 in cruising at barely 210 mph.

While dedicated fighters could exceed 350, it could not run.

It could not hide.

What it could do was fight back with a formidable array of machine guns bristling from multiple firing positions, covering virtually every angle of approach.

By 1943, after squadronled modifications, some Sunderlands carried so many Browning guns that crews spoke of them as porcupines.

No other flying boat in the world came close.

RAF Coastal Command needed something exactly like this.

The Battle of the Atlantic was being lost.

German Ubot operating from French ports were sinking merchant shipping faster than British yards could replace it.

The Mid-Atlantic gap, that vast stretch of ocean beyond the range of early land-based aircraft, had become a killing ground.

This gap would not close until 1943 when longer range liberators and radar equipped aircraft finally filled it.

What Britain required in the meantime was an aircraft that could patrol for 10 to 14 hours, locate submarines on the surface, attack them with depth charges, and survive long enough to report back.

The Sunderland delivered on every count.

The origins of this unlikely warrior traced to November 1933 when the Air Ministry issued specification R2 Stroke 33, calling for a next generation reconnaissance flying boat.

Chief designer Arthur Gouge at Short Brothers in Rochester, Kent, had already begun work on the S23 Empire flying boat for Imperial Airways.

He took that civilian design and transformed it into something far more lethal.

The military 25 Sunderland shared the Empire boat’s 4ine shoulderwing configuration, but featured a deeper hull, compound curved stressed skin construction, and provisions for serious armorament.

Gouge added four degrees 15 minutes of wing sweep back specifically to compensate for the center of gravity shift caused by mounting a heavy tail gun turret.

Prototype K4774 made its first flight on October 16th, 1937 from the River Medway.

Piloted by test pilot John Lancaster Parker, the Air Ministry was confident enough in the design that it had ordered production aircraft before the prototype ever flew.

By June 1938, the first Sunderlands reached number 230 squadron at RAF Celita, Singapore.

When war broke out on September the 3rd, 1939, approximately 40 Sunderlands were operational with coastal command.

A number two10 squadron aircraft was already airborne on patrol when the declaration came.

Production eventually reached approximately 749 aircraft across four factories.

Short brothers at Rochester built roughly 353.

Short and Harland in Belfast produced approximately 137.

A temporary wartime facility at Lake Windermir assembled 35 Mark IIIs and Blackburn Aircraft’s Shadow Factory at Dumbartan, Scotland contributed approximately 240.

The last Sunderland rolled off the Belfast line on June 14th, 1946.

The specifications tell part of the story.

The Mark III, which became the definitive wartime variant, measured 85 feet 4 in in length.

With that 112’t 6-in wingspan, empty weight came to 37,000 lb.

Maximum takeoff weight reached 65,000 lb.

Four Bristol Pegasus, 18 radial engines, each producing 1,0 horsepower, gave a maximum speed of 212 mph at 5,000 ft and a service ceiling of 17,900 ft.

range extended to 2,980 mi, enabling those marathon patrols that closed the Atlantic gap.

But what made the Sunderland genuinely formidable was the progressive escalation of its defensive armorament across five production marks.

The Mark1 entered service with roughly seven guns.

A Nashen Thompson FN11 nose turret mounted a single 303 Vicar’s Kun later upgraded to twin 303 Brownings.

The FN13 tail turret packed 4.303 Brownings with a thousand rounds per gun.

Two handheld Vicers K guns covered the beam positions amid ships.

Respectable but not exceptional.

By 1943, many Mark 3s, especially after squadronled modifications carried a much heavier fit of Browning guns.

The nose turret now carried twin Brownings.

Australian squadrons pioneered the addition of fixed forward firing guns in the fuselage walls controlled by the pilot.

A dorsal turret mounting two more Browning sat offset to starboard at top the hull.

The beam positions on some aircraft had been upgraded to heavy 50 caliber Browning machine guns.

Manually aimed from galley hatches, and the tail turret retained its four Brownings.

Exact gun counts varied by aircraft and squadron, but the effect was the same.

Overlapping fields of fire made the Sunderland unusually dangerous to attack.

The PPY Catalina, America’s workhorse flying boat, carried five guns.

The German Blome and Vosb 138 managed four.

The Dornier Du2 24 had three.

An attacking fighter approaching a Sunderland from any direction faced a wall of traces.

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Now, back to the fight.

The offensive loadout was more modest, but still effective.

2,000 lb of bombs or depth charges could be carried on an unusual retractable rack system.

