by M C Drake
The American tanks advanced as quickly as they could over the open terrain. Hidden German Tiger I and Tiger II tanks opened fire, they knew they had the advantage of range and now the bombs had stopped falling, their concrete shields had done their jobs, they could now enjoy rich pickings.
The Tiger’s guns roared with frightening accuracy, Sherman’s were knocked out with ease’ some of their crews managed to escape but many did not. A Sherman fired on the move but the tank was hopelessly inaccurate when on the move and shells flew wide of the mark, time after time.
A Sherman slightly behind commander Jim Parker had its track blow off, it started to spin, driving on circles on the spot. The next shell put it out of action completely as it penetrated the side and the tank caught fire; cooking all inside alive.
The battle was not going well the bombers had not knocked out enough German armor and the superior Tiger II’s were proving deadly at this range. The Sherman crews had to keep pushing forward and use their greater number to overwhelm the enemy; they could not afford to get into a prolonged battle with the threat of the Russian Army looming in the shadows.
The battle of Owl Mountain
The U.S infantry had to move forward, Staff Sergeant Tom Smith started to drive his nervous men into the fight. They all had experienced the D-Day landings and were understandably not too keen to put their heads above the parapet, also the SS troops they were facing had a fearsome reputation, which they were so far living up to.
The men sprinted from explosion crater to explosion crater and used any cover they could, including the wreckages of Sherman tanks and in one case the wreckage of a downed B-17. As the troops advanced a Me 262 streaked overhead on a staffing run, the group of men caught in the open were cut to ribbons. The P-51 trailing in the wake of the jet fighter could do nothing but curse and try to keep on the tail of his target.
The American fighter force outnumbered their Luftwaffe counterparts nearly two to one. Brooklyn Johnson behind the controls of his P-51 knew they were on to something big as normally the Luftwaffe would have bugged out of the fight by now but they were still here protecting the ground troops. Brooklyn steadied himself; he knew they were in a fight to the death.
Brooklyn and his wingman noticed below them a P-51 with a Me 109 on his tail opening up on him, slightly behind him the Mustangs Wingman was blazing his cannons on the Me 109 and even further behind an Me 262 moving in for the Kill on the trailing Mustang.
“Fucking Hell Brookie, it’s FUBAR up here.” Jimmy was in disbelief.
“You said it mate, cover me we are going to nose over and open up on that son ova bitch!”
Brooklyn nosed over into a fast dive and as soon as the piper was slightly in front of the Me 262 he opened up a burst, tracer rounds shot out in a menacing red stream towards the fighter, which immediately hit the throttle and shot up to safety as the two Mustangs dove passed.
“Shit!” Brooklyn swore, “That son ova bitch knows what he’s doing.”
Jimmy watched over his shoulder as the first Mustang was hit badly and started to billow black smoke. The pilot was hit on his left side and unable to control his plane it started to spin. The young pilot tried desperately to eject but was engulfed in the encroaching flames, as the plane spiraled to the earth, he pulled out a pistol and ended it all; he could not take the terrible pain from the fire.
The Mustang on the Me 109’s tail avenged his fallen friend and blew the German out of the sky, pieces of his fighter rained debris over the empty cattle field below.
“Fuck one for one.” Jimmy whispered, “We’ll win at this rate but is it worth it?”
“No time for that now Jimmy boy, get your head back in the fight. We have a juicy Me 109 climbing nine o’clock.”
“Roger that Brookie, let’s give him hell!”
Commander Jim ‘Pete’ Parker’s Sherman medium tank continued forward, the veteran tank commander had closed the distance and had begun to fire on the move. His 76 mm gun was notoriously inaccurate at this range but his experience and that of his crew meant that while not ideal, they could at least fight on the move.
“Fire.” Pete roared.
The gun let off a boom and the shell arced forward, he missed the dug in Tiger II but it flew true and detonated on a German anti-tank gun that was tracking them across the field, the gun went up in a fireball as the shells exploded.
