“Shit Me 109’s attacking through the formation, fucking blow them out of the skies.” Peter ‘Big P’ Armstrong called out over the radio.
The striking yellow painted nose of the single-seater Messerschmitt Bf 109 fighters pushed through the scattering formation of heavily armed bombers, their two 13mm 131 machine guns angrily blazing as they went. The propeller-driven fighter was not as quick as the jet-powered Me 262 but was still a hugely effective aircraft; especially when taking on the slower bombers.
“Shit, the fuckers lured us away so they could get the 109’s onto the bombers.” Johnson exclaimed, “Jimmy leave the 262 we have to protect the bombers.”
“Roger.”
The two Mustangs pulled off the tail of the Me 262 and throttled up as hard as they could to get on the tails of the fighters who were decimating the Flying Fortresses.
From the ground Master sergeant Robert Miller watched with a morbid sense of intrigue and horror as the skies above them were illuminated with flashes of gunfire. It looked like chaos in the air as bombers split in every direction being hounded by the agile fighters. Streaks of flames and smoke flew across the increasingly bright sky. This was it the sun had now peaked above the horizon.
Without warning four German artillery guns opened fire simultaneously. The shells whistled through the air and plunged into the field 200 meters away from the ground forces position, the ground shook as four large explosions made the field erupt in a fountain of mud, rocks, and shrapnel.
“Shit find cover boys, this is it!” Miller shouted and he dove behind the nearest Sherman.
American soldiers ran for any cover they could find as the next barrage flew down on the wooded area barely 50 meters from where they were positioned, the dirt, splinters and shit from the trees peppered the lead tanks.
“Fuck, what do we do lads?” Sergeant Bradie Jones screamed.
“We sure as hell can’t just fucking sit here!” Private First Class Tommy ‘Gun’ Thompson shouted.
“We are to stay put until the bombers flatten the jerries defenses, got it? If we advanced now we will get blown to shit by our own bombs.” Miller ordered.
“If the bombers get through.”
“The bomber always gets through,” Miller added.
There were a hundred and twelve bombers in the formation when they had started the mission but five had already been blown out of the sky.
Jarad ‘Griff’ Griffin stubbornly stayed on course despite the unfolding chaos in the sky around him.
“Griff Me 109 coming round on our tail.” Gunner Roy ‘Tino’ Martinez shouted as he tracked the target and opened fire with everything he had.
The waist gunners opened up as well, spitting rounds at the fighter. The German pilot was too eager, was in too close and the rounds hit the front of the aircraft peppering the cockpit, which imploded in a hail of lead and glass. The pilot took multiple hits and blacked out quickly due to blood loss. The crippled Me 109 went into a steep dive from which it could never recover, its flaming body span and span finally crashing nose first into the open fields.
The dog fighting continued in the skies above the Polish mountains with frightening ferocity. Crews from devastated B-17’s tried to get to the parachute hatch before the flames consumed them, one unlucky bastard jumped free and immediately opened his parachute only to hit the wing of a trailing bomber, he got tangled in the spinning propeller and was promptly cut to pieces.
Brooklyn Johnson weaved through the bedlam and managed to position himself on the tail of a Me 109 who had just destroyed a B-17.
“You’re gonna pay for that.” He roared.
Johnson pulled the trigger and sprayed a burst from near point-blank range into the Luftwaffe fighter. The tail melted under the fire, the fighter rolled slightly and Brooklyn fired another burst into it. The left-wing split from the body and the fighter tumbled from the sky. Johnson watched over his shoulder as the pilot ejected.
“Brookie, look three o’clock low.”
Johnson looked to his right and tilted his plane so he could see. A Me 109 had positioned itself behind three B-17’s and was nearly in an excellent firing position. The bombers were pumping out defensive fire but the pilot was clearly skilled and held no fear.
“Roger that Jimmy lets nail that son of a bitch.”
Out of the frying pan, into the fire
The artillery shells continued to rain down into the woods where the American troops were hiding, the latest one scoring a direct hit on a jeep killing everybody in the immediate vicinity and seriously wounding half a dozen others.
“Sir we have to move otherwise we won’t have anyone left.”
“We ain’t going nowhere Private, not until those bombers have delivered their loads.”
“But Sir…”
“But nothin, I’d rather the Germans kill us than our own bombs.” Commander Jim ‘Pete’ Parker growled form the commander’s hatch of his Sherman tank. He could have closed the hatch to take cover from the shrapnel but it was a measure of the man that he was out in the open for all to see.
Jarad ‘Griff. Griffin in the lead B-17 was over just about over the target. His Navigator Jordon ‘Mac’ McDonald called out. The Bombardier was ready and Griffin gave the order for all bombers to begin their bombing runs.
“Drop that load Deer, go go go!”
Stephen ‘Deer’ Hunter did not need to be asked twice, he pressed the release button and the bomb load bay doors opened. Two thousand lbs. of ordinance was in free fall from the bowls of the plane. It plummeted beneath the bombers who were dropping long lines onto the field below.
Explosions rocked the ground causing it to shake and explode into plumes of dirt and fire. A direct hit on an anti-tank gun turned the it into a large fireball and several German troops who were not killed in the blast staggered around trying to put the flames out on their backs; without success, they screamed and their limbs flailed about until they finally succumbed to the intense heat.
This was the cue for the American ground forces to advance. The Sherman’s roared forward as they led the way. They held their fire as they moved but this was it and the troops following through the smoke-filled air cheered as they forced themselves into the heat of battle.
There were too many bombers for the Luftwaffe to take down and despite their valiant effect many of the B-17’s were dropping their bombs. This did not stop the Me 109’s taking on as many as possible and the air was swarming with tracer rounds from all directions.
A Me 262 opened up into the back of a desperately moving P-51 Mustang, all four of its 30mm cannons tore chunks out of the back of the Mustang who had black smoke trailing from its tail. The Me 262 fired another short burst and the devastated Mustang burst into a ball of flames that literally fell out of the sky, the pilot had no chance of surviving.
The P-51’s wingman tried desperately to avenge his fallen comrade and began firing upon the superior German aircraft. The Me 262 pilot was well trained and in an instant he half-rolled his jet inverted and then executed a descending half-loop so he was now in level flight in the exact opposite direction at a lower altitude. The P-51 had not expected the split-s maneuver and had not noticed the Me 262’s wingman slip in behind him, the 262 opened fire and blew him out of the sky.
With the bombers dropping their explosives the Germans opened up with another surprise. The air filled with five Flakpanzer ‘Kugelblitz’ self-propelled anti-aircraft guns. The vehicles all fired in unison sending 450 rounds a minute per gun into the crowded skies.