Sky Ghost (26 page)

The planes, then, did not need runways or long takeoff runs. They were launched by means of movable sleds, which carried the deadly rocket plane for about 200 feet over the ground until the thrusters had created enough velocity to get the craft airborne.

The training field at Osnabruck had 30 such sleds to service 300 flyable Natters. Each sled had 10 rocket planes hooked up to it, ready for loading and launch, just like bullets in a gun clip. Once the first Natter was airborne, the next would begin its sled ride and take off just five seconds later. Then the next one would be launched, and the next, and so on, until all 10 were up and away. In practice sessions, the German units at Osnabruck had launched all 300 Natters in less than 90 seconds.

But it was getting those first 30 Natters off the ground that was the difficult part. Lining up, firing their motors, getting clean takeoff runs. If for whatever reason the first rocket didn’t get off the rails, then none of those behind it were going anywhere.

So there were two ways to fight Natters. Trying to tangle with them in the air, as they were rising into the bomber stream, their own guns blazing, was a tall order. Even for a jet fighter, this was a difficult task as the Natter could clock up to 1400 mph for short periods of time, a speed advantage even the fastest American plane could not overcome.

The best way to beat the dangerous little rocketplane, then, was the second way: get to it before it got airborne—while it was still on the ground, sitting still, its fuel tanks full of two of the most volatile substances on Earth.

This would be the American plan.

The American bombers were within sight of the Natter field by 0850 hours.

What the Germans on the ground saw was a group of huge aircraft seemingly coming straight for them. But two things were wrong here. The reports from Bremen said there were hundreds of American bombers, maybe even as many as 1000—plus substantial fighter support. But the skies above the field showed only a couple of dozen American bombers, and no fighter cover at all. At least none that could be seen.

This prompted the launch order from the field’s commander to his Natter squadrons. Two dozen unprotected bombers would be easy pickings for the 300 or so Natters. In fact, the greatest danger might lie in the crowded-sky syndrome—there would be so many Natters aloft and so many returning at the same time, the chances of losing planes and pilots due to collisions was greater than that of enemy fire.

Still, the commander’s orders were to launch all planes and that’s what the ground crews began to do. Suddenly they were very busy getting those first 30 crucial planes up.

So busy, they did not see the line of American jet fighters approaching from the south.

Hunter was leading the group of 12 Mustangs which had peeled away from the small formation of B-17/36s about five minutes before.

There were only 25 bombers heading for Osnabruck and they were essentially set out as bait, a bid to get the Germans to expose their Natters at the worst possible moment, while they were still in their launching sleds. Coming in from the unlikeliest direction—south—the plan called for Hunter and the female pilots of the 2001st to tear into the Natters before they could even get off the ground.

If the attack on Bremen had been textbook quick, deadly, and efficient, then the attack on the Natter field was even more so. This was not 12 jets versus 300 rocket planes here. Again, all Hunter and the female pilots had to do was make sure the first 30 Natters didn’t get off their rails. Destroying them would destroy the launching sleds, and thereby eliminate the threat completely.

So Hunter led the Mustang-5s in very low and very slow and again the order of the day was to make every shot count. The first sweep came in with complete surprise, and concentrated on the first 10 sleds, separated as they were from the fanlike arrangement of the main sled-launch array. Hunter went in first. He sighted a trios of sleds, gave a quick squeeze to his MG trigger, then another, and another. Three quick bursts, three Natters destroyed. But there was danger in this too. To get the right shot in the right amount of time, he had to hold the Mustang slow and steady, and then pull up quickly as the bullets ignited the T-Stoff/S-Stoff mixture.

So he fired three times quick, and then put the ’Stang into a massive climb. The trio of explosions that followed shook the jet from back to front, but caused no permanent damage. He quickly cleared out and let the next Mustang come screaming in.

This was Captain James herself. She got down low, fired once, twice, three times. Another three Natters iced, another three sleds wrecked. She climbed out fiercely too, the three explosions licking her tail as she ascended.

The next jet came in. This time, four short bursts. Four more sleds and four more Natters, up in flames.

