“Matthew. There are 19 of us against the whole American Navy. Do you seriously think any of us will come back? Just remember Matthew, today a few of us took on the entire American Navy. That's what's worth remembering. And if the Gods don't help us, just what use are they?”
The doors in front of his aircraft swung open and Colonel Kast made the fastest take-off he'd ever managed. All around Savenay, the little Henschels 132 came out of garages and barns, from under hayricks, from inside houses. Each made the same hurried take-off, each made its own way to the same destination. Position 46.8 North, 4.6 West.
FV-1 “Made Marian”, USS Gettysburg, CVB-43 Bay of Biscay
“Mission Aborted. Stand by”. Foreman cursed loudly and fluently. His section of four Flivvers was waiting, ready to go. Fuel tanks full. Lengthened tip-tanks full. Machine guns loaded. Rockets under wing. Earlier today, he'd lead the flak suppression strike in on an air base near Autun. He'd been down while his Flivver was reloaded and now he was supposed to be hitting another airfield at Pontailler. That was a priority target, a base for long-winged Messerschmitts. But now he was on hold.
“Emergency redirect. Take your aircraft to position Hatchett” Foreman mentally translated, position TG57.2 “and provide air cover. Scimitar” the large cruiser Puerto Rico “Is reporting scattered formation of inbounds. Intercept and break up formation. Control will be provided by Hatchett Prime” Shiloh “Go.”
Foreman let up the brakes and his Flivver streaked down the flight deck. He was airborne after only about half of the big deck and was turning hard to port before his wheels were up. He was seven to eight minutes out from the Hatchett then had to allow time to get out to intercept the inbounds. He didn't know what had happened but for everything to be going like this, things must have gone really sour really fast. The three members of his flight were forming up in a line abreast beside him now. They were on their way to Position 46.8 North, 4.6 West.
H.S-132D Blue One, Position 46.8 North, 4.6 West
Colonel Kast was trying very hard not to look at his fuel gauge, the Hs-132 didn't carry much to start with and the low-altitude, high speed flight was burning the small supply at a frightening rate. He had 18 other Hs-132s with him with a single Arado 234C pounding along behind. He guessed the Arado was in an even worse state than he was, with four engines, its fuel consumption low down was terrifying. But it had got off and carried three of the SC-1000 bombs, the 132s only carried one of the smaller SC-500s. The Arado had a lousy low-level bombsight though. Another Arado and a 132 hadn't been so lucky, they'd been last off and a pair of Goodyears had shot them down almost as soon as their wheels had lifted. But they were on their way now closing fast on the position of the Ami carriers. The Little Dutchman hadn't given them much more than a raw position, but he'd done damned well to do that. Kast hoped he'd got out somehow but knew the chances were small. As they were for the whole unit now.
Kast shifted his position on his couch. He couldn't call it a seat. He was prone, his chin resting on a specially designed support. The Hs-132 had a very small nose-on target area and the sheet of armor glass in front of him was thickened reassuringly. His was one of the four new Hs-132Ds with an MG-213 cannon installed. He hadn't fired it yet but the revolver-cannon was supposed to have a phenomenal rate of fire. Squirting 20 millimeter rounds like a hose. The fighter groups had been complaining about a slow rate of fire for years, well, now they had their wishes fulfilled. Of course the magazine capacity wasn't any greater so he had one short burst. The other 132s had the older MG-151 20 millimeter.
Not that it was going to make much difference. Better to have had no cannon and a bigger bomb. For this run anyway. It was about time to get set up
Kast reached out and flipped the switch on his gunsight from cannon to bomb. Then he dialed in settings using the controls on either side. Speed 800 kph. Altitude 50 meters. Now, if he held the speed at exactly 800 kph and if he held the altitude at exactly 50 meters and if the bomb was an SC-500 and if he didn't make a turn at the last minute and if everything worked well, the bomb would hit at the spot the red dot in the center of the gunsight touched at the moment of release. There were a lot of big “ifs” there. Not least of which was surviving long enough. Still no fighters. Kast had half-expected that. A carrier could only carry so many aircraft and the way the Amis were swamping France, they couldn't have much left. If his boys could just buy enough time to get in, just enough.
Damn it Lockheeds. Four of them. Coming in fast. Kast started watching. He wanted to stay straight and level as long as he could, eat as much distance to the target as possible. He could see one of the 132s starting to drop back as the pilot started jinking to avoid the fighter closing in behind him. That's right boy, keep evading, make him spend as much time on you as he can. Then he has less left to find another target. Kast winced as the Arado behind him exploded, well the pilot wouldn't have to worry about fuel or his bombing now. Another 132 was going into the sea. This low. this fast, there was no way out for the pilot. The 132 was so beautifully streamlined that when it ditched it slid straight under with hardly a splash. The Ami ships were ahead now, he could see them on the horizon. Approaching fast. They were terrifying, sleek gray monsters, their sides rippling with orange fire and their anti-aircraft guns opened up.
Damn, a Lockheed was latching onto him. Kast started an irregular weave, trying to keep the Lockheed from getting a good shot. The black bursts of Ami flak were all around him now, he saw the four Lockheeds were following the 132s into the storm of anti-aircraft fire. Kast had expected them to sheer off rather than enter that hell. Hey, the bursts weren't all around him, they were just a little bit behind. Too damned accurate though and their shells always exploded at the right time. Their fuze-setters must be damned good. Hey, the devil looks after his own, Kast saw the Lockheed behind him getting hit by flak, it veered up streaming flames and the pilot ejected. Good for you Ami, flying in here took big brass ones.
OK, his aiming point was tracking across the sea now. Kast had picked the biggest carrier as a target and guessed the surviving aircraft would follow him. Even more flak, the light auto guns were cutting in. Huge numbers, more than anybody could count, of red balls coming for him. Whipping past either side. Gunnery was bad they weren't even close. But too many, far, far too many. His red dot aiming point was approaching the carrier running up the side....release., now the dot was crossing the island. Kast pressed the cannon switch and heard his new MG-213 fire. A vicious noise, a roar not the studied jackhammer of the older guns. Then silence. He had been right, it was a very short burst. Then he was over the carrier heading out the other side. And a direct hit from a five inch shell blew his little 132 apart.
FV-1 “Made Marian “, Position 46.8 North, 4.6 West.
“Bolero One, estimated 20 inbounds bearing 90 degrees speed 450 mph. Intercept”. It was “Scimitar” better known as the large cruiser USS Puerto Rico also known as CB-5. Controversial ships, too big for cruisers, too small and poorly protected for battleships but they made great fighter control points. But this intercept was desperately late. The enemy formation was closing fast and the speed advantage of the Flivver wasn't that great. Now was the time, Foreman though, for all good men to come to the aid of the party. The enemy formation wasn't neat or carefully grouped, just a stream of aircraft spread over the sky. That was going to make things harder, it would take time for the Flivvers to get to each target in turn. The German aircraft were tiny as well, their dappled gray paint making them hard to see. But one was a lot larger and more obvious.