A Tiger I fired, the high-velocity shell from its 8.8 cm gun flew through the air, impacting through the front of a Sherman who had the misfortune of stopping to fire at a Panther medium tank. The shell thrust through the lower plate and disabled the tank. The crew flew out of the hatch but as soon as they did the crack of sniper fire rang out, the commander was hit through the head, while the gunner made it off of the tank but was struck through the chest twice; he bled out quickly.
Pete’s Sherman continued to advance, he fired on a Tiger II but they shell missed and all he managed to do was cover the monster in a coat of soil. The Tiger retaliated and fired a quick shell in their direction; it missed by millimeters and detonated into the wreckage of a downed Me 109.
“Fire.” Pete shouted again.
The shot from the Sherman flew true and with exceptional luck, it struck the commander's cupola and killed the Tiger’s commander instantly. The Tiger was out of action for now.
Pete could barely believe it. “God must be on our side today boys.” He took another swing from his flask.
A few troops to the left Staff Sergeant Tom Smith bolted from the crater they were taking shelter in; no sooner had the left then the dug-in machine gun nests opened fire.
“Cover fire!” Smith ordered.
It was too late, the men were shredded and lay dead or dying only a few feet away from their position.
“Medic!” someone cried. Smith was about to stop the order but a crazy son of bitch jumped from the crater and sprinted towards the fallen men.
“Ray, get back here your dumb son of a bitch before you get yourself…”
It was too late, the machine guns roared up again and Ray was hit in the chest, he fell to the floor and gasped desperately for air, he could not breathe, his lungs were cut to pieces and he lay there drowning in oxygen.
“Right boys, I want two of you to gingerly pop your heads up and lay down some cover fire. The rest of us will advance to that Sherman and cover you, got it?”
Nobody answered.
“I said you got it boys?” Smith growled.
“Yes, Sir.” Was the cry back.
On the count of three, two men propped up on the edge of the crater and began to open fire with their semi-automatic M1 Carbine rifles; the cartridge pinged out when it was empty and they quickly shoved in a fresh clip. The lads sprinted from cover and dove towards the destroyed Sherman, the Machine guns opened up but this time the rounds impacted into the turf around the crater, the two men putting down the cover fire jumped back into the crater, unhurt.
The few remaining Me 109’s and a group of P-51 Mustangs bugged out of the fight, their ammunition spent. There had been heavy losses on both sides but four of the Luftwaffe fighters survived to fight another day.
Nine Mustangs were left against five of the brilliantly flown Me 262 Swallows. Brooklyn Johnson ordered the Mustangs into three groups of two planes each & a single group of three planes.
“Don’t let the bastards behind you, single them out then destroy them one by one.” Brooklyn said. Brooklyn was the senior man now and the other pilots respected him; Brooklyn had become a fighter ace in the Pacific at the battle of Midway.
The Flak guns had started to let up with one running out of ammunition completely, one of the others had been destroyed by a P-51’s strafing run. The Me 262’s split from their formation and pushed into a steep climb that the Mustangs could not hope to match, in fact they did not even try to compete.
"Form into a loose circle boys, watch them when they streak in for the attack let them dive on by then get on their tails and give them hell."
The Mustangs did as Brooklyn said, they formed a loose circle with the lead three Mustangs backed up from the trailing planes making it difficult for the German pilots to single out a target. Brooklyn was hoping to get the Swallows into a turning fight so he could negate their raw speed advantage.
The Me 262’s dived and when in range opened up with their four 30mm MK 108 autocannons, bullets rained down towards the circling targets. A burst peppered the side of Jimmy’s Mustang which was on its side, ready to dive after the Me 262. Puffs of light grey smoke flitted out of the fighter but it said in the air.
The Swallows powered on through the circle of American fighter and raced towards the earth; the Mustang’s nosed over to follow them.
"This is it men, nail them when they try to climb again!" Brooklyn ordered.
The Mustang's followed their prey heading towards the deck. The Me 262's did not try to climb though, instead they leveled out and split into three groups, two broke left another two broke right and the final one, the squadron leader carried on flying low over the top of the mountain.
