Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (85 page)

On this mission they were accompanied by three Yak-9M PVO’s, adapted for night fighting from the basic Yak-9.

None of the three pilots had fired a shot that night and neither did they expect to, as the Soviets ruled the air.

0325 hrs Friday 10th August 1945, Airborne over M
ü
nchen, Germany.

There it was, a smudge on the screen, not very distinct but certainly something worth chasing and killing, for nothing in the air over Munich that night was friendly, except the two aircraft operating five thousand and ten thousand feet above “Night Reaper”, the Northrop Black Widow of Captain Lassiter and his crew.

He had bottom station at ten thousand feet and according to the radar operator, there were a number of slow moving aircraft at about nine thousand five hundred feet altitude, some eight miles ahead.

A matter-of-fact statement in his ear told him that one of his group, Radowski, had three contacts in the air space above, joined by an eager French-Louisianan voice confirming that the third Northrop also had acquired and was attacking.

Lassiter slowed his airplane with perforated air brakes, part of the modification they wished to keep secret, but still he found he was gaining on what was in front of him.

Making the decision to keep back, he manoeuvered ‘Reaper’ in a lazy circle as he let his comrades do their work.

He was facing directly away from the group he had discovered when his gunner informed him of a kill.

Completing his turn, he was able to watch the night sky dissected by an orange line, marking the death plunge of an aircraft.

Within a second, another similar line started, almost prescribing a fiery cross in the sky, but terminated early as the aircraft exploded before reaching the ground. The first aircraft had buried itself into the hallowed soil of the Friedhof Perlach, killing the gravedigger preparing for the following days business.

“Antoinette has a confirmed kill”, Lebel transmitted, his Cajun voice betraying his excitement at a first ever shoot down.

“Scratch one for Warsaw, on number three” the New York Pole’s voice clinical as ever when killing enemies of his country, particularly those who had betrayed and violated her in 1939.

Going round once more, Reaper’s pilot again missed the death of an enemy and this time there was no streak of flame to mark its death, just the toneless Radowski claiming his second kill for his aircraft “Warsaw’s Revenge”, named for his home City and his general outlook in war.

Now that was over, Lassiter could do his work.

The loss of two of her top cover fighters disturbed Major Ludmilla Perkova, leader of tonight’s mission. She was a Hero of the Soviet Union, as were two others in the air with her that night, and you did not get the award for being timid. She was disturbed because no night fighters had been encountered before and her cover was reduced from three to one in as many seconds.

Ordering her regiment to be vigilant, she began her run in on the target, the Forstenneder Park, where a tented city was springing up and growing daily.

As per the usual tactics, distance between aircraft was important, especially as on the run-in the engine was turned off to glide, creating a soft whooshing sound, which was all that normally betrayed the presence of death in the sky above.

Perkova reached for the engine switch and died in the same instant, a burst of 20mm cannon shells ripping through her position and exploding, destroying her completely and killing her navigator outright.

The following PO-2’s saw only the briefest flare from the night-fighters guns but realised that something was very wrong.

Taking over, Perkova’s next senior officer dived her aircraft, trading height for safety, and failing.

The Black Widow, flying as slow as Lassiter dared, curved lazily round onto the biplanes tail. The navigator saw or sensed the approaching shape and fired her ShKas machine-gun, the tracer merely giving a more accurate steer-in for Lassiter. Despite this, he missed with a small burst but Washington the gunner, controlling the quad .50cal remote turret, did remarkably better. Heavy bullets killed both aircrew messily, and inflicted structural damage, causing the airframe to disintegrate.

Circling lazily around once more, ‘Reaper’ was confronted with an enemy regiment in seeming panic, aircraft splitting in all directions and diving for safety. The Night Witches were doing as they were trained, two even deciding to press on with their attack. Lassiter focused on these two and ordered his other aircraft to concentrate on those attempting to escape.

Acknowledgements from the others followed but he still felt the need to remind them of the air safety zone and how close they were going to go to it. Friendly Flak isn’t friendly, a maxim for pilots the world over.

The rearmost PO-2 seemed on autopilot, almost stationary, not attempting to sideslip or do anything to avoid the pursuer. This was the regiment’s junior pilot whose bravery in pressing on was not matched by either her composure or her flying skill under pressure.

