Chapter 5 - To The Rescue

The Liberty Bell flew amidst other bombers above the French countryside. On board Lieutenants Pike and Stone had to focus all their energy on staying in formation. As soon as the Liberator would break formation, the German fighters would swarm on them like sharks on a bleeding seal.

Behind the pilots, gunners diligently watched the sky for enemy fighters.

“Sir, we are almost at the target”

The navigator had kept close track of their course. They were minutes flying away from their target, a German airfield.

“I am ready, Sir”

The bombardier bent over his Norden bomb sight, adjusting the dials.

“Ok boys, this is the captain. Stay sharp we are going in.”

At their base the pilots of the 361st fighter squadron assembled in the briefing room. Frances noticed the regular faces, but most pilots did look like they were hit by a freight train. Yesterday evening was the birthday party for the base commander and clearly some pilots had spent too much time at the bar and too less time in bed.

“Welcome guys”

The base commander seemed quite fresh, despite the fact that the last time Frances saw him, he was puking in the bushes next to the canteen.

“Today, we have to fly escort for B-24 bombers on their return leg from France. We’ll rendez-vous with them near the French coast right here.”

The commander pointed out the rendez-vous point on the large map of Europe behind his back. Frances made notes, happy that he had not drank too much yesterday.

Once the weather officer had told them the weather over the mainland, most pilots hurried to their aircraft.

Since some time the pilots of the squadron had a special tradition when they took of. The dog of the base commander, Pluto, always stood next to the runway, watching the fighters take off. The pilots had adopted the tradition of saluting the dog, just before they released the brakes and took off. Like everybody else, Frances saluted the dog, wishing that he could add another cross to his list of kills.


In the Liberty Bell, pilot Pike was nervous. During the bomb run the Liberator had to fly perfectly straight and level. This made it an excellent target for flak.

At the same time the bombardier took over control of the aircraft through the Norden bomb sight Handing over control of his aircraft was something Pike disliked, what if something happened and he would not have time enough to regain control of the aircraft?

“Bomb doors open”

The bombardier had the enemy airfield in his sights. If he pressed the trigger the bombs would fall. The other bombers would drop their bombs when they saw his bombs fall. If he missed the target, so would all other bombers.

Slowly the target crept into his sight.

“Ready, bombs away”.

Almost simultaneously the other bombers dropped their heavy load on the runway. The soldiers on the ground would probably hide in their shelters, but the bombs would still destroy runways, hangers and fuel depots.


“Enemy fighters!!!”

The Germans had launched a counter-attack. Soon the entire squadron was swarmed with Messerschmitts. Gunners yelled out the location of the fighters while blasting away at them.

The bombers flew in close formation, protecting each other with their guns. If a German pilot wanted to dive into the fray, he would have to face the crossfire of several bombers.

But the Germans had developed some tactics to counter this massive body of firepower. They grouped together and singled a bomber out. Like jackals they dove onto their victim in such a rapid order that by the time the first fighter pulled out, another one was already firing at the bomber.

“Where are the little friends?”

The bomber crews knew that without their fighter escorts they were sitting ducks. One by one the bombers were picked of. Aboard the Liberty Bell, the crew prepared for the inevitable doom.

“Jerry, 12 o’clock low”

The ball turret gunner had spotted a lone fighter climbing towards their aircraft. He immediately blasted away at the fighter, making slight corrections for the deflection.


The .50 bullets smashed the cockpit of the German fighter and ripped open the engine cowling.

The ball gunner screamed as he kept spraying the enemy fighter with bullets.

“Come on get it, German Pig”.

Other bomber crews saw how the German fighter kept climbing towards the Liberty Bell, like it remained untouched by the rain of fire.

To their amassment the German fighter pilot seemed to hold his fire. Would he try to crash into the bomber?

Then the first yellow flames appeared around the engine. But it were not the muzzle flashes from the cannons, these were much darker flames, which seem to spread around the entire engine. The German was on fire!

Flames spread across the wings and engulfed the cockpit, trapping the pilot in an inferno. The propeller stopped. The ball gunner of the Liberty Bell stopped firing. The German kept climbing towards him, engulfed in fire.