The first 10 sleds were thus destroyed. The second wave of Mustangs was then able to concentrate on the main sled array. Mimicking the first wave’s actions, they too used short bursts, low flying, and quick pull-ups. They took out eight of the next 10 sleds. Now the third wave came in. They had to fight their way through the smoke and constant explosions from the first two passes, but were quick and competent about tearing up the last 10 sleds.

In all, only two Natters were able to get airborne. Hunter got one, Sarah got the other. The Mustang-5s swung back around a third time, strafed the field’s command facility, its training buildings, and its fuel supply for good measure. But then it was time to go.

On Hunter’s call, the 12 Mustangs started to climb. Up at 20,000 feet they met up with the bombers, which had dumped a token amount of firebombs on the nearby city of Osnabruck. The fighters took up positions in the rear and flanks of the small formation. Then, as one, the group turned away from the smoking Natter base.

In all, the training field had been knocked out in less than two minutes.

By now the German High Command was convinced they were being attacked in a major way, and unlike ever before in this phase of the war.

The targets Bremen and Osnabruck showed a general southerly direction of the massive American bombing raid. Common sense dictated that the bombing force had to turn right eventually and head back west, to their bases. After all, how long could they stay over German territory practically unabated?

So the powers that were in Berlin became convinced the next target of the massive raid would be the city of Munster—where an alarming number of troop concentrations were located. After that, possibly the city of Essen, where a huge munitions factory was located. This way the enemy planes could take on another pair of targets and already be pointed at their direction of escape, over the Occupied Netherlands and then out to the sea beyond.

Working on these assumptions, the German High Command began frantically calling air units from Occupied Holland and France and even the U.K. itself, and ordering them to take off immediately and prepare for a massive aerial confrontation somewhere between Munster and Essen.

In all, more than 800 German fighters answered the call—new models like Me-999s, older ones like Me-362s, and many in between. By 0915, three huge German fighter groups were aloft and converging on the spot where the German High Command was sure the 1000 American bombers would soon be.

It was a good defense strategy, an almost chesslike reaction in light of a sudden, dangerous situation that just three hours before had seemed impossible.

The only problem was, it was the wrong move.

For the American swarm, against all odds and sound military thinking, had turned not west toward home, but east. Due east. Deeper into Germany.

They swept over the city of Hannover, unloading 2000 tons of incendiaries and setting its substantial downtown communications center on fire. The air armada next visited the city of Braunschweig, 80 miles east of Hannover and the location of a huge double-reaction engine factory. Another 1800 tons of fire bombs rained down on this city. Some home fighters rose in an attempt to drive off the bombers, but they were all dispatched either by Mustang fighters or the In-Flight Protection gunships. The conflagration in Braunschweig was aided by the fact that the factory was hit dead-on, as well as by a hidden fuel storage dump nearby. These fires would burn for a week.

It was now 0930 hours, and still the American raiders were on the move. Still, they flew east.

The planes were next spotted over Magdeburg, where an oil-cracking plant was located. But the Americans dropped no bombs here. Instead they flew right over the heart of the city—and continued east.

And it was only then that the German War Command realized the Americans weren’t intending on turning around and going west at all—at least not until they hit what had been their main target all along.

For just 80 miles east of Magdeburg, sat the capital city of the Reich, Berlin itself.

Berlin was not undefended, of course.

There was an entire fighter wing stationed here—450 interceptors of the latest designs—plus another wing consisting of Natter rocketplanes, and an entire army corps of antiaircraft guns set in concentric rings around the city.

The flak batteries posed the first threat to the approaching bombers. A path had to be carved through these gun emplacements over which the bombers could fly. This difficult task had been given to the same 12 Mustang-5 jetfighters that had attacked the Natter base Osnabruck.

It was partly cloudy over the German capital now, raining in some spots, while others were perfectly clear. In other words, a typical spring day in the Reich. The clouds would help the bombers, at the very least they would give them some cover from the outlying AA guns. But the ceiling was only 2500 feet, and Hunter’s group of fighters would have to operate way below that for nearly the entire bombing run.

