Then it arrived a slight rumbling in the distance which steadily grew in intensity. The men of the 7th Ranger Battalion thought they were hearing things but they were not, the unmistakable sound of a huge formation of aircraft was coming towards them. The troops stifled the urge to cheer, it was time for business. They each said a private prayer.
Deep in the cold underground bunker, Walther Gerlach and his assistant had been busy. They had used the last two hours to fix the electrical transformers and had patched up Die Glocke as well as they could. The two men had checked and rechecked the circuitry and were finally satisfied enough to give the experiment one final go.
Walther leaned back against the wall, he was exhausted and it showed. He breathed in deep forceful breaths and stood with his hands resting on his knees.
“Take a break father.” Joseph was concerned, he and his dad had been working almost nonstop since the other two assistants had been poisoned by that horrible purple liquid. Xerum 525 had a nasty property of turning living flesh into a decomposing pulpy mush in a very short space of time; they had hoped the lead-lined thermos flasks would prevent it but this was not the case. Joseph had half a mind to destroy the whole bloody lot but that would have to wait.
“I’m ok my son, start the procedure please boy.”
Joseph checked the security failsafe one last time then pushed the power level up to fifty percent. They did not have the time to gently push the power flow.
“Fingers crossed dad.”
Walther walked gingerly over to his portion of the console and began flicking switches to keep the power as even as possible so not to overload the transformers too quickly.
The two guards had returned to their post but this time they were accompanied by several crates of dynamite. They were ready to destroy the whole laboratory if ordered.
Sporrenberg sat in the command center listening to the radar which was just beginning to detect objects flying on an inbound trajectory towards the base. The radar operator got on the radio to inquire about any friendly aircraft but it quickly became apparent that the size of this force ruled out the possibility of it being a Luftwaffe squadron.
“Bombers inbound Gruppenführer estimated no more than ten minutes out.”
Sporrenberg nodded, “Give the order to defend the base.”
Sporrenberg smiled.
The radio operator gave out the orders just in time as suddenly the lights dimmed then flickered once before they went out completely. Sporrenberg cursed then ordered the men to use their flashlights for now.
“God dammit Walther you incompetent fool.” He said as he got up and stormed towards the bowels of the base. “This is no time to steal the power from key equipment!” He muttered to himself.
The atmosphere was beginning to crackle and burn as the transformers pumped the electricity across the giant bell-like device. The bell started to glow a gentle red color as it received a huge amount of power all at once, the counter-rotating cylinders on the bottom third of the device moved gingerly at first but then whirled powerfully, filling with more Xerum 525.
“Power holding steady father.”
“Good, increase it to sixty percent.”
Joseph was wary because they had never pushed the device this hard before but he did as instructed and pushed the lever up.
A loud bang made Joseph jump out of his skin.
The old man laughed, “Don’t worry son it’s only the electrically charged air. We aren’t under attack… yet.”
Joseph relaxed a little but he was still on edge. Sporrenberg was bound to know they were trying again and he was not going to be very happy, he was more than likely going to be murderously unhappy. A chill ran down Joseph spine.
The Swallow
The P-51’s kept close to the B-17’s in a reasonably tight formation. Jarad ‘Griff’ Griffin’s navigator was the first to say it.
“It’s too quiet.” Jordon ‘Mac’ McDonald said.
“Sssh, you will jinx it Mac.”
“He’s right though, the scum always mount a tough defense, where are the anti-aircraft batteries?” Mark ‘Woody’ Woodrow questioned.
“You reckon the brass bollocksed up again?” Bombardier and nose gunner Stephen ‘Deer’ Hunter said.
“Enough ladies, look alive; we are nearly on the target,” Griff ordered. He glanced to his left at the growing light emerging on the horizon.
‘Shit.’ He thought, ‘we left a bit too late, the sun will be up soon.’
The flight had indeed left slightly after they should have done, due to the misfortune of a refueling truck breaking down, making the runway unusable for ten minutes before it was finally shifted.
The troops hidden in the woods heard another unfamiliar sound filtering through the noise of their piston-powered allies. This was a low rumbling sound that quickly grew louder into a powerful growl; it was unlike anything they had ever heard before. Most of the men craned their necks skyward in an attempt to spot the unidentified object.
Squadron leader Staff Sergeant Brookie Johnson was the first to spot it slightly below him to the left passing through a small spattering of white wispy cloud cover, a glint of silver moving at speed.
For a second Johnson could not believe his eyes but he soon recovered to give his orders.
“Squadron, split and follow me. We have bogies three o’clock slightly low but climbing. Griff, we have a problem but we are on it.”
“What is it Brookie?” Griff said but he was cut off as the wing of the bomber next to him exploded in a hail of shrapnel and flames.
“Stay in formation, gunners ready yourselves,” Griff shouted.
The B-17’s stayed in there tight box formations with their angry guns covering each other’s asses in an overlapping field of defensive fire, the P-51’s split into pairs to track the single target.
Johnson and his wingman jettisoned their bomb loads so they could gain a much-needed increase in speed; they tried to maneuver their fighters onto the tail of a state of the art Messerschmitt Me 262.
The world’s first operational jet-powered fighter roared through the air slamming the throttle down and diving towards the ground at a frightening speed, hurtling towards the earth at over 500 mph.
The two diving Mustangs struggled to keep up, Johnson was slightly in the lead, to the right was his wingman was giving him cover to the left. Johnson could not get a clear shot. He cursed.
“Brookie I have a shot, break right.”
Johnson pushed right to let his wingman though. He immediately pushed the trigger for a three-second burst. The six 0.50 caliber browning roared into life, spitting rounds forward.
The Me 262 pilot pushed into a barrel roll to avoid the incoming fire, then he broke left and pushed up nearly vertical opening the throttle fully.
“Damn he’s good,” Johnson said as tried to follow.
The Flying fortresses carried on mission when five more Me 262 fighters appeared from nowhere, the dived down onto the bomber formation firing a short burst into the slower bombers. One B-17 was hit on the left wing causing its engine to billow black smoke, the pilots cut fuel to the engine and carried on the fight.
The Mustang escorts split and left the bombers to chase this unexpected threat, the dove from all angles after the agile German fighters.
“This has gone FUBAR already gents,” Jarad said to his bomber crew. “Look alive and let’s get this job over with so we can head for home.”
A hail of bullets tore towards the bombers. The attack came from behind.
The tail gunners in the B-17’s returned fire as the rear of the formation split in every direction. Three B-17’s were hit hard; the tail gunner in the very rear bomber was killed instantly as the tail was ripped to shreds. Smoke poured out of the crippled aircraft and it tilted lazily to the left.