The jets were better, they were almost a hundred miles an hour faster down here than even the F2G. That's why they would be going in first. The attack was carefully planned. The pilots had been briefed exactly on where their targets were and what to hit. Priority were the 18 Gotha 229s based at Autun. The Flying Pancakes were a menace, faster than most of the US aircraft and as agile as the devil. Whyinhell didn't the US just copy the damn thing? So they had to go. Their revetments were marked on the map along with a building. The attack plan was simple, one pass straight over the airfield and out. The Marine pilots had a simple phrase for it. Just one pass and you hang onto your ass. Turn around, make a second pass and you died. As inevitable as taxes
Whoa.....An old Opel truck had suddenly loomed on
the road in front of them. Evans thumbed the firing button and felt the brief hammering from his 20 millimeter guns. No idea if he'd hit it or not and he wasn't going back to look. Over on his left, the other two F2Gs, Chainsaw and Bitter Fruit had also fired quick bursts. Must have been more trucks down there. Once the F2Gs had used rivers for cover, flying down them had offered a free path through the defenses. Over on their left the Sevre River offered just that tempting path - one that would be fatal. When they realized what the pilots were doing, the Germans had started stringing heavy nets across the rivers. The Navy and Marine pilots had approved and played games, leapfrogging the nets and diving under the bridges. Then the Germans had replaced the nets with single cables, painted to blend into the background and positioned in shadows. That made river running just too dangerous.
Prissac was dead ahead. Small village, nothing unusual. Evans took his F2G down the main street, past the police station and out the other side. He knew behind him would be utter chaos, four massively overpowered fighters flying below rooftop level tended to do that. The F2Gs had probably broken more medieval stained glass windows in the last two years than anybody else had managed in a couple of century. Evan's right arm was aching now, fighting the torque of his engine. Farmhouse, little to the left, between the barns and out. No ducks. Ducks were not funny, hitting one would bring an F2G down as surely as flak.
Little to the south now, steer clear of Argenton, there was too much flak around there. It was a rail junction anyway, some birds from one of the other task groups would be hitting it soon. Probably Adies. Evans guessed that all the road and rail traffic that could have stopped would have done so. Moving in daylight while the US Navy and Marines were flying was suicide. So why had those trucks been out? Worth reporting when he got back. But most stuff now would be moving by night. That was a problem that needed addressing. Some of the carriers had night interdiction F7F Tigercats on board. The twin-engined Grummans had radar and an arsenal of rockets, cannon and bombs to do the job. Finding targets, that was a problem nobody had solved.
Montrond passing on the left. Some flak bursts, nothing much to worry about, might not even be aimed at them. Could even be random. Strange how the shock wave from their passing flattened the crops. There was a railway junction coming up soon. If luck was in - it was. Train sitting in the sidings. Another hammering burst from the 20 millimeters. Evans took a quick glance backwards. Smoke and steam and burning, they'd hit something. Four minutes from target time to get lined up, this was the hard bit.
Already the Flivvers would be going in to take the flak guns down. They knew exactly where they were - or so the intell guys said - and would fire their six five-inch rockets. Even if they weren't spot on, they'd make the gunners put their head down long enough for the second-wave flak suppression aircraft, the first wave of F2Gs to hit the positions. Then the second wave of F2Gs would hit the primary targets. Following them, the Adies would go in with their bombloads. Ten thousand pounds of assorted bad manners on a single-engined bird. Whoodathunkit,. This was an anti-airfield strike so the Adies would be carrying runway destroyers. Two thousand pound bombs with six five inch rockets strapped around them and a parachute on the tail. The Adie would drop, the parachute would pull the bomb to a nose down position then the rockets would drive it deep underneath the runway. A delayed action fuse would see that the crater was big enough.
Smoke ahead, lots of it the Flivvers and F2Gs had done their job. OK burst through the treetops. Commander George Foreman, their squadron commander had made it clear - any aircraft that came back without braches stuck in it and impact damage to the leading edge was flying too high. Newbie pilots took one flight to find he wasn't joking. And the intell people were right their target building was dead in front of them Evans lined up and squeezed the rocket switch, firing his five inchers into the old-looking structure. He couldn't see but he knew Brim's Dominatrix had dropped her napalm tanks a split second later to engulf the wrecked structure in fire.
There were people running across the airfield, some seeking shelter, others looking for a way to fight back. Evans snapped quick bursts from his 20 millimeter guns. Sometimes he missed the older versions of the F2G, they had .50 machine guns, better for picking off runners than the slower-firing twenties. The Go-229 revetments were right ahead, Evans flipped armament selection to napalm and dropped his tanks. With luck they'd bounce across the line taking the aircraft out. Rockets streaked past his wingtip, it was Brim unloading on a parked Go-229. There were lots of other flashing lights now above, to both sides not below, nothing could get below him. Flak lots of it. 20 millimeter, 30 millimeter, machine guns, rifles, even pistol fire. No joke, at least one F2G had returned to carrier with a 9 millimeter pistol bullet stuck in its airframe. There was another dull thrummm from the aircraft and Evans felt The Terminator stagger. That one had hurt. But they were though the wood line and out now. He didn't see the Gotha hidden in the trees at the end of the base.
Brim was still behind him and they still had their 500 pounders and what was left of his cannon ammunition for targets of opportunity on the way home. If he had any cannon ammunition. He couldn't remember firing his guns on the wild ride over the airfield but he knew he probably had. Just to the south was the Arrou. Could be a couple of barges worth hitting there. But there were only three of them now. Chainsaw had gone from the left and Bitter Fruit was trailing smoke. Behind them black smoke boiled into the sky from Autun.
Dijon, France. Primary base ofJG-26 Schlageter
“And what are you two fine gentlemen discussing?” Hilda leant forward across the bar, her chin resting on her right hand. As she did so, her dress fell away a little and a quiet collective sigh went around the officer's mess.
“That this house prefers a blonde-haired woman on black sheets to a black-haired woman on white sheets” replied the newbie. Schumann didn't know his name. He'd already learned that it wasn't worth bothering until the kid had at least a couple of missions under his belt. Mostly, they never got that far. Hilda was eyeing the newbie thoughtfully. “Well, if you haven't decided by now, you probably never will” and turned away with a hip-twitch. The other officers in the mess howled with laughter. The newbie was looking crestfallen, Schumann felt sorry for the kid. He was , what, 15? 16? Holding one's own with a barmaid was a question of experience.