The Mustangs followed suit and as they were diving the lead plane in the formation of three opened up on the trailing Me 262, tracer reached outwards and cut the Swallow in its left wing. The engine billowed black smoke then it exploded in an instant, the wreckage detonated into the field, the pilot had no chance to eject as he was so low to the ground.
The Me 262 saw his wingman blown out of the sky, he pushed his throttle forwards and as the Mustangs were coming to the end of the drive, they lost the speed advantage the head as they had to level out.
Two Mustangs trailed the single Squadron leader who was still flying fast and low over the surrounding countryside.
“Is he bugging out?” Brad asked.
"Looks like it." His wingman replied.
Suddenly the Swallows engine powered down and he slowed, the pilot fought with his controls.
A broad smile swept across Brad Taylor’s face. “I got you now you bitch.”
The two Mustangs closed the gap and Brad brought the piper over the target.
Without warning the Me 262 cut all power nosed up slightly then rolled over to the left. The Mustangs were too close, too confident and they zoomed on passed.
“Shit, shit, shit where is he? Can you see him Ron?”
“Fuck he’s…” Ron was cut off as a hail of bullets completely obliterated his aircraft.
“Shit.” Was all Brad could say as he began to turn his plane aggressively, desperately trying to shake off the German on his tail.
The Me 262 rolled slightly then waited for Brad's next maneuver, with icy cold nerves he waited, and then Brad made the fatal error lost his nerve and went to climb out of the fight. It was too late and the Swallow pilot only needed this split second to open fire. The rounds bit into the tail of the Mustang which disintegrated and split from the fuselage. Brad bailed out but his parachute failed to open.
Three Mustangs still trailed one Me 262 and were all eager to get the kill, they jockeyed for position. They had the scent of blood and much like a pack of hungry reef sharks they closed in. The Me 262 slowed to let them close the gap, suddenly it broke left then bullets raced forwards into the lead Mustang, he was hit head on, his propeller was badly damaged and the rounds cut into his engine; flames engulfed the cockpit and the fighter rolled over and exploded into the grass.
The other two Mustang’s did not know what had just happened, their pilots reacted too slowly and the second Mustang was hit in the cockpit, it disintegrated and the pilot was killed instantly; the plane listed lazily to the left and impacted into a small wooded area.
The third Mustang panicked and pulled hard left on the controls, he narrowly avoided the Squadron Leader’s Me 262 who had appeared out of nowhere to save his comrade. The American pilot was climbing at too steep an angle and was losing airspeed, he stalled it but the second Me 262 had misjudged his attack and was coming in too fast, the two planes collided mid air, they both spun to the ground and exploded.
A Me 262 was low on fuel and out of ammunition the pilot reluctantly pushed hard on the throttle and streaked away to the South. This left four Mustangs and two Swallows in a sky that had been crowded not five minutes. The Squadron leader and his wingman climbed again pushing their Me 262’s for all they were worth.
Brooklyn Johnson and his wingman Jimmy prepared for another assault.
“We have to get that son ova bitch this time Jimmy, we won’t have the ammunition for another go.”
“Roger that Brookie, it’s been an honor serving under you sir.”
The Mustangs climbed after the Me 262’s who nosed over inverted and fired down on the American fighters, the Mustangs opened up as well; deadly tracer rounds danced across the sky.
Jimmy Doolittle gave it all he had as he squared off with the second Me 262, the both fired until their guns were empty but they had managed to miss every one of their shots, they still flew towards each other but at the last minute Jimmy turned left while the Me 262 went right. The Me 262 bugged out of the fight.
“Get on the tail of that 262 boys, I have no ammo left.” Doolittle shouted.
The two Mustangs went after him but gave up the case as the Me 262 accelerated off into the distance. The Mustangs went for home even though they had very little chance of making it on their remaining fuel.
Brooklyn Johnson was still firing bursts into the Squadron leader, who was returning fire with as good as he got, they were about to reach the point where they would both have to disengage but neither wanted to flinch first.
