by Gee, Colin
“Arthur, they’ve hit us bad and we are in pieces as you see.”
The Englishman managed a nod accompanied by a grimace as arrows, red in colour, appeared moving north of München .
“I want maximum effort from you, maximum effort. Get everyone in the air that can carry a bomb or a machine-gun. I will get you my list of target priorities within the next hour. Send everyone Arthur, even those who have been out tonight.”
That drew a dismayed look from Tedder, this time aimed at Ike.
The complaint grew on his lips but withered under Ike’s unusually hard gaze.
“Arthur, I know your boys will be tired and I know the casualties will reflect that. Send them in later if you must but send them in, come what may. Are we clear?”
Tedder stiffened.
“Yes General, we are clear. There will be a turnaround time in any case, so I can rest them but it is a long time since many of them have done day ops.”
Eisenhower, both hands extended palms towards his man, spoke softly.
“I know Arthur. I am asking a lot of them but I think much will be asked of many of us this day, don’t you?”
The Air Chief Marshall couldn’t buck that at all, especially as he caught the stream of arrows around München grow further out the corner of his eye.
“Very well Sir. I will get them ready for a maximum effort. Target list will be with me by five?”
“I will do my very best Arthur.”
The man sped away, his mind already full of orders and thoughts of incredulous RAF officers reading them as tired crews touched down at bases all over Europe.
No one was going to be spared on this day.
Four Mosquitoes of 163 Squadron RAF had been tasked with destroying a Soviet engineer bridge laid over the Fuhse River at Groß Ilsede, the main road bridge having been dropped into the water by British demolition engineers some days previously.
The plan was for the lead aircraft to illuminate with flares to permit the rest of the flight to drop accurately.
Squadron Leader Pinnock and his navigator Flying Officer Rogers both knew their stuff inside out and the Mk XXV Mosquito arrived on time and on target, releasing its illumination.
Flight Lieutenant Johar, a Sikh and the squadron’s top bomber was confused. The landmarks were quite clearly right; the parallel railway, the watery curve, both present and yet it wasn’t there.
Johar streaked over the target area, his bombs firmly on board, closely followed by three and four, equally confused. Navigators did checks and came up with the same result.
“This is the right place, dead on Skipper, no question” Rogers holding out his handwork for his boss to examine.
“Roger Bill,” Pinnock not bothering to go for the normal play on Rogers name and radio procedure that whiled away hours of lonely flying for the pair.
Thumbing his mike he spoke to the others.
“This is Baker lead, this is Baker lead. Mission abort, say again mission abort. Take out the rail track rather than dump ordnance.”
The bombs rained down, savaging the track running to the east of the Fuhse, rendering it useless for days to come.
163’s professionalism was such that no more was said over the radio until they touched down at Wyton some hours later.
The base adjutant, debriefing the crews, insisted that there must have been a navigational mistake until all four navigators produced their documentation, setting aside his first possibility.
Which raised a rather interesting second one.
[Book Two of the Red Gambit series ‘Stalemate’ should be available by September 2012 on Amazon Kindle as a download and createspace.com as a book.]