Fighter Escort Page 2

  "Captain, I see our big brothers straight ahead!"

  Returning his attention to the horizon in front of him, Dawson confirmed the large American formation.

  "They're pretty hard to miss, aren't they?" he replied.

  Closing in on the slower moving American planes, Dawson adjusted his course and speed to bring the squadron alongside the Liberators. Escorting a group this large, he thought about repositioning his planes to cover both sides of the formation. By splitting into two smaller groups of six Hurricanes each, one led by Dawson and the other by Captain Simms, they could more readily protect the Americans from enemy fighters.

  "Andy," Captain Dawson radioed to Simms, "let's split the squadron here. I'll stay and cover the left side."

  "Roger, Ted," agreed Simms. "I'll cover the right from above."

  Simms signaled to the pilots in his group and started to climb. Five other Hurricanes broke from the squadron and followed Simms up and over to the other side of the formation. Just as Simms and his men settled in above the right side of the bomber group, a distinctive voice rang through Captain Dawson's headset.

  "Howdy, boys! Captain Sam Ross here, United States Army Air Force!

  Y'all must be the ones takin' us to the dance today!"

  Dawson quietly chuckled to himself as he listened to the American's heavy southern accent fill the radio.

  "Good morning to you, too," Dawson replied. "Captain Ted Dawson and the rest of the RAF 14th Squadron at your service."

  Again, the radio boomed with the voice of the American flyer. "Our mission must be really important to git you RAF boys up here so early in the mornin'."

  Dawson called back, "Fighter Command is worried you chaps won't be able to find your way home without us." Captain Ross, the pilot of the lead B-24, and commander of the mission, called to his navigator in the nose of the plane. "These Brit fighter jocks seem to think you ain't gonna be able to drive us home after the party. Whatch y'all think of that?"

  The navigator acknowledged the teasing with barely a nod and a shrug of his shoulders. Captain Ross slapped his leg and let out a hardy laugh.

  Then he radioed back to Dawson, "We'all been here once or twice before and gotten home all right. But its nice havin' some 'Little Friends' just the same."

  A bit curious, Captain Dawson examined the lead American plane. He noticed two things. First, painted just behind the glass nose of the B-24 was a picture of a cowboy on a bucking horse.

  "...the quiet ride they were enjoying would soon come to an abrupt end"

  The name "Texas Buckaroo" was inscribed below it. Second, Dawson counted thirty-five small bombs, as well as twelve enemy planes and one ship, painted just under the pilot's window. The title "Texas Buckaroo" explained the American's accent. And the thirty-five bombs, representing thirty-five missions, said a lot about the veteran pilot and crew.

  Surveying the eastern horizon in front of him, Captain Dawson watched the French coast gradually roll into view. Beyond the sandy beaches he could see clouds rising over the green mainland casting dark shadows on the distant ground below.

  Each man in the formation knew that the quiet ride they were enjoying would soon come to an abrupt end. There wasn't a chance that the sound of sixty airplanes thundering through the skies over occupied France would go unnoticed. Most likely, the discovery of the American bombers and their RAF escort would result in a launch of enemy fighter planes, flown by German pilots determined to cut them down.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FIGHTERS CLOSING

  Anticipating an attack, it was no surprise to Captain Dawson when he spotted a squadron of sleek German Messerschmitt 109 fighters closing in on his position. Dawson radioed a warning to the entire formation.

  "Everyone, heads up! Bandits closing at ten o'clock!"

  Before the message was even finished, the allied pilots and crews prepared for the unavoidable battle to come.

  Dawson quickly called to Captain Simms, "Andy, stay with the bombers. We'll fly to intercept."

  "Roger," Simms hastily responded.

  Dawson and his squad broke away from the formation to engage the oncoming German fighters. In an attempt to out maneuver the English planes, the squadron of Me 109s split up. However, the six RAF pilots immediately responded to the enemy's strategy. Captain Dawson and three more Hurricanes banked hard left to pursue one group of Me 109s, while the other two fighters looped to intercept the remaining German planes.

