Sky Ghost

by Maloney, Mack;

  The pilots relit engines and inside of three minutes, they saw with their own eyes what their radar screens could not convince them of. Breaking through a gigantic cloud bank, they found the horizon literally black with approaching aircraft. American aircraft. Bombers. Fighters. Even cargo planes converted to bombers. They were all flying southeast.

  The German pilots were stunned. What the hell was this? An illusion? They’d never faced a situation like this before. Most of the Reich’s air defense fighters were stationed in the U.K., as they should be. These guys were just test pilots really. They knew very little about front-line combat.

  Still, both knew they had to warn the German High Command that there were at least 1000 American bombers on the wing and that they were not heading for the U.K., but for the Reich itself.

  But with the speed of the oncoming armada, there wasn’t much time to radio back to a secure link inside Germany—under normal conditions this would take several minutes at the least.

  What should they do then? They knew they alone represented the first line of defense between the bombers and the heretofore unimaginable prospect of enemy planes bombing their homeland. They also knew there was little they could do to stop this many airplanes. But they had to do something. So they both powered up their weapons systems and began to climb…

  Up they went, through 30,000 feet, through 40,000, up to 50- angels. Then, looking down on the wave of airplanes, they went right over the top of the bomber stream and dove down, angling for a position on the enemy’s rear. Here they found what they were looking for. Of the vast number of enemy aircraft, they knew—just as jungle cats know when stalking a herd—that there would be stragglers. Planes with engine trouble or other problems that prevented them from keeping up with the main group.

  And indeed, three bombers were trailing the vast enemy airborne force.

  It was these airplanes the Germans decided to attack first. If there was no way they could stop the entire enemy force, it was better to pick off these weaklings and at least return to base with something to show for their efforts.

  The pair of German planes tightened up their two-ship formation and launched their first attack from the 10 o’clock position. The three prey were flying in a ragged chevron about 10 miles behind the main bomber force. So far the covering American fighters had not made a move to defend their wounded birds. This was fine with the German pilots, of course. It would make their job that much easier.

  The attack came in straight and true and from the first few seconds of it, the German pilots thought they would soon have a huge B-24/52 to their credit.

  But just as the first of their bullet streams began making hits on the selected target, both pilots noticed something. This did not seem to be a regular enemy aircraft they were shooting at. Instead, there was a line of windows stretching from behind the gigantic wing all the way back to the gigantic tail. And now they could see gun muzzles sticking out of every one of those windows. And now they could see extra gun mounts on the top, the belly, and in the tail of the airplane as well. And now, all of those gun muzzles were pointing right at them.

  The combined barrage that erupted from the American bomber a second later was, in a word, frightening. Each gun was loaded with tracer bullets, the better to lead the fast enemy airplanes with. And the combination of more than two dozen guns firing in unison at the Me-999s was nearly blinding. And of course, unsuspecting and greedy in their bid to shoot down a straggler, the two German pilots weren’t at full power and thus stumbled right into the fusillade.

  They tried to turn away, but only after it was too late. Both planes had more than 3000 rounds pumped into them within six seconds, perforating man and machine alike. The enemy planes did not explode as much as they just disintegrated. There was some smoke, some fire, and even some frozen blood drops blowing in the high winds at 27,000 feet. But the two airplanes simply ceased to exist seconds after the gunners on the bomber opened up on them. In all, only scraps of metal, rubber, wire, and bone hit the surface of the cold North Sea five miles below.

  This was the only evidence left of the two spanking new Me-999s.

  The newly-instituted In-Flight Protection Squadron—the gigantic flying fortresses reconfigured with many guns to protect the bomber stream—had claimed its first two victories.

  The city of Bremen was the first target.

  The city of 900,000 was selected as much for its geographical location as it was for its target value. If all went right, it would be the first major German city the American bombers would come close to. And if this bold plan was going to work, Bremen would be the first test.

  The American air armada made landfall over the Reich itself at 0810 hours, exactly on schedule. The first piece of solid land the bombers passed over were East Frisians, a series of barrier islands which form most of western Germany’s coastline with the North Sea. The planes picked up some light, panicky flak from this region, but it was way too low and way too scattered to affect the bomber stream.

  Once over land, the 1000 airplanes turned southeast again, passed over the Jade Busin area, and picked up the Aller River. Using this as a landmark, they steered directly south. Bremen was now just 20 miles away.

  The city had air-raid sirens and a sizable civil defense force in place. But these things hadn’t been used in years. So when word of the approaching American bombers first reached the city’s defenders, they foolishly didn’t believe it. They asked for endless verifications and confirmations, and by the time they were convinced that an attack was coming, the American bombers were already blotting out the horizon.

  The first bombs started dropping on Bremen at 0830 hours, again exactly on schedule. They rained down from 100 specially designated aircraft layered throughout the stream. The bombs themselves were known as ATX-30s, a mix of high-explosive, magnesium, and petroleum jelly. On contact, the bomb would explode, due to the HE, then the magnesium would be ignited, and the pliable jelly would splatter the flames everywhere. One bomb could cover a 1000-square-foot area with what was essentially burning glue, a substance which would adhere to wood and skin alike. Bremen was an old city, noted for its many wooden structures. It had also been an unusually dry winter season. The city was like a tinderbox.

  The first 100 or so bombs started a fire in the city square which was raging out of control less than two minutes later. A second wave of bombs came down further east, hitting the city’s substantial riverside oil storage facilities, and igniting them as well. A third wave found kindling to burn in the city’s outlying yet highly residential Southforest sector. The fourth wave of bombs struck a huge military barracks on the southernmost tip of the city.

  In all, more than 2000 separate fires had been started by just 100 planes of the bomber stream. Fires, it would turn out, that would rage all that night, all of the next day, and well into the third.

  And still, more than 900 of the American aircraft had yet to drop their bombs.

  By this time, bells were ringing all over the German War Command headquarters in Berlin. It was evident now that some kind of an American attack was happening, and it was aimed at the Reich itself.

  But the sheer size of the attack and the audacity of it served to confuse the Germans. Did the Americans even have 1000 bombers left? More importantly, did they have 1000 pilots? The attack was so unexpected, many German high commanders still believed it was a fake, even though they were receiving reports that Bremen was burning to the ground.

  Finally, though, German War Command stumbled into action. They postulated a probable flight path for 1000 American bombers and reckoned that if they were sticking together, they would mostly likely hit the cities of Osnabruck and Munster next, then swing west again and head back to their bases in Iceland. This was actually beneficial to the German defense forces because, by happenstance, there was a huge airfield just outside Osnabruck, and it contained a training squadron of Natter rocketplanes being readied for assignment in Occupied U.K. The bomber force would have to fly
practically right over this base if they continued their present speed and heading. The Natters would eat them alive.

  The German High Command immediately contacted the training field and told them of the oncoming American threat. The field commanders were ordered to get every available Natter ready for action and launch.

  The scramble alarm was sounded immediately at the Natter base. Pilots were suited up and running to their rocketplanes by 0845 hours.

  A vanguard of American bombers was spotted approaching Osnabruck five minutes later.

  The Natter was a rocketplane, its forward propulsion effected by the mixture of two highly volatile chemicals called T-Stoff and S-Stoff blowing out the back.

  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 proble
m 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.