Secret of the Dragon's Scales

Chapter 10 More Than Just Wind on Their Tail The target was Achersleben, the site of a major German Focke-Wulf aircraft factory. It was only 90 miles southwest of Berlin and represented the deepest penetration of American bombers up to that time. The members of the group were awakened by the cheerful cry from the orderly, “Briefing will be at 0230 hours.” The men numbly got out of their beds and stumbled into their flight gear, staggered to the Mess, to poke aimlessly at the unappetizing glob of powdered eggs, accompanied by stale, greasy bacon and petrified cold toast. Then the crews shuffled to the briefing room to discover where they might be ending their lives that day. With the typical flare for the overly dramatic, Captain Stewart stood on the little stage in front of ominously closed curtains and announced, “Today, gentlemen, your target is…” He paused for just the right effect. “Achersleben.” There was an audible groan throughout the room, as the officer pulled aside the curtains and let the flight crews see the long strands of yarn pinned to the huge map of Europe, highlighting the dogleg course to Achersleben. The map seemed to have too many red markers along their route. Those infamous red crossed-guns indicated heavy flak concentrations, the most lethal aircraft killers. To the crews, it always seemed like the planners routed their flight paths so the German anti-aircraft gunners would get lots of practice shooting at them. Once the briefing was over, Lt. Lennert’s crew climbed into their jeep and rolled out to the hardstand, where their recently repaired bomber Tailwind sat waiting for departure. Flashlights played all about her dark silhouette, as last minute ground checks were made on armament loading, engine ground checks, and radio gear. As the crews piled out of the jeeps, they took over and made their own inspections. Smitty checked the arming wires on the bombs hanging securely by their shackles in the cavernous bomb bay of the Liberator. The gunners again looked over the ammunition they had previously hand-loaded, ran oiled rags once more over the arming bolts before installing them in the breeches of the ten .50 caliber machineguns. The navigator laid out his maps, with his own little course deviations marked, which would keep them on the fringes of the worst flak concentrations. Bernie set up his radio log on his little desk, while Mario and Robert buckled into their seats and waited for the signal flare to start engines. They were leading the high squadron, which meant they would be number thirteen to take off. Twin green flares arced off the little two-story building that served as a control tower, and down the taxiway, they heard the first thunderous roar of Pratt & Whitney engines jolting to life. The air trembled as the 1,200 horsepower engines began turning over. Shortly thereafter Big Dipper taxied by the lead aircraft of the middle squadron. In military precision, the clumsy-looking Liberators trundled out to follow the veteran B-24 in single file. In a matter of minutes, thirty-seven B-24’s were lined up from their takeoff position to a point far back along the taxiway. Another green flare went off, and Big Dipper slowly rolled down the runway. It hit the first rise in the runway and almost disappeared from sight as it dropped down the slope. Then at the second rise, it lifted off, and as the ungainly landing gear slowly folded up into the wells, the Liberator began its path-finding climb. Even before it became airborne, the lead B-24 was rolling, the entire Group taking off at 15-second intervals. All over East Anglia, a duplicate scene was taking place as 800 heavy bombers began the mission. It was as if the entire island that was England, trembled when this huge force of aircraft left the ground. When it became Lennert’s turn to take off, he lined up on the runway, having already checked the props. As the second hand ticked off on Valerio’s GI watch and reached 15 seconds from the last roll, Lennert advanced the throttles and Tailwind was rolling. Speed built up rather slowly at first with a four-ton bomb load and a full 2,700 gallons of fuel aboard, but they soon reached the first rise in the runway at the indicated 120 mph. As soon as Lennert felt the controls take effect, he called for gear up, and at 300 feet retracted the flaps. The rate of climb was increasing altitude at a rate of 800 feet per minute. Then they began the long ascent to 20,000 feet, where they joined in squadron formation and finally group formation. Eventually, thirty-six B-24’s were nicely tucked in formation and their middle squadron lead preceded them to a radio beacon, where they would join up with their division, whose lead would, in turn, direct them to another beacon, where they would become just another one of 800 heavy bombers aloft. Then the awesome striking force was on its way to bomb Germany. British Spitfires escorted them across the Channel and for a short time into Holland, where American P-47’s and P-51’s picked them up. Through disastrous experience, it was learned that the B-24 Liberator and B-17 Flying Fortress were unable to defend themselves without fighter escort. As they crossed the Dutch border, flak began to erupt in ugly black puffs amid their formation. Occasionally it came close enough to hear, and that was when holes appeared in the airplane. They kept going without being hit, but not every aircraft was able to match their luck. Up ahead they saw the long smoky trail of a bomber going down, as German fighters, literally hundreds of them, smashed into groups both in front and behind them. The sky above was crisscrossed with the contrails of both German and American fighters, as they maneuvered their way to targets of opportunity. Flak was an acrostic for the German anti-aircraft guns known as Flieger Abwehr Kanonen. It meant exploding shells were fired upwards from cannons strategically placed on the ground around target areas. The little black puffs of smoke look harmless enough, but the chunks of steel that went flying through the air could knock out an engine or even collapse a wing. Shortly after they passed through one of the heavy flak concentrations, the crew aboard Tailwind spotted about 200 Me109’s and Fw190’s hit the bomber formation to their right. The enemy fighters shot down twelve B-24’s in a matter of seconds. The sky was filled with smoke trails from burning airplanes, both American and German. They witnessed another B-24 catch fire and slowly head for the ground. Two crewmembers managed to bail out, but one of them had the misfortune of his chute catching fire. The bomber burned fiercely and then exploded, debris scattered all over the sky. Several Me109’s passed through their formation, but were sorely pressed by P-47’s on their tails. As the bombers approached Halberstadt, the group went into squadron trail formation, so that bombing could be accomplished by each lead bombardier. Flak became more intense, and the German fighters departed, so their anti-aircraft batteries could throw up more 88mm and 128mm shells. Suddenly, Tailwind was flying through yet another wall of flak. Explosions burst all around them Pieces of metal went pinging off the aircraft, the echo reverberating in their ears. Lennert could also smell… He suddenly didn’t want to think about it. The flak was indiscriminate and getting through was purely a matter of luck. Everyone just sat there, gritted their teeth and hoped for the best. Lennert took some minor evasive action, but he was on the initial point to bomb, which meant he had to hold that position for three or four minutes without course changes. Bernie Grant held his breath and prayed aloud, though nobody could hear him. Lennert remembered to call Benteen on the intercom. “Mike, put your flak helmet on!” Kablam! There was a terrific crash of an exploding 88mm shell, so close it shook the airplane. Lennert again got on the intercom