A thousand suns

‘We’re not going to shoot ’em down, are we, Danny?’ asked Smitty.

‘I don’t know yet… lemme see… lemme see…’

‘Maybe their radio’s shot, that’s why they weren’t answering you,’ added Smitty.

‘Or maybe they’re Polish or something?’

‘Guys… guys!.. Shut up a second and let me think, will you?’ said Ferrelli. He slid back into the leading position of the Vee-formation.

What now? There was something wrong about that bomber. Nothing singularly told him that, just a host of little things. They weren’t responding to radio contact. They were on their own in an area of sky that didn’t normally get B-17 traffic. There seemed to be hardly any crew. He’d seen only the two pilots and the tail-gunner, no belly-gunner, upper-turret-gunner, no bombardier or navigator, neither waist-gun seemed to be manned. Then there were the earlier evasive manoeuvres. It was all suspicious, but Ferrelli wasn’t sure he wanted to be the author of a mistake that might cost the lives of at least three of his compatriots.

And what if it is escaping Nazis? You want to be the dope who dropped the ball?

That decided him.

‘Okay, boys, here’s what we’re going to do… we’re going to wing this bird so she has to ditch. If I’ve made a stupid mistake here, then at least nobody’s killed; on the other hand, if there are Krauts hiding inside, well then I’m sure they’ll get picked up quick enough. You guys understand me?’

A chorus of ‘Yes sirs’ crackled over his earphones.

‘You guys with me on this? Because if I’m wrong, I’m going to have to do some explaining why I decided to shoot down one of ours when we land. It’s gonna help with the paperwork if you boys can vouch I didn’t go all crazy on you.’

Ferrelli’s men voiced their support. ‘We’re with you, Danny,’ said Smitty.

‘Okay, then let’s do it,’ said Ferrelli. ‘Listen up, boys, I’m going to aim a burst of fire at engine one, then move on to engine two, then three, then four, so she’s got no power and they’re forced to bail. If the tail-gunner starts popping at me, you have my permission to concentrate fire on that… but only if he fires first, you got that?’

The men confirmed the instruction.

‘Right… here I go.’

Ferrelli swung his Mustang to the left and lined up with the outer port engine of the bomber with his gun sight. His thumb slid onto the trigger on his flight stick and he readied himself to press down.

‘Schroder, come and get them,’ said Max over the radio.

‘Right. We’ve jettisoned our drop tanks and we’re moving in now. When we start firing, dive and pull right so you’re well clear of the crossfire,’ Schroder responded calmly.

‘Understood.’ Max turned to Pieter. ‘You want to take the roof turret?’

‘You bet,’ he answered, smiling. He unplugged himself quickly and scrambled out of the cockpit towards the back, eager not to miss the start of the imminent show-down.

‘Hans and Stef… Schroder and his boys are coming in any second now, when they open fire I’m going to push us into a steep dive and pull out to the right, so be ready to hang on to something.’

Both men confirmed they’d understood.

Chapter 38

Mission Time: 4 Hours, 5 Minutes Elapsed

6.10 a.m., 300 miles from Nantes

Ferrelli looked up at the B-17 in front of him; a last, hasty assessment before committing to his decision to bring her down.

‘If I’ve made a mistake, I’m real sorry, guys,’ Ferrelli muttered.

His thumb rested on the trigger and he was preparing to release a short burst of fire when he heard the thud of half a dozen bullets impact the underside of his fuselage.

‘What the fu-?’

A Messerschmitt Me-109 roared upwards just in front of him and continued in a steep climb several hundred feet above.

‘Where the hell did that come from?’ he shouted.

He saw eleven more Me-109s either side of the first rocketing up in front of the Vee-formation and watched as they banked around for another pass.

‘Ahhhhh! shit-shit-shit!’ he heard one of his boys shouting.

The P51 to his immediate left lost a wing amidst a shower of fragments and bullets and swerved violently towards him. He had to pull up hard, out of the formation to avoid it. ‘Break! Break! Engage targets at will!’ he heard himself bellowing.

The Vee-formation instantly disintegrated as each of the Mustangs pulled out of the formation and attempted to find a valid target, meanwhile the B-17 suddenly dropped into a steep dive leaving the skirmish behind it.

‘Bastards! You goddamn Krauty bastards!’ he heard Smitty screaming angrily.

Ferrelli’s evasive action put him up on the same level as the Me-109s, now curling around to descend on the disorganised P51s below.

Oh my God, my boys are going to be shot to pieces.

He pulled his plane round to follow the banking German fighters and found himself lining up nicely behind one of them.

‘No-o-o-o — ’