  Instantly, the battle reached full force. White-hot tracer bullets blazed dotted lines through the sky when the opposing planes opened fire at each other. Flying in wide circles, the English fighters skillfully worked to contain the German squadron, holding them back from the eastward moving bomber formation. As a measure of their success, Dawson watched the B-24s pass safely into the distance.

  While Dawson's half of the squadron held the deadly enemy fighters at bay, Captain Simms continued to escort the American bombers to the mission's target. Ahead, the rising clouds had thickened.

  Passing over the French coastline, Simms spied the fortifications the Germans were building into the beaches below. Concrete bunkers bristling with field guns and other artillery dotted the once peaceful, sandy bluffs. Continuing inland, they had less than fifteen miles left to reach the target area. But Simms knew these would be the toughest miles of the mission.

  "Men," Captain Simms radioed to the formation, "there's no way we're going all the way to the target without more action, so be..." A blast of machine gun fire hurling past his cockpit cut the message short.

  "B-Flight, break with me!" Simms shouted through the radio and rolled his plane into a steep banking turn. The squad of Hawker Hurricanes followed Simms away from the Liberators to battle the new wave of Messerschmitt fighters pouncing on them from behind the gray cloud cover.

  Preoccupied with his dangerous situation, Simms barely noticed the American commander's voice ringing through his headset.

  "I'm takin' the boys down through the clouds to three thousand feet so we can get a clean look at the targets."

  "Roger," Simms quickly responded. "We'll hold the fighters, then catch up to you!"

  Concerned for the English pilots, Captain Ross cautioned his new friends, "You RAF boys take care now, ya' hear."

  Simms noticed the bombers gently angle earthward while the battle with the Me 109s raged. The small RAF group soon found themselves overwhelmed by the attacking Germans. Caught in the whirlwind of combat, the headsets of Simms and his pilots sparked with messages from each other as they struggled with the cunning enemy fighter planes.

  "Hyatt, watch your left, two Bandits closing!" crackled in the pilot's headset.

  "See 'em!" Hyatt responded, and quickly veered to avoid the incoming fighters.

  "Three more diving from above!" Captain Simms urgently informed his men when he spotted several more German planes joining the battle.

  "I flamed one!" Gainey called into his radio.

  The rest of the pilots looked around to see flames and thick black smoke pouring from the Me 109 Lieutenant Gainey had crippled.

  "Brian, one down all right, but watch the other one on your tail!" warned Lieutenant Hyatt, while flying above and behind Gainey's plane.

  Listening to the message, Gainey twisted in his seat to look back. The risky situation became all too clear to the young pilot when he saw sparks flicker from the firing guns of the Messerschmitt bearing down on his Hurricane.

  "Break right, Brian, break right!" Hyatt shouted into his radio as he closed in behind the menace that was stalking Gainey.

  At Hyatt's direction, Gainey rolled his plane sharp right, and out of Hyatt's way. The moment Gainey's Hurricane cleared the line of fire, Hyatt triggered his weapons. He could feel his plane suddenly shake when all eight machine guns poured into the German fighter in front of him. The Me 109, that moments before threatened Hyatt's friend, lurched into a steep dive. A twisting trail of smoke traced its path to the ground.

  Gainey radio
ed to Hyatt, "Thanks for the help, James. I really owe you one this time!"

  "You did manage to get my leave back," Hyatt replied, "so we're even...for now!"

  Just then the familiar voice of Captain Dawson filled the radio, "Could you lads use a little help?"

  Struggling to hide his relief, Captain Simms sarcastically called back to Dawson, "Feel free to join us if you have the time. But I must tell you, it's a little hot right now."

  The sound of Dawson's and Simms' customary chatter sparking across the radio immediately lifted the spirit of every pilot in the squadron. Finished with the first wave of fighters, Dawson and his men raced to join Simms and his pilots fighting the second group of enemy planes. Reunited, the full squadron of British Hurricanes could overpower the German fighters.