Brooklyn's six 0.50 caliber Browning machine guns chuntered away until they had nothing left, the last rounds impacted into the nose and canopy of the Me 262 but it kept coming. Brooklyn managed to roll left just in time as the Swallow continued on. Brooklyn leveled off but the Me 262 continued to gain speed as it dived towards the earth. It never recovered and slammed at full speed into the field below. Brooklyn’s rounds had taken out the Squadron leader and he had his fifth confirmed kill of the day; he was now a double ace.
Something was not right; Jimmy had not got a joyful celebration from his friend. Brooklyn coughed and then spluttered a mixture of mucus and blood up onto his chest. He looked down and could see blood oozing from the bullet wounds in his left arm, chest and leg. He smiled weakly as he brushed his right hand over the picture of his wife Alana and his young child Brooklyn Junior, their faces smiled happily back.
Brooklyn's Mustang began a shallow dive as he fought hard not to black out but the edge of his vision had already started to blur and his body was not responding to his commands, he struggled to drew in one last deep breath but it just would not come and their air bubbled out with blood from a hole in his left lung.
Despite Jimmy Doolittle’s frantic attempts to get Brooklyn to pull up, he got no response and Brooklyn’s Mustang crashed nose first into a Polish field. Brooklyn did not feel the impact though as he died from his wounds, staring into his wife’s eyes on the way down.
The Battle in the air was over.
Xerum 525
Walther Gerlach and his son Joseph worked away hard, oblivious to the death and destruction raging above their heads. In the secure bunker they had managed to stabilize the massive bell-shaped device in an electrically charged atmosphere. The power was kept at 75 percent.
Bright blue lightning spread across the device in vine-like patterns, over the last few hours the bell had started to radiate a blue glow. The counter-rotating tubes of Xerum 525 created a vortex again.
Walther stood at his control station when it hit him, a purple beam of light washed through the thick glass and washed over him, his pupils dilated and his eyes glowed a deep purple color. Joseph watched enviously, ‘why did he never receive the visions?' But his task was just as important; he had to keep the power continuous otherwise the devices secrets would be lost.
Jakob Sporrenberg had finally managed to get the emergency generators going and get a message out to the G
erman high command. As far as he could tell the situation above ground was stable for now, but he knew his outnumbered troops would not be able to hold out forever; especially as their air support was gone. He needed to get a message out to Hauptsturmführer Krause but the lines of communication were garbled.
Sporrenberg cursed, he would have to wait deal with that insubordinate cockroach Gerlach. The Die Glocke experiments had taken up a lot of valuable time, resources and money and all they had to show for it were some ‘visions’ that gave the blueprints for how to build Wunderwaffe. Sporrenberg shook his head as he left the generator room. “What the Führer sees in this Vril Society hoodoo I don’t know.”
Walther’s hair stood on end and his wispy white hair went deadly straight, he was quietly muttering to himself in a language Joseph did not recognize. The older scientist had been like this for the last ten minutes.
A large explosion echoed out from the center of the laboratory, the device rocked under the force. Joseph cursed as the power levels began to drop. “Not again you bastard!” He shouted as he fought to keep the air electrified. He struggled in vain as the air discharged violently. Joseph watched as the same transformer that had caused the problem earlier sparked and billowed grey smoke.
As the bell lost power the purple aura dissipated snapping Walther aggressively out of his trance. The scientist looked confused, he stumbled forward slightly and Joseph had to leap towards him to stop his old man from falling.
Walther blinked quickly, his bloodshot eyes laboring to regain focus; a trickle of blood ran out from his nose. The scientist’s eyes rolled back into his skull then rapidly snapped back into focus as he inhaled deeply.
The old man spoke weakly at first, “Whe…where am I? How…How am I back here?...No no no!” He shouted. A red glow of anger began to replace the paleness in his face.
“Joseph, get my pen and paper I need to write this down while it is fresh in my mind, you can explain to me what the fuck happened later.”