Ordinance was stored inside the fuselage bomb room and winched out through side doors to underwing positions during attack runs.

Some crews stuffed additional depth charges onto the bomb room floor in wooden restraints, pushing total ordinance load to nearly £4,950.

The aircraft’s sheer size allowed amenities unthinkable in smaller patrol aircraft.

The two- deck hull contained a wardroom with bunks, a galley with a small stove for cooking hot meals, and even an anchor for mooring at remote locations.

Crews rotating through rest periods could sleep properly, eat properly, and return to their stations alert after hours of monotonous patrol.

This mattered on sorties lasting 12 hours or more.

Fatigue killed crews as surely as enemy fire, and the Sunderland’s habitability gave British airmen an advantage their counterparts in cramped Catalinas could only envy.

The bomb aimer’s position in the nose offered exceptional visibility.

A prone position behind optically flat glass panels allowed accurate depth charge delivery even in rough conditions.

The aircraft could descend to 50 ft above the waves during attack runs, closing on surface submarines before their crews could fully man anti-aircraft guns.

ASV Mark II radar and later the centimetric Mark III transformed night operations.

The Mark III was invisible to German MTO warning receivers, meaning coastal command could now find submarines in darkness.

And once they could be found, Sunderlands provided the firepower and endurance to prosecute them.

The Lee Light, a powerful search light fitted beneath the wing, illuminated targets during the final moments of a nocturnal attack.

Here is where we must address the legend.

The nickname Flegander Staklesvine, flying porcupine, first appeared in British media in September 1940 when the Times reported that the Germans call them Flegander Staklesvine due to their bristling armament.

By Christmas 1940, the newspaper was running quiz questions about it.

The 1942 British propaganda booklet, Coastal Command, embedded the phrase further into public consciousness.

There’s just one problem.

Aviation historians who have exhaustively researched Luftvafa records, including Chris Goss, author of the definitive study of Vstroke KG40’s bisque operations titled Bloody Bisque, have never located a German primary source using the term.

The nickname was almost certainly a British invention.

But this does not mean German pilots dismissed the Sunderland.

Quite the opposite.

After the June 1943 battle, British signals intelligence intercepted communications suggesting Luftvafa crews believed the Sunderland was armorplated and cannon armed.

Neither was true.

The perception speaks volumes about the aircraft’s reputation.

The incident that likely inspired the nickname occurred on April 3rd, 1940.

Sunderland N9046 of 204 Squadron, captained by flight leftenant Frank Phillips, was on convoy protection off Norway when six junkers J88s attacked.

Rear gunner Corporal William Lily, known as Bill, held his fire until the lead G88 closed to just 100 yards.

Then he shot it into the sea.

His continued fire damaged a second G88’s port engine, forcing it to crash land in neutral Norway.

The remaining four broke off the attack.

Phillips received the Distinguished Flying Cross.

Lily earned the Distinguished Flying Medal.

Short Brothers immediately featured the action in advertisements.

Tragically, Lily was killed just three months later, shot down by a BF 109 while crewing another Sunderland on a reconnaissance mission to Tronheim.

Let me return to that June 1943 engagement over Bisque.

Because the details reveal what made the Sunderland survivable.

Sunderland Mark 3EJ134, call sign N for nuts, had been on routine anti-ubmarine patrol out of Pemrook Dock, Wales.

Earlier that afternoon, the crew searched unsuccessfully for survivors of a BOACDC3 shot down the previous day.

That aircraft had been carrying British actor Leslie Howard.

At approximately 1855, eight junkers, JU88C, six fighters of 13 stroke KG40 appeared.

Captain Walker jettisoned his depth charges to lighten the aircraft.

The Germans formed a textbook attack formation.

At 1900 hours, the first pass from the port beam hit the port outer engine.

Fire erupted.

An incendry bullet shattered the P4 compass beside Walker’s knee.

The cockpit filled with flames.

Walker himself caught fire.

Second pilot James Aiss extinguished the captain with a fire extinguisher while pilot officer Wilbur Dowling grabbed the controls.

Over the following 45 minutes, the G88s made at least 20 separate attack passes.

Rear gunner Flight Sergeant Ray Good engaged relentlessly from the tail turret.

Beam gunners Sergeant Miles and Sergeant Lane fired 50 caliber rounds from the galley hatches.

Navigator flying officer Kenneth Simpson, wounded in both legs, continued directing defensive fire.

One crew member died during the battle.

