“Queen-five-seven-three, Queen-five-seven-three calling Omdurman-Six, receiving over.”
A voice, clearly that of a man more at home in the east end of London, acknowledged receipt.
“Queen-five-seven-three to Omdurman-Six. Fire mission Baker, target…” he paused briefly, checking the coordinates again before delivering them.
“Omdurman-Six to Queen-five-seven-three, fire mission Baker received. Security check required.”
The Beaufighter had a special list that gave it security access to men in the front line.
“Standby for check. Ready? Omdurman-six over.”
The procedure was laid out precisely, and the artillery units along a fifty-mile front all possessed a copy of the same list. A word was issued that required a specific reply within three seconds or the orders would not be observed and further communications ignored. It could not be otherwise.
“Security check. Go. Troy.”
“Achilles.”
“Roger. Balloon.”
“Otter.”
“Roger. Sunburst.”
“Victory.”
“Roger, check complete, ranging shot on its way.”
The Beaufighter continued on its lazy turn, Captain Clark ensuring that his aircraft was not going to get in the way of a stream of shells.
He was immediately impressed.
“Bang on the money, Sam. Give the Limeys the word.”
The observer keyed his microphone, relaying the confirmation of ‘on target’, and quickly scrambling up to look out of the cockpit.
Seconds past with nothing, save the continued flashes of a few guns below, although the absence of the full count suggested that the Soviets were hitching up their guns, ready to relocate.
Sam King was disappointed for all of thirty-two seconds, at which time the 3rd Royal Horse Artillery put their shells ‘bang on the money’.
A Baker mission was a strike against enemy wheeled artillery, and the gunners of the 4th Indian Division had mixed a barrage of high explosive and fragmentation rounds, creating a highly effective cocktail of death in the area of the 7th Guards Artillery’s deployment.
The barrage of twelve rounds per tube caused casualties and destroyed guns, but the disciplined cavalry troopers worked to hitch up their guns and move away, calmly ignoring the men and horses that fell.
The sun finally retired and the night was lit by exploding shells.
The 7th Guards Artillery quit the field, relocating to another site and leaving the front troops unsupported.
The General commanding called the commander of the 1814th SP Gun Regiment, his deployed guns having been given orders to cease-fire and stay alert, ready for exploiting the breakthrough.
The displacement of the 7th Guards changed that once more, and the support role switched to them. The 122mm shells started to fall on the Indian second and third line positions, the intact battalions of Cossacks eagerly calling in fire, and accurately directing it, causing casualties amongst the enemy to their front.
Inside the ‘Gypsy Queen III’, the display on King’s radar set informed him of a problem.
“Cap’n, two separate contacts bearing 110, height 15, distance to us roughly fifteen thousand yards, and closing.”
The Arty/R mission went on the back burner as the Mk VI-F Beaufighter slipped into its more accustomed role as a hunter-killer in the night skies.
The Soviets, in an attempt to gain some sort of inroads into the Allied mastery of the night sky, had devised a simple solution.
During the German War, the Luftwaffe had inadvertently provided the Red Air Force with a lot of quality equipment, left behind by retreating forces or overrun when the red tide swamped the front.
The two blips that were the focus of King’s attention were very dangerous beasts. No longer in their Luftwaffe markings, the two Heinkel 219 A-7’s boasted the simple colour scheme of the Soviet Air force, and their sole purpose in life was to kill enemy night-fighters.
The Soviet aircrew had received a crash course on their new aircraft and were keen to test their skills against the despised Allied night fighter force.
Radars described the battlefield, painting the displays with light, each pinpoint signifying a target, the remainder of the screen dark and insignificant.
The three aircraft closed rapidly.
The lead Soviet pilot caught a movement against the last vestiges of the dying day, and flicked his aircraft into the right angle, sending a stream of 20mm cannon shells at whatever it was that had attracted his attention.
The majority missed, but his excellent reactions bore fruit as three 20mm shells hit the Beaufighter’s starboard wing and engine hard, the final shell striking the propeller, causing one of the blades to immediately detach and spin away.
Clark suddenly had major problems to deal with. He shut the damaged engine down, the distorted propeller causing numerous handling issues until it was feathered.
The three aircraft swept past each other, with only the lead Heinkel engaging.
The Beaufighter was now down on speed, its single Bristol Hercules engine straining to the limit to provide as much assistance as possible for the coming fight.
King called in the enemy positions and Clark manoeuvred to get in a shot. Every time he tried, the faster Heinkel would move away, or the second aircraft would get in a position that threatened the Beaufighter.
The Soviet pilots had learned their lessons well, and the previously unblooded second Heinkel got in a long burst of cannon fire, ripping into the ‘Gypsy Queen III’ from nose to tail.
Shells ruined the radar equipment and much of the Beaufighter’s necessary instrumentation. Other shells ripped open sections of the port wing, damaging the fuel tanks and sending the main aileron flying off like a piece of chaff.
The tail area, with its converted dihedral planes, received a lot of damage, but the control surfaces remained functional, a testament to the ruggedness of the design.
King was hit by two shells, explosive 20mm cannon shells, which transformed him into so much butcher’s meat in the blink of an eye.
Clark was hit by only one, and it was one of three shells that did not explode on impact with the USAAF night fighter. Dud or not, the impact of it turned the pilot’s left knee into mincemeat, the unexploded shell held in place by a few intact vestiges of gristle and bone.
The American pilot felt little pain. He had only survival on his mind now, and he struggled with the Beaufighter, expertly milking all the speed he could from the damaged bird.
Some sideslipping provided Clark with the comfort that he would not be an easy target, and he broadcast in clear, calling for help from his fellow nighthawks.
A Heinkel slid down the port side, easily outpacing the stricken Beaufighter.
Trained to be aggressive at all times, he considered attempting a shot, but the speed advantage of the ex-Luftwaffe aircraft was too great.
He could not see behind him, and his attempts to raise the observer had not borne fruit.
It would not have mattered.
A thousand pairs of eyes watching his tail would not have done the job.
One pair of eyes looking down might have.
In the German War, the Luftwaffe devised a weapons system that exploited the major weak spot of Allied heavy night bombers, namely the belly.
With the exception of the Flying Fortress and Liberators of the USAAF, Allied heavy bombers lacked an underside defensive position, or the ability to look below the aircraft with any certainty.
The two Soviet pilots were confident that they had their quarry, and so the leader ordered the concealed attack, treating the fight almost as a training exercise.