  Dawson adjusted his goggles and then ordered into the radio, "Mix it up gentlemen!"

  "The remaining German planes...turned from the fight..."

  Once Dawson's group joined the battle, the tone of their radio messages changed from caution to calculation. The hunted had become the hunters. Soon, three more Me 109s were pushed out of the deadly game, spiraling earthward in flames. The remaining German planes, hopelessly outnumbered, turned from the fight and raced away to safety. The only enemy pilots left in the area were the ones slowly drifting to the ground in parachutes.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE TARGET

  Thanks to their RAF fighter escort, the American bombers had reached the target area unscathed. With the Texas Buckaroo leading the way, the B-24 Liberators descended below the gathering clouds and prepared for the bomb run.

  "Two miles out boys, so get ready!" Captain Ross, radioed to the entire group. "And y'all keep your heads up for ground fire."

  The formation spread out when the bombardiers began to spot the specific roads, bridges, and railway lines used to supply the German build-up at the coast. Just as Captain Ross had warned, the crews in the B-24s could see enemy ground forces firing at them when the thundering formation neared a set of bridges connecting to a railway yard.

  "You call it, bombardier!" Ross radioed to the anxious lieutenant sitting in the nose of the plane.

  Hunched over his bombsight in the Texas Buckaroo, the bombardier took control of the plane's heading. Peering down to the ground below, he skillfully maneuvered the B-24 to drop the bombs on the fast approaching target. While the bombardier kept a steady approach to the arched steel bridge, other Liberators headed for the railway yard less than a mile to the north.

  Pressing the release trigger with his thumb at the precise moment, the bombardier called to the crew, "Bombs away!"

  Seconds later, bright flashes and plumes of black smoke rose from the ground. Five more B-24s following the Texas Buckaroo also dropped their payloads on the bridge. From his position in the back of the Buckaroo, the tail gunner watched the trestle give way and collapse into the river it used to span. In similar fashion, the railway yard to the north of their position burst into flames after being hammered by other bombers in the group.

  "Where's that oil depot, boys?" Captain Ross barked over the radio. "We ain't done 'til we hit that oil depot!"

  The gathering clouds had thickened over Calais and the entire French mainland. A shifting wind pushed the planes from side to side. Soon, poor weather would force any aircraft out of the area. Flying dangerously low because of the cloud cover, Captain Ross was all too aware of the worsening situation. The formation of B-24s raced to their last target before either the storm or more German fighters could stop them.

  "Time to finish the mission, boys!" Ross radioed to the group. "Y'all with bombs left, find that oil depot! The rest of us are gonna soften the place up a little with some machine gun..."

  "Chief, I see six, no seven, bandits at nine o'clock low!" the Texas Buckaroo's waist gunner shouted.

  "There's five more coming up at twelve o'clock!" the co-pilot warned.

  Seconds later, the American bomber formation was under attack by a swarm of German fighters. The protective guns in the B-24s sparked to life as the crews took aim at a fresh squadron of Me 109s fearlessly screaming through the flock of American planes. Caught between buffeting winds and the speedy attack of the German Messerschmitts, the cluster of Liberators was breaking up and spreading apart.

  After making several passes over the bombers, the German fighters regrouped and concentrated their attack on the B-24s flying straight for the final target. The oil depot, by far the most important target of the mission, was only a mile away.

  From the corner of his eye, Captain Ross noticed the bomber flying to his left, the "Sledge Hammer", was blanketed by enemy planes. Hopelessly out gunned, one of the four engines burst into flames and the B-24 began to lose altitude. Spewing a wide trail of black smoke, the battered American plane slipped below the flight path of the rest of the formation.

  Suddenly, the Texas Buckaroo was rocked by a rain of bullets from the German squadron's machine guns. The Buckaroo's gunners fiercely returned fire on the attacking Me 109s, but to no avail. Enemy fire ripped through the plane's skin and smashed into instruments, cutting electrical and hydraulic lines. Thick gray smoke began to fill the cabin of the damaged bomber.

