| 01 November 2006 Bandits The bomber stream bored east, a gigantic silver snake that spewed contrails across a rich blue autumn sky, heading inexorably into the rising sun. That is where the fighters would come from, out of the glare, appearing suddenly, flashing by as dark shapes and the guns that bristled from the upper turret and the waist position would bark back, "Lead damnit, Lead!”. The fighters were with them, having joined up over France , flying from their bases, and a thousand airplanes moved together as though linked. Dick's stomach knotted. This was the worst part, the inevitability. The Spooks had planned a great diversion, since the Germans knew they were coming now, and the only question in their minds was which target was going to get smacked. There was a grand feint that pointed toward Berlin , and then veered at the last moment toward the real target. The field-phones would start ringing as soon as they detected the change with their radars and spotter network. Crews were already firing up the Messerschmitts on the ground, 190s, 109s, and maybe some of those strange flying things that rode without props and slashed through the formations, spewing hot lead. The first Bandits showed up at Gottingen , but were beaten off by the escort Thunderbolts. Flak clouds began to rise above the cities, not knowing that the route was planned to avoid them, knowing only that death was in the sky. Dick recalled vividly his discussion with the squadron Air Intelligence Officer about the flak cannons at Merseburg. He said the Germans were determined to save the I.G Farben Leuna Oil Refineries at all costs. Most of the fuel for the Luftwaffe and the Germans- armored divisions on the Western Front came from the Merseburg refineries, just as their Eastern Front was supplied largely by the oil fields and refineries at Ploesti in Romania . The AI said this was why Merseburg and Ploesti were the most important Nazi targets in Europe, each of them far more heavily defended than even the Reichstag in Berlin. It was no exaggeration to say that the two plants were the most heavily defended pieces of real estate in history. Thank God Ploesti is the special target of the Fifteenth Air Force flying out of Foggia in Italy , thought Dick. Then we would be dead for sure. Ahead was Meresburg. Dick watched the mottled cloud darken and expand. He wondered if the intelligence guys could imagine the reality of what they had coldly described in the pre-dawn briefing theatre. The had been aerial photographs of the defenses, cold and clinical black-and-white picture taken by high-flying Mosquito reconnaissance airplanes. The pictures did not show it alive and real, angry as a boil. The photo interpreters estimated that the Germans had more than one thousand anti-aircraft cannons there, they could tell that from the scars on the ground. But the photographs were not good enough to determine how many were the big 88 millimeter "wonder guns" that could reach mission altitude easily. There were hundreds of others, smaller ones that could not reach thirty thousand feet. They could throw up thousands of rounds per minute, but they were only fatal to the airplanes that had been damaged, and could not maintain altitude. Sinking slowly, a wounded bomber settled down toward certain death. Maintain altitude, and only the 88s and the Bandits could kill you. Each German 88 fired twenty rounds per minute Dick did some quick calculations. Say they have only one hundred of them. That means two thousand explosions per minute on the bomb run, right at altitude. There were probably more. The grim joke in England was that the flak was so thick over Merseburg you could get out and walk on it. Dick looked at the clock on the instrument panel. Five minutes to the Initial Point. Then they would have to settle in and let the bombardier guide the aircraft, straight and level, in the worst of it. Five minutes until they handed themselves over to the wrath of the Germans. Ten minutes to live, maybe. Copyright 2005 Vic Socotra |