The 12 Mustangs broke away from the bomber pack about 15 miles from the edge of Berlin. Picking up the Havel River, they quickly got down almost to surface level. Leading the way, Hunter was flying no more than 25 feet above the river, the spray kicked up by his plane’s preceding shock wave actually covering his canopy with water. By now the German defense authorities should have sounded the air-raid sirens and all civilians should have been under shelter. But as Hunter and the other Mustangs screeched along mere feet above the river, they could see ordinary citizens lining both banks. Strolling, napping, having an early lunch by the riverside, there were hundreds of them.

What was this? Hunter thought.

Then it sunk in. Obviously, the Berlin authorities never gave the air-raid warning. Why? Maybe that old stuff about the impossibility of the Allies attacking Berlin itself. But for whatever reason, Hunter and the others could see large groups of civilians pointing and even waving to them as they flashed by. Morbidly, Hunter and the others waved back.

About three miles from the city, the Mustangs pulled up slightly and turned east. Here was the first concentration of AA guns. Equally important, located alongside many of the guns, were radar stations, some of which controlled the air defense fighters for all of Berlin.

The American jets came in so fast, and so low, they caught the AA gunners practically unawares. Lining up in six two-ship formations, the ’Stangs ripped through the gun emplacements and the radar stations, their machine guns tearing into flesh and metal alike. Each formation went around three times. That’s all that was needed. For a quarter mile in each direction, the targets were quickly destroyed.

Once over the first ring of flak batteries, the planes climbed, but just a little, up to 150 feet. The next line of AA guns was located in the Grune suburb of the city. Hunter picked up the towering snouts of the 288-mm radar-controlled monsters from two miles out. Again their perilously low altitude gave the Mustangs an advantage. Again, they came in quick, guns blazing, and caught the gunners by surprise. They were flying so low and the gunners had been expecting targets so high, there was no way the Germans could depress their gun muzzles quick enough to fire at the Mustangs. Once again the Americans tore a path right through the AA emplacements.

The third ring of AA guns was centered near the Wilmersdorf Plain, a flat piece of terrain just outside the new city limits of Berlin. Warned in advance, these gunners were waiting for the American jets. They had their guns cranked down all the way and they were loaded up with short proximity fuses on their shells.

But this is where the Circle Wing’s ability to improvise came into play.

After attacking the second ring of AA guns, Hunter and his fighters did a strange thing—they began flying around in circles.

The commanders of the AA guns at Wilmersdorf saw this on their radar screens—and were baffled. What were the Americans doing?

The answer came a second later. First the AA gunners heard a mighty screech of engines. Then out of the clouds they saw a huge B-24/52 heading right for them. It was coming down so fast, at first the gunners thought the American bomber had been shot down and was about to crash. But that wasn’t the case. This was on one of the bomber gunships from the In-Flight Protection squadron. It had been called on to fulfill a very special mission.

Knowing the AA gunners would be confused by the Mustangs’ mysterious tactics, the gunship was able to roar right over the main flak emplacement, level off and then go into a low, wide orbit, tilting perilously to the left side. The pilot gave the order for all left-side gunners to open fire, and an instant later their fusillade began. Riding low and slow, the huge bomber resembled a flying dragon now. The waves of tracer fire pouring out of it were frightening, unreal. The stunned AA gunners, with the muzzle barrels deflected all the way down, simply could not fire back at the big plane. Once again, the Germans were cut down like wheat stalks by a sickle.

The bomber only stayed on station for 20 seconds, one complete revolution around the main gun batteries. Then it screamed for height, clawing its way back up to a safer altitude.

When Hunter and the other fighters arrived about a minute later—dizzy from their merry-go-round delaying maneuver—there was nothing left. Where once there was as many as 55 AA guns, now was little more than a smoking hole in the ground with no one left alive to fire the flak guns that remained. Hunter just shook his head and chalked it up as yet another strange event in this crazy life he was leading. The idea to use one of the gunships as a mighty ground suppression weapon had come to him the night before…in a dream.