  "Chief, engines one and two are on fire!" the co-pilot frantically yelled through the smoke.

  Captain Ross reached forward to his instrument panel and called out, "Cut power to one and two!"

  The American fliers quickly flipped a series of switches to stop the fuel supply that fed the burning engines.

  "Fire suppression and feather the props," Captain Ross continued, using a calm, seasoned voice.

  The co-pilot flipped more switches and confirmed his Captain's orders.

  "Roger Chief!"

  Ross and his co-pilot watched their burning engines. Finally the yellow flames flickered out. Luckily, the immediate danger from the engine fire was over.

  For the moment, the weary crew of the crippled Texas Buckaroo was relieved to see the vicious German fighters break away from their plane. But their concern resurfaced as they helplessly watched the Me 109s focus their attack on other bombers further back in the formation.

  Just then, the huge round storage tanks of the oil depot came into view. Captain Ross stiffened in his seat, determined to attain his goal.

  Although the German fighter planes had rattled the Americans, they hadn't stopped them from reaching the final target. The tail gunner in the Texas Buckaroo watched strings of bombs release from several other B-24s and plummet to the ground. A high pitched whistle pierced the air as the staggered rows of bombs fell toward the earth.

  When the explosive payloads crashed into their target, the tanks ruptured, and oil burst into flames. The Texas Buckaroo shook from the blast. Looking back over his shoulder, Captain Ross could see thick black smoke rising into the air from fuel burning out of control.

  Turning forward, a smile brightened Captain Ross' grimy face. The moment of satisfaction from a successful mission, however, was all too brief. The battered Liberators were still in enemy territory, still fighting German Me 109s, and still a long way from home.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE SHIFTING WIND

  Harry and his friends, Stuart and Erin, ran through the fields keeping their kites aloft, even in the shifting wind. They had worked their way back across the Winslow yard and were nearing a wooden fence bordering the Reid farm.

  Dark stories about Mr. Reid had made him well known to the children in Hampton County. Rumor had it that Mr. Reid hated everything, except his chickens. Practically everyone used the nickname "Mad Man" Reid when telling tales about the haggard old man and his rundown farm.

  While their kites continued to soar high in the sky, Harry and Stuart pulled at the taut strings causing them to sway in the air.

  "Hey, you two," Erin warned. "Your kites are getting awfully close to each other up there."

  "Stuart keeps crowding me," Harry defiantly complained.

  "Just keeping you on your toes, Harry
," Stuart teased. Then he tugged at the string to steer his kite even closer to Harry's.

  The combination of Stuart's good natured play and a sudden shift in the wind caused his kite to twist and dart across the sky. The kites collided, and their strings hopelessly tangled together. Stuart and Harry feverishly jerked at their lines trying to free the two tumbling kites.

  Watching the situation unfold, Erin announced in an alarmed voice, "They're falling..."

  A frustrated Stuart shouted back, "We already know that, Erin!"

  Erin continued, "They're falling onto 'Mad Man' Reid's chicken coop!"

  Harry and Stuart looked up from the hastily wound wads of string just in time to catch a glimpse of the kites crashing onto the roof of Mr. Reid's weathered old shed. In a desperate attempt to pull the kites free of the splintered wooden roof, Stuart yanked at his line. With a snap, a limp coil of string sprang back from the tangled kites and wrapped around his hand. The lines broken, Harry and Stuart had lost touch with their kites. For a long moment, the three youngsters silently eyed each other, unsure of what to do next.

  Stuart fell back into the grass and in a defeated tone said, "Well, it was a beat up old kite anyway."

  "Mine's not!" Harry shot back. "It's brand new. We've got to go and get it!"

  Stuart simply shook his head, refusing to make any attempt to help. If retrieving his kite meant having to go on the forbidden property and disturb old man Reid, Stuart would rather it be lost forever.