Then the enflamed aircraft slowly turned on its back, it almost seemed to hang still in the sky, before falling like a glowing meteor back to earth.


“It seems were just in time”

The Thunderbolts roared over the bombers. Frances immediately ordered his wing into attack.

“Little friends up in the sky”

Aboard the Liberty Bell everybody sighted with relief. Now the Germans would be pinned between the bombers and the fighters

The German fighters split into all directions once the Thunderbolts dove down on them. The sky was filled with aircraft, Germans trying to shoot the bombers while Thunderbolts blasted away at the Germans. Some Thunderbolt pilots got so close that they risked being hit by the fire from the bombers.

“A Focke-Wulf on our tail!”

The tail gunner on board Liberty Bell spotted the German fighter approaching really fast. But then he spotted the Thunderbolt behind it.

Frances saw how a Focke-Wulf dove onto a Liberator. Without hesitation Frances dove after the German. The heavier Thunderbolt quickly gained on the Focke-Wulf. Frances pulled the trigger and threw a hail of bullets to the German. The German quickly broke off his attack, while Frances almost crashed into him.


“Nice shooting”

The tail gunner saw how the Focke-Wulf dove away, trailing a vapor trails. But then he uttered a profanity as he noticed the second Focke-Wulf approaching fast.

The gunner fired with all his guns but the German kept coming. The wings and engine cowling of the Focke-Wulf light up as it fired at the Liberty Bell.

In a reflex the gunner closed his eyes, expecting to be torn apart by a hail of fire. But the German was not aiming for him. Instead his bullets and shells tore apart the starboard engines.

“Engine 1 is on fire”

Pike looked over his left shoulder.

“Feather the prop!”

His co-pilot quickly prepared to feather the prop and shut down the engine.

As Pike watched shells hit engine 2, which bursted out into flames too.

“Use the extinguishers”

“They don’t work”

Pike looked at his co-pilot; time to declare the unthinkable.

“All crew, this is the captain, bail out, bail out”

Everybody aboard the wounded bomber now prepared to bail out. The bombardier opened the bomb doors, which would allow the crew to jump away without hitting the stabilator or getting caught in the flames of the burning engines.

One by one the crew bailed out. Spike and his co-pilot were the last on the plane.

“Stone, get ready to jump, as soon as we release the steer, this bird is going to dive”.

“I am staying, sir”.

“No, you are not. Jump out, I’ll be right on your back”

Stone climbed out of his chair and crawled to the bomb door. He glanced a final time behind him, before jumping into the void.

“1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi”

With a hard pull, Stone yanked the release cord for his parachute. With a shock the chute opened. Behind him he noticed the 8 parachutes from the rest of the crew.

Then he noticed the roaring of a crashing plane. The Liberty Bell was diving to the ground. Did Spike got out? The Liberty Bell now stands right on her nose, hurtling towards the sea, in which she crashes amidst a giant mushroom of fire, water and steam. Spike did not get out.

The wind drifted Stone’s parachute to the coast. When the German soldier, guarding the Atlantikwall, captured Stone, he found Stone crying over the loss of his friend and captain.


Meanwhile Frances was fighting the remaining German fighters. Despite the fact that he had lost contact with his wingman, Frances attacked straightaway a flight of Me-109’s.

Frances focused on the first one, firing with all his guns. But the German pilot was not stupid; he circled around so that his wingman could take a shot at Frances.

The three aircraft circled around each other. Frances fired at the German and missed, then the German wingman fired but missed too.

The fight seemed to last an eternity. Then the German wing leader started climbing straight up. Without hesitation Frances followed him, closely trailed by the wingman.

Like a pearl of firing mosquitoes the three planes climbed to the sky, it seemed that would go on forever.


But the laws of physics played their part too in this deadly game of cat and mouse. With every foot the three aircraft climbed, they lost more and more speed. Gravity pulled at their wings, trying to pull them down.

The wingman was the first one to fall into the clutches of gravity. His aircraft stalled, fell on its back and spun towards the ground.

