“Today we will be escorting a group of B-17’s heading for the rail yard of Bayeux. The bombers will destroy the rail yard so that the Krauts have a harder time shuffling troops around in France. Your job is to protect these bombers from any attack”.
“Great, opportunities to shoot some meschershimtts” whispered Oswald to Frances.
“Do you have any remarks, Oswald?” asked the commander who heard the whisper.
“No sir, just glad to protect the big friends”, replied Oswald quickly.
As both pilots marched to their fighters, Oswald dared Frances for a bet.
“Five bucks for the one who shoots the first German.”
Frances, raised in a very religious family, had never placed a bet in his life. But what the heck, he felt like fighting was already betting with his life so why should he not try to place a smaller bet.
“Ok, you are on. But it has to be an approved kill”
“All right”
Both man slapped their hands to seal the deal.
One by one the P-47’s climbed into to sky. These were the moments Frances enjoyed the most, feeling how the aircraft broke loose from the ground, shedding the shackles that tied people to the earth.
When he was a kid, his father took him to an air show. As soon as he spotted the fragile biplane, Frances heart had been sold to flying. With the money he had gained from doing odd jobs like painting the fence of Mr. Willard and delivering groceries he had paid for his first flight.
Frances had never thought of becoming a military pilot. He had hoped to learn a job and pay for private lessons, but then the war interfered. Pearl Harbor made him realize that he needed to serve his country. And what better way was there then to fly in the USAAF?
“This is Bumblebee II, welcome little friends”. The lead bomber calling out to their flight pulled Frances from his daydream. They had reached the big boys.
The commander in the lead fighter replied: “This is little friend to all big friends, we are ready to protect you”
Now the P-47’s started to fly overhead, zigzagging as their speed was higher then that of the bombers.
The commander addressed his pilots a final time: “Boys, keep your eyes open for jerries. No useless chatter on the radio too”.
“Bandits dead ahead”
One of the pilots had spotted the Germans, heading for the bombers. Like knights in a tournament, both sides stormed at each other. Frances knew that head on attacks were deadly, often resulting in devastating crashes.
He pulled away but other pilots kept storming head to head with the Focke-Wulfs.
The German pilots, more experienced, held their fire, until the last second when they would almost hit the P-47’s. Then they fired away with all their guns.
Tracer fire reached out with its deadly fingers to a P-47, who was stupid enough to keep pushing on. Flames erupted as fuel tanks were pierced and cockpit glass was shattered.
The poor P-47 pilot had no time to realize his mistake. Bullets ripped through his body as the flames in the tanks exploded into a giant fireball, engulfing the helpless Thunderbolt.
The German pilot payed no attention to the result of his work. He was already looking for another victim for his guns.
Meanwhile Frances had latched onto another Focke-Wulf. He squeezed the trigger, letting loose volley after volley of .50 bullets. But in his youthful enthusiasm he forgot to wait and close in for the kill. His bullets whizzed harmlessly by the Focke-Wulf.
The German pilot suddenly noticed the tracer fire. He rolled and twisted to offset the aim of his attacker. But Frances stayed onto his tail, closing in to get a better shot. The Focke-Wulf trailed a vapor trail of fuel, one of his tanks must have been pierced.
Frances cursed as all his shots fell behind the Focke-Wulf. The German pilot knew that the Thunderbolt was too far away. If he kept up his speed and hit the deck he might outrun his pursuer.
But luck turned against the German pilot, another Thunderbolt joined the fray. Pinched between the two fighters, the pilot had to dodge and weave to evade the hail of fire. The bullets slowly ate away at his plane. His two pursuers overshot him, granting him a final small change to escape.
Frances would not let his pray escape. He turned his Thunderbolt around and hunted down the fleeing German. The Focke-Wulf was trailing black smoke and was easily spotted in the sky.
The German ,struggling to control his plane as it slowly descends, crashed into the icy waters of the channel, allowing Frances to save bullets.
“Oswald, I bagged one” yelled Frances over the radio.
The commander immediately replied: “Shut up keep the channels free”.