The crew claimed three D88s destroyed, one probable and two damaged.

German records do not confirm these losses, but the ferocity of the defensive fire is beyond dispute.

Despite his burns, Walker resumed control and nursed the crippled Sunderland 300 m back to England on three engines.

He finally beed it at Pressands Cornwall.

The rising tide destroyed the aircraft, but the crew survived.

Walker received the distinguished service order.

Air Chief Marshall Sir Charles Portal, Chief of the Air Staff, personally commended the crew, calling it one of the finest instances in this war of the triumph of coolness, skill, and determination against overwhelming odds.

German records complicate the story.

Chris Goss’ analysis of Vstroke KG40 records shows no due88 losses recorded for that specific date.

However, suspicious discrepancies in the unit’s July 1943 loss record suggest possible book balancing.

What is documented is the operational impact.

Vstroke KG40’s kill rate against Allied aircraft dropped sharply in the month following the engagement.

The Luftvafer had established Vstroke KG40 specifically to counter coastal command aircraft over the Bay of Bisque.

These were not ordinary fighter pilots.

They flew heavily armed J88 C6 variants modified for the longrange interception role.

Equipped with three 20mm cannon and three 7.92 mm machine guns in the nose.

A single accurate burst could shred a flying boat.

Yet engagement after engagement demonstrated that destroying a Sunderland was far more difficult than it appeared.

The aircraft’s ability to absorb punishment proved remarkable.

The deep hull allowed for structural redundancy.

Damaged control surfaces could be compensated for by others still functioning.

The multiple engines meant losing one or even two did not necessarily doom the aircraft.

Sunderland captains developed specific defensive tactics.

When fighters approached, the standard procedure was to descend toward the sea, limiting attack angles to the upper hemisphere.

The aircraft’s slow speed, normally a disadvantage, became an asset.

Attacking fighters had to slow down to match.

Increasing their exposure time to defensive fire.

Approaching too fast risked overshooting the target.

The overlapping fields of fire meant that regardless of approach angle, multiple guns could engage simultaneously.

The crew’s subsequent story ended in tragedy.

Most of Walker’s surviving crew returned to operational flying on July 8th, 1943.

Just 5 weeks later on August 13th, 1943, Dowling, Good, Fuller, Watson, Turner, and Miller were all killed when their replacement Sunderland DV 968 was shot down by J88s over the Bay of Bisque.

None survived.

The brutal reality of coastal command operations meant that surviving one desperate battle offered no guarantee of surviving the next.

The control wheel from EJ134 is preserved at the Australian War Memorial in Canra, a reminder of both the crew’s courage and their sacrifice.

Against submarines, the Sunderland compiled a formidable record.

Approximately 28 Yubot fell to Sunderlands independently with the aircraft assisting in roughly seven more for a total involvement of about 35 kills.

The B-24 Liberator topped the overall scoreboard with 72 Yubot kills, but the Sunderland’s record is notable for spanning the entire war from the first month through to final victory.

The first Sunderland Yubot action came on January 30th, 1940.

A 228 Squadron aircraft helped force the crew of the already damaged U55 to scuttle.

The mere sight of the large aircraft approaching was enough.

The first confirmed unassisted kill came on July 1st, 1940.

10 Squadron RAF’s flight.

Lieutenant W.

Gibson attacked U26 southwest of Bishop’s Rock.

The Australian squadron ultimately destroyed six Ubot and damaged eight more across 3,239 operational sorties and 34,11 flying hours, losing 151 men.

May 1943 proved the watershed month.

Five UOTOs fell to Sunderlands in a single month, coinciding with the broader turning point of the Battle of the Atlantic.

The Bay of Bisque became a killing ground as coastal command aircraft.

now equipped with ASV Mark III centimetric radar invisible to German MTOX warning receivers caught Ubot on the surface during transit.

On July 30th, 1943, a remarkable convergence occurred.

Three Ubot were sunk in the same area, including U461 destroyed by 461 Squadron RAFs.

Flight left tenant Dudley Marrow in a Sunderland bearing the aircraft letter U.

The symmetry was not lost on anyone.

Aircraft Ustroke 461 sank submarine U461.

The anti-ubmarine weapons themselves underwent critical evolution.

Early 100 pound anti-ubmarine bombs proved essentially useless.

In a 1939 friendly fire incident, one struck the British submarine snapper and did nothing more than break light bulbs.

Others reportedly bounced off the sea surface and struck the attacking aircraft.