The pilot tried to regain control of his aircraft, but gravity was a cruel master. The Me-109 spun faster and faster, pinning the pilot to its chair. As gravity pulled harder and speed increased, the controls became harder and harder to operate. The pilot, realizing his dire position, tried to open the canopy.

His canopy blew away, but the sheer wind force pushed him back into his seat. The sound of the howling wind covered the screams of the pilot as his aircraft dove into the ground.


Nor the wing leader, nor Frances saw the drama behind them. They too were struggling with gravity. Frances kept firing short bursts at the wing leader. His bullets flew beyond the reach of gravity towards the Me-109.

Then a lucky shot shattered the canopy and killed the pilot. Just in time as both machines stalled almost simultaneously. In the Me-109 the dead pilot lumped forward, pushing on the stick and sending its aircraft in a deadly spiral.

Frances felt his Thunderbolt shudder as gravity won over the aircraft. The Thunderbolt slid back on its tail, before starting to spin.

Inside the cockpit, Frances struggled with the controls. He pushed the rudder forward and pulled on the stick opposite the spin. The Thunderbolt kept falling like a leaf towards the ground, its wings useless.

Finally the spin stopped, with its nose towards the ground, the Thunderbolt gained speed by trading height. Eventually the speed was high enough for the wings to create lift and Frances could pull the aircraft out of its deadly dive.


So low at the ground, it seemed that the sky was empty. Besides some condensation trails and some black smoke on the horizon, there was no trace of the fight that took place in the sky.

Without a wingman above enemy territory can be a lonely place, so Frances flew his aircraft back to England, hoping that at least some bombers made it back home.

Chapter 4 – Airfield attack

Frances was enjoying his breakfast. It was pouring outside for four straight days now, grounding all air operations

“May I join in?”

His new wing leader, Dave Chalmers, slid onto the bench in front of him.

“Yes, of course”

“Don’t take a heavy breakfast, we might still fly today”

“In such appalling weather?”

Chalmers smiled. “I just came from a meeting with the weather officer, he expects it to clear up by this afternoon”

Frances hated to fly in bad weather, but the chance to fly again was welcome news.

“Any news on targets”

“We will go after an airfield”

“What?”

Airfields were pretty dangerous, surrounded by flak; the Germans fiercely defended their airfields. Frances believed his wing leader got mad. Attacking airfields was an open invitation for a disaster.

“Just hear me out I have a plan”

Apparently Chalmers had thought this one out.

“If we arrive just as it clears up above the airfield, the Germans won’t have aircraft in the sky, so we can destroy them all on the ground”

“But what about the flak and anti-aircraft guns? They will shoot you to piecemeal”.

“Not if we arrive unexpected”

“But even if the first aircraft can drop its bombs, the rest will get a warm welcome”

“Not if they attack the flak and anti-aircraft artillery. You see that’s the beauty of the plan. The first two aircraft attack the parked aircraft. They will attract the attention of the gunners. While they are too busy aiming at the two lead aircraft, the other aircraft sneak up on them and blow them to pieces. Once the flak installations are gone, we can freely destroy every parked aircraft.”

“It sounds good but it remains dangerous”

“Are you in?”

Frances did hesitate, it was risky but if he did not do it another poor chap had to do the fighting and his parents had never raised him to be a coward.

“I am in”

A couple of hours later a four-ship formation of Thunderbolts crossed the channel. The weather had cleared up as predicted.



Frances scanned the sky around them. Like Chalmers had predicted the Germans were not expecting them. The sky was clear.

“Frances, you take on the Flak, while we attack the parked aircraft”

“Roger”

Frances was itching to try a new rocket attack technique. A British pilot had taught him a small trick to know when you are in range for your rockets.

First fire with your guns in a slow dive. If your bullets start hitting the target, fire the rockets. Usually you are by then in range of the target. The added bonus of firing your guns before the rockets was that the gunfire would already force the flak operators to duck and prevent them from returning fire.