The channels were already filled with pilots shouting instructions to each other, there was no room for victory cries to clutter up the channels.
The bombers had reached their target and began their bomb run. The bombardier looked through the Norden bomb sight to align the rail yard. With a press of button his aircraft would drop all of its bombs. That would be the signal for the rest of the bombers to drop their bombs too.
The bomb run was the most hazardous part of their flight. Luckily for them there was almost no flak, but they had to fly in a straight line and at a fixed altitude, rendering them vulnerable for the Luftwaffe fighters.
Finally the crosshairs overlapped the rail yard. The bombardier pressed the release button and yelled “bombs away” over the intercom. But the entire crew already knew it, because the B-17 seemed to leap as it was released of its heavy load.
At the rail yard, sirens sounded to warn everybody for the attack. Workers scrambled for their bunkers, while civilians crawled in the basements of their houses praying that the bombs won’t miss and hit their houses.
Only the flak-crews remained at their post, shooting shell after shell in the sky. They could not stop the bombs from falling but perhaps they could prevent a bomber from reaching home.
Then a deadly snake erupted on the ground. The bombs started hitting the ground, exploding into fireballs, hurtling steel fragments around. Like a snake crawling to its prey a line of fireballs reached out to the rail yard. Trains and cars exploded in a frenzy of fire and debris.
But the bombers were not home yet. The Luftwaffe had a nasty surprise waiting for them. A flight of Me-109’s had been lurking in the clouds, waiting for the returning bombers. Like vultures they swept down on the unsuspecting bombers who were now cut of from their escorts, still battling the Focke-Wulfs.
Gunners yelled as the Me-109’s swept down on them, they tried to bear their guns onto them, but it was to late. Already one bomber was pounced by shells. Black smoke billowed from its engines as they burst one by one in flames.
The bomber pilot tried to keep his wounded bird into the sky, but to no avail.
“Bail out, bail out”
Everywhere in the stricken aircraft the crew reached for their parachutes. They hurried to the escape hatches or to the bomb bay. One by one they jumped out of the plane, while the pilot tried to hold the aircraft. But the plane slowly spinned around, despite the best efforts of its pilot.
Then the forces on the wing became to great and it was torn apart, plummeting the wingless aircraft in a deadly spiral.
Other bomb crews watched in horror as only 4 figures were seen jumping out of the aircraft. The rest of its crew rode with the aircraft down to the sea.
But finally the Thunderbolts caught up with Me-109’s, who were now suddenly pinned between the bombers and the fighters. The Me-109 pilots decided that the odds were against them and choose to dive and head for home.
The Me-109 leader decided to make a final pass against a bomber, but the gunners were now prepared and pummeled his aircraft with shells.
With a damaged engine and leaking fuel tanks, the leader had to run with his tail between his legs from the battle. But the Thunderbolts showed no mercy. They made pass after pass against the wounded aircraft. They would not let the wolves who attacked their heard go.
The leader had to use his best skills to evade each attack. But with each evasive maneuver, he lost vital altitude. He was forced to crash land his fighter with the runway in his sight.
With dwindling fuel reserves it was time for Frances and his wing leader to head back for base them. Frances flied with a big grin on his face. He had bagged his first Gerry. He wondered whether Oswald had shot down a fighter himself and why he did not react when Frances called out his victory. Perhaps he was to busy himself?
Slowly the Thunderbolt touched down.
As Frances taxied away, he noticed that some aircraft were missing.
The ground crew signaled to shut down the engine. Walter, Frances crew chief, jumped onto the wing to open the canopy and help him out of the cockpit.
“Is Oswald back yet?”
“I don’t know sir, his aircraft has not yet arrived”
Frances jumped off the wing and into a waiting jeep who brought him to the briefing room.
One by one the pilots were interviewed by officers to determine how the air battle went. Frances asked immediately where Oswald was. The news he got from the officer hit him like a brick in the stomach.
“I am sorry, but your friend did not make it. Last that was seen of him was when he went head to head with a Focke-Wulf.”
Frances was devastated; he lost his best friend. While leaving the briefing room he swore to avenge the death of his friend.