Effective Torpex filled 250 lb depth charges did not replace these until early 1943.

The delay cost lives.

How did the Sunderland compare to its rivals? The PBY Catalina with 3,300 built versus the Sunderland 749 was the war’s most numerous flying boat.

Simpler, cheaper, and longer ranged.

It proved adequate for reconnaissance and rescue, but its five defensive guns and 125 mph cruise speed left it vulnerable.

The Catalina served as the workhorse.

The Sunderland served as the gunship.

Germany’s BV138, nicknamed the Flying Clog, was a much smaller 3-ine reconnaissance aircraft, carrying only 661 pounds of ordinance.

Its diesel engines gave excellent fuel economy, but far less power.

The D24 earned renown for exceptional seaorthiness, but carried minimal armorament, just two 7.92 mm machine guns and 120 mm cannon.

Neither German type was designed for the same offensive anti-ubmarine role.

The American PBM Mariner came closest to matching the Sunderland.

Eight 50 caliber guns and up to 8,000 pounds of ordinance looked impressive on paper, but the Mariner arrived late, accounted for only 10 new kills total, and the RAF’s brief trial of 33 mariners with 524 squadron lasted just 3 months.

The Sunderland’s Advantage combined heavy all-around defensive armorament, long endurance enabling those 10 to 14-hour patrols, a two- deck fuselage with crew comfort features for sustained operations, and multiple gun positions covering overlapping arcs.

No other flying boat combined all these qualities.

Beyond the Atlantic, the Sunderland saw action across remarkably diverse theaters.

In the Mediterranean, a 230 squadron aircraft flew the critical reconnaissance mission observing the Italian fleet at Toronto before the famous November 1940 torpedo attack by Swordfish biplanes.

During the evacuation of Cree in 1941, Sunderlands carried up to 82 passengers per aircraft, evacuating nearly 900 people total.

In West Africa, while Sunderlands never sank a yubot, not a single merchant ship was lost in areas they patrolled.

Pure deterrent power.

The aircraft earned a second career after the war.

During the Berlin airlift from 1948 to 1949, 10 Sunderlands of 201 and 230 squadrons flew from Finanver on the Elbert to the Harvel River near RAF Gatau, carrying primarily salt and baking powder.

The choice was practical.

Salt would corrode standard transport aircraft control cables, but the Sunderland’s cables ran along the cabin ceiling rather than under the floor, and its airframe was already proofed against seawater.

The flying boats delivered approximately 4,920 tons of freight and provided a tremendous morale boost for Berliners watching them land on the river.

During the Korean War, Sunderlands became the only British aircraft to serve throughout the entire conflict, flying 1,647 sorties from Iwauni, Japan.

The French Air Naval operated 19 Sunderlands, including in Indina, retiring the last in December 1960.

The final military operator was the Royal New Zealand Air Force whose number five squadron flew the last Sunderland operational sorty on April 2nd, 1967, replaced by the Lockheed P3 Orion.

The Sunderland served continuously for 21 years in RAF service alone, a record for any British maritime aircraft.

Five Sunderlands survive today.

The RAF Museum at Henden preserves one.

A former RN ZAF example in Florida is reportedly the last 4ine flying boat capable of flight.

The Imperial War Museum’s aircraft at Duxford spent part of its post-military career as a discoch in Britany.

Historian Dr.

Jay Rickard has noted that the Sunderland gained something of an exaggerated reputation during the war, mostly because it was the most important British aircraft in use with coastal command.

Americanbuilt liberators, Hudsons, and Catalinas played quantitatively larger roles in the Battle of the Atlantic.

During 1941 and 42, homebased Sunderland sank zero Ubot partly because the submarines operated beyond their range.

The first secure unassisted kills from UK bases did not come until May 1943.

Yet numbers alone missed the point.

The Sunderland transformed the calculus of aerial combat over the ocean.

A lone slowflying boat that could consistently fight off multiple cannon- armed fighters and sometimes destroy them represented something new.

Whether or not Luftvafa pilots actually called it the flying porcupine, Vstroke KG40’s operational record tells the story.

109 claimed kills against 88 combat losses of their own.

Fighting an enemy that included Sunderlands armed with nothing but 303 machine guns.

The Sunderland crews knew their individual guns were outrange by German 20mm cannon.

They compensated with volume, overlapping fields of fire, and the unflinching willingness of men like Colin Walker to fly a burning aircraft 300 m home on three engines.

That combination, not any single technical specification, is what made Luftvafa fighters turn