“We are at the base, going in, watch our backs Frances”

Chalmers aircraft, along with his wingman dove towards the parked planes. Immediately gunfire erupted from the ground. Tracer fire reached from the ground up and like an angry snake it tried to reach the pesky birds that attacked the airfield.

But the tracer fire also revealed the location of the flak to Frances who trailed behind Chalmers.

Frances pushed the stick forward, putting the aircraft into a slow dive towards the flak installation. With a quick burst he assessed the distance to the target, too short.

A second latter, he pulled for the second time on the trigger. This time the bullets fell around the flak guns. The gunners noticed the dust being kicked up around their installation, but could not figure out from where the fire came.

A pair of rockets leapt away from underneath the Thunderbolt. The German gunners, still firing at Chalmers, stood with their back to the incoming rockets and never knew what blew them to pieces.



The other anti-aircraft gun operators had now noticed Frances and were turning around to fire at him. Amidst a hail of fire, Frances screamed across the airfield.

“Chalmers, I’ll make a run on the western gun.”

“Roger I’ll lure them away”

Frances flew low to the ground to escape from view, before turning around. He hoped, by attacking from a different direction from where he flew to, he would offset the aim of the gunners.

On the ground the Germans frantically searched for the American fighters. They could hear their engine roaring around the airfield, but had a hard time pinpointing their location.

Suddenly Frances appeared from behind the hangars. His rockets skimming over the fuel tanks, exploded right on top of the third gun emplacement.

“Two down, one more to go”



On the ground, German troops and ground crews hurried for the trenches. Already several parked aircraft had been destroyed.

As Frances overshot the airfield for the second time, the other Thunderbolts dove down on the airfield.

With blazing guns they sped towards the parked Heinkels. Helpless bomber crews, hiding in nearby trenches saw how the Thunderbolts sprayed their aircraft with bullets until they exploded into thousand pieces.

The fighters flew so low that the troops on the ground dove down, afraid of being hit by a wing or propeller.

Frances had turned around again and made his third and final pass. But the gunners at the third emplacement were prepared. They turned their gun around and fired with everything they got.

Tracers whizzed by Frances cockpit like angry bees. Frances fired his final rockets just as his aircraft shook with the impact of gunfire. The rockets flew harmlessly over the anti-aircraft gun and exploded behind the emplacement.

On the ground the German troops stood up as they watched how the American fighter was hit. Some of them took their guns and fired away at the aircraft.

Frances heard the pings of small caliber fire hitting his aircraft as he raced by the parked Heinkels.



“Chalmers I am hit”

Frances quickly dropped his bombs, probably killing some cattle around the airfield. The Thunderbolt did not make any strange noises but Frances could see several bullet holes in his right wing.

Chalmers joined up with him.

“I’ll fly around you to check for any leaks”

Chalmers flew underneath the Frances, checking for the tell tale marks of leaking fuel or oil.

“I don’t see any leaks, just a lot of holes. How does she fly?”

“I can handle hear, but I like to go home. I am not inclined to spend the rest of the war in a POW camp.”

“Roger, follow me, I’ll lead you to the nearest base”.



“Few, you have some extra air holes, sir”

Walter, the crew chief, scratched his head as he noticed the hole in the wings of Frances aircraft. The small caliber bullets had dented the belly of the aircraft.

“Lucky for you, the old lady can take a lot of damage”

Frances looked at one hole, which went right through the wing. He could see the ground through it and could easily fit in a fist.

“When will she ready to fly again, Walter?”

Walter looked a final time at the beat up aircraft.

“She will be ready by tomorrow, sir”

“Good, thanks for fixing her up”.

Frances walked away, still a little bit shaky but at least he would be up in the sky again by tomorrow morning. There was nothing that he hated more then being grounded, besides flak of course.

Chapter 3 - Naval Attack

Frances had been flying missions for several weeks now, but had not managed to shoot a single fighter down. His crew chief, Walter, had painted a cross underneath his cockpit to indicate his single kill. But Frances still wanted his revenge for the death of his friend Oswald.

All the pilots of 361st assembled in the briefing room, until the commander entered the room. With his 30 years, the commander was an old man compared to these young guys. Everybody stood up as he entered the room.

“At ease man, sit down”

The commander looked at the men in the briefing room. Most of them were still so young. But now he had to send them off to war again.

“Intel has discovered that the German are moving S-boats up and down the coast. These boats are their best offensive weapon when the invasion starts. You will be flying patrols along the French coast and attack any S-boat you encounter.”

The men moaned. Patrolling the French coast looking for S-boats would probably mean another long patrol without encountering anything special.

“If you don’t find the S-boats, you are allowed to fly further inland and attack any target of opportunity such as convoys or trains”

That lightened up the men, at least now they were sure they would see some action.

As Frances strapped into his cockpit aided by his crew chief, the chief asked him: “Are you gonna add a marking today to your score sir”

“I hope so Walter, I hope so”


Across the channel, Oberst Gnumeyer circled around in his Focke-Wulf. He was eager to kill another American. His last kill dated from a couple of weeks ago, when an American Thunderbolt pilot was so foolish to attack him head-on. The four 20 mm canons of the Focke-Wulf chew him up and spit him out like wolf devouring a rabbit.

But since then Oberst Gnumeyer had not made a single kill, which upset him. It was as if the Americans were avoiding him.

“Unknown contacts to the north”, crackled his radio.

Finally some enemy fighters had shown up. For days now, S-boats had been patrolling along the coast. They would act as a lure for the enemy fighters. And they took the bait.

The enemy would dive onto the S-boats who had to defend themselves. But as such the enemy would be low when Gnumeyer and his wingmen would arrive. They should have the high ground and could swoop down on the unsuspecting enemy.


“S-Boats below, initiating attack”

Frances wing leader had spotted the S-Boats and dove on them. Frances, who flew a little bit behind and below his leader, prepared himself to for his attack.

He would drop his bombs during the first pass, leaving the rockets for his next run. S-Boats were difficult targets to hit. Small and nimble they could reach speeds of 41 knots. By using their agility and speed they could evade their attackers bombs and missiles. The trick was to lead the bombs so that they would hit the boat on the place it would be seconds after the bomb was dropped.

Frances pushed the stick forward. The Thunderbolt whined as it dove towards the S-Boats. Using the cross hairs, Frances estimated a point in front of his selected target. He pulled the trigger and two bombs left their pylons.

He pulled up quickly, using the speed from his dive to get out of the danger zone. The Flak on board of the S-boats had been focusing on his wing leader but might now pay more attention on that second Thunderbolt that roared overhead.

“Frances, you bombs fell short”, called the wing leader.

Frances cursed, this would mean returning to the target for a second run. But now the boat crew would be waiting for them.


Oberst Gnumeyer had finally reached the first enemy fighters. He immediately flipped his Focke-Wulf upside down and dove onto the Thunderbolts.

But in his haste to make a kill, he forgot to calculate the deflection and his bullets fell way behind their target.

Screaming like a vulture, his aircraft dove past the Thunderbolt. Gnumeyer fought to withstand the G-forces as he pulled up his aircraft. He scanned the sky around him for his victim. His reckless dive had placed him well below the ensuing dogfight and now he had to observe the battle from below.

Much to his despair he saw how another Focke-Wulf shoot down his intended target.


Meanwhile Frances had turned around his aircraft and was performing his second attack run on the S-boat. But this time they were waiting for them.

Tracer fire whizzed by his cockpit as the S-boats threw everything they got at him. But no fighter backed down. Frances waited for the right time to fire his rockets. He pulled the trigger for his guns, peppering the deck of the S-boat with bullets. This forced the gunners to take cover.

At the right moment, Frances fired his rockets. The first pair smashed into the sea, throwing water onto the aft deck of the S-Boat. But the second pair exploded right on the aft deck, closely followed by the third pair. Then followed a huge explosion as the S-boat disappeared into cloud of metal and water vapor. Frances barely managed to evade the debris cloud.

“Nice shot, Frances”, announced his wing leader, “Now lets find some jerrys to bag”

“fine by me”

Frances took up position behind his wing leader. Both aircraft raced towards the dogfight in the distance where the escorting Thunderbolts were fighting it out with the German fighters.


Gnumeyer heard on the radio that one of the S-boats was hit. He immediately headed in that direction. He was still flying low but the Thunderbolts would still be flying lower.

If he managed to keep the sun in his back he could sneak up to one of the Thunderbolt. Perhaps one of the Thunderbolt pilots would be again so stupid to attack him head on.

Gnumeyer cranked open the throttle and sped in the direction of the S-boats.


“Gerry down below”

Frances wing leader had spotted a lone Focke-Wulf. Frances saw him too. Probably a straggler who got separated from the fight and who was now heading home.

Frances checked the sky around them; no other German aircraft were in the vicinity.

“Go ahead, leader, I got your back”

The wing leader dove down to the lonely German. For some reason the German did not pay attention to his six o’clock.

At the last moment the wing leader pulled the trigger, eight .50 machine guns blasted away. But he misjudged his speed and deflection, so most bullets whizzed by the German, who was now alerted by the tracer fire that someone was on his tail.

Frances realized that his wing leader was about to overshoot the German, who could in turn fire on him.

“Leader, I am coming in”

Frances pushed the stick forward closing the gap. If he only could fire at the German before he could fire back at his wing leader.


Gnumeyer’s first mistake was that he had been looking down for low-flying Amis and was completely caught off guard when the tracers flew around his cockpit.

He immediately rolled his aircraft around and applied full rudder to slip his aircraft out of the line of fire.
Tracers kept flying around him so he pulled a hard right turn followed by sharp left turn. The Ami was still on his tail, firing with all guns, but his tracers were just fireworks and did not hit his aircraft.

When he performed his second roll, Gnumeyer could hear the Ami roar by.

“Now I got you”

Gnumeyer immediately dove after the Ami, making his second mistake. In his eagerness to follow the American he failed to notice Frances’ Thunderbolt quickly approaching him from behind.


Frances had no intention to make the same mistake his wing leader made. He waited until he was real close by the Focke-Wulf.

Apparently the German pilot kept having a blind eye for his rear because he dived directly after the wing leader without noticing the Thunderbolt on his tail.

“Get him of my tail”

The wing leader had spotted the danger and called for help.

“Leader keep going, I almost got him in my sights”

The Thunderbolt dove with all its weight towards the Focke-Wulf. Just as Frances could almost touch the Focke-Wulf, he pulled the trigger.

Eight .50 machine guns spit fire. Bullets ripped through the tail of the German, shattering metal and steering cables. Parts of the tail let loose and flew behind the German like blood running from a fleeing deer.

But still Frances kept hammering the aircraft with his guns.

When his propeller almost touched the German, Frances pulled up hard. He quickly rolled his aircraft so that he could look down on the German ready for a second attack.


“Where did he come from”

Was the first thought of Gnumeyer, when the second Thunderbolt strafed his plane.

The bullets tore apart his elevator, sending his Focke-Wulf into an unstoppable dive towards the ground. Gnumeyer released the hood of his aircraft. Exposed to the wind created by his high speed, he struggled to jump out of the cockpit.

Slowly his plane was spinning around, make his ejection that more difficult. The ground approached fast. With all of his force Gnumeyer jumped out of the cockpit, narrowly missing the tail of his aircraft


From his cockpit Frances watched the Focke-Wulf slowly spiral towards the ground. Silently he prayed the German could not pull up.

Suddenly a small figure separated from the aircraft. The pilot was trying to escape from his dying aircraft. He tried to open his parachute but the ground was too close. His parachute never fully opened before the German hit the ground, merely fifty feet from the crater left by his aircraft.

Frances made a victory roll. He finally had avenged the death of Oswald. He did not care that the German felt to his death after barely escaping his aircraft. For Frances the Germans were not the master race, but cowards who had started a war and who would now reap the whirlwind.

“Nice shooting”

The wing leader formed up with Frances. Together they flew back to England.


When they reached the base, Frances made another victory roll. Down below his crew chief Walter, waived his hat and punched the other mechanics. His boy had killed again. Those Gerrys would have a hard nut with his boy.

Frances jumped of the wing of his Thunderbolt.

“Walter, bring out the paint, I got me another one”

“I sure will sure, I sure will”

As Frances walked away, Walter took a good look at the aircraft and caressed its body.

“Thank you baby for bringing my boy back home”.


A couple of hours later, Frances stood back at his aircraft. He looked at the second German Cross that was painted underneath his cockpit.

“This one is for you Oswald”

Chapter 2 – First Mission

“Quiet man”. The commander addressed the members of the 361st Squadron.

“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.

Chapter 1 – Training

“Here you are sir.”

The bartender handed the pint of lager to Frances. The young pilot had been visiting this pub since his squadron had moved to England. The regular guests at the pub were already used to the visiting pilots and aircrews. But this pilot was a bit of an exception; he kept to himself and usually sat alone at the bar.

Aircraft engines roared overhead.

“One of yours”, asked the bartender.

Frances listened to the engines.

“Yep”

He could easily recognize the typical sound of the Thunderbolt.


“When are you boys going overseas?”

Frances shrugged his shoulders: “When we are ready with training”.

The bartender moved on to the regular guests as he sensed that this young pilot was clearly not in a talking mood.

Frances thought back on the events of the past couple of weeks. They had arrived in England together with their P-47’s, immediately starting training in their new aircraft. For days in a row they took of, heading for the training area.


The British had been so kind to provide the USAAF with an exercise terrain, where their pilots could practice their bomb runs.

The terrain consisted of a fake village, with rows of trucks dispersed among the houses. Frances had flown several missions to the village, performing several bomb runs and missile attacks.

It was not uncommon to see explosions erupt throughout the village as Thunderbolts made run after run.


But what Frances liked the most were the strafing runs with machine guns. Plumes of dirt and debris were kicked up as the .50 bullets dove into the ground. Equipped with 8 .50 machineguns the P-47 was truly a Nazi nightmare. A concentrated burst of these guns could tear apart a Messerschmitt.


But they also learned to intercept enemy fighters and bombers. C-47 cargo planes would often act as unsuspecting targets. Ground control guided them to the cargo planes. There was nothing more amusing then hearing the C-47 pilots curse on the radio when they were frightened by a P-47 screaming by their windscreen.


But that was forbidden after one P-47 crashed into a C-47. Frances had seen it happen. The P-47 came in to fast and could not evade the crash. The ¨P-47 wing tore through the left wing of the C-47. Both planes lost one of their wings and tumbled into a deadly spiral towards the ground. Nobody managed to escape.


Frances finished his beer and headed back for the barracks. The guards let him pass after showing his ID. But as he approached the barracks, people screaming and slapping each other’s back left the barracks. They had obviously something to celebrate.

Oswald, Frances best friend, stormed towards him.

“Frances, have you heard the news?”

“No, did Hitler surrender and we all get to go home?”

“No, much better, we are going to be relocated closer to the coast. We finally are going to get to shoot some krauts!”

“That is mighty good news”.

Frances felt how his stomach shrunk when hearing the news. But like any young man he was eager to fight and quickly dismissed his fears.

“Oswald, lets drink to all the Nazis we are going to shoot down. They are going to regret the day they met the 361st”.

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Preface

This online novel is based on the 361FG Campaign for Il-2 Forgotten Battles created by David Humphrey. Using the missions he created, I imagined the life of a fictional fighter pilot, Frances Lee Harvard.

I haven’t attempted to recreate a fully historical correct story, but used the missions from Humphrey as an outline, sometimes replacing time and location of his missions to fit the storyline. If you interested at playing the actual missions you can download them here at Mission4Today.com.

The stories will be posted as chapters at simhq.com

I hope you enjoy reading these stories.

King Albert

Introduction

361st Fighter group was the first blog novel that I wrote back in 2006. The novel was posted on SimHQ, but when they reorganized their forum, the story was removed.

Because of this I started my blog kingalbertstories. Yet in all that time this first blog novel never got published again. With this repost(s) I hope to bring this story back to the public.

King Albert