Concentrating hard, Lassiter managed to register radio calls recording success for both his fellow Northrop’s, all the time trying not to stall as he gained on his quarry.

The PO-2 died and this time there was no swift death for her occupants. Both crew were hit but not killed, both wounded but conscious, they rode their burning craft into the ground, mercifully ending their ordeal.

Seeing the last one directly in his sights he pulled the trigger once more and was greeted with nothing more than silence, as the weapons were empty or jammed.

Cursing he swung lazily by the PO-2, encouraging his gunner to take a shot on the way past.

He did, as did the navigator of the PO-2. No bullets hit the vulnerable biplane. Seven hit the Black Widow; or rather, five hit her and two hit flesh.

Whilst not dead, Washington had a very nasty and prodigiously bleeding head wound and was not in a position to contribute further that night, collapsed senseless on the floor of his gunner’s station as he was.

The other was in Lassiter’s right shoulder and it damn well hurt.

Considering it had been a wild burst, the female gunner had done a good job, as flares suddenly erupted next to Mackenzie. Fire invaded his position, damaging the radar, destroying his maps and burning his legs. The fire extinguishers did their work as he battled to beat down the flames, choking himself and the unconscious gunner with the toxic fumes. In agony, the plucky operator twisted and tried to put the oxygen mask on his gunner, as flames fired up again, adding burns on top of burns on his legs.

The PO-2 had missed its target, over flying in an attempt to evade the Black Widow and now turned, heading for home directly over Forstenneder Park.

‘Night Reaper’ weighed nearly twenty-three thousand five hundred pounds in her stockinged feet and was built to American specifications; heavy and robust.

For Lassiter the decision was instant and irrevocable, cutting through the pain and focusing him.

He dropped his starboard wing and described a curve, judging his approach perfectly, accelerating, and calling out to Mackenzie to hold tight.

A point approximate five feet from the end of ‘Reaper’s’ starboard wing came into high speed contact with the rim of the PO2’s rear cockpit area. Metal versus canvas and wood. Metal won, carving through the position and separating what was left of the navigator from the front of the aircraft, which fell from the sky and blossomed into a fireball on the ground as bombs armed for dropping exploded on impact.

That was not something Lassiter had considered and the thought left him cold.

One bullet had hit the radio and the Radar Operator was desperately trying to fix it, despite the fact that he had dislocated two fingers on his left hand when the impact happened. Try as he might, transmitting was beyond them, although they could hear more successes from their comrades.

Feeling sick, cold, and bleeding like a stuck pig, Lassiter turned for his new home, leaving the Cajun and the Pole to finish the job, which they did very efficiently and at no cost. The pair left only two PO-2’s to return to relate the horrors endured by the Night Witches.

In three years of combat against the Luftwaffe many of them had died, but never had they suffered such losses in one single night and it would take them a long time to recover.

None of their highly decorated female officers in the air that night survived the encounter with the 416th.

Lassiter executed what he considered to be a passable landing on return, considering Mackenzie was not feeling too confident in his navigation and his own vision was not all it could be.

His commanding officer begged to differ and rode out in a jeep to chew the Captain out for such a poor landing.

No transmissions to warn their base, no red flares on approach to mark wounded onboard, the surprised Colonel was greeted with a burned Mackenzie passing him an unconscious Washington and soiling his Commander’s pristine Number One uniform with blood and soot.

Shouting for help, the Colonel assisted Washington to the ground and then helped Mackenzie down, trying not to touch his badly burned legs.

Smoke gently wafted from the open door as something started to burn once more.

The Colonel may have been a martinet but he was no coward and he plunged into the aircraft to get Lassiter as the flames started to build.

The airfield fire crews arrived and tackled the internal fire and both men were assisted to safety, one choking and coughing, the other unconscious from his loss of blood.

Base medics were all over them in seconds and the four were rushed away to the hospital tent on the north side of the strip.

Working hard, the docs got bloods and fluids into all three aircrew and by the end of two hours hard labour they were satisfied enough to assure the smoke blackened Base Commander that all three would live, and two would fight again, Mackenzie the probable sole exception.

Wheezing and taking his fill from the oxygen at his side, the Colonel wondered what the hell had gone on that night and couldn’t wait to hear the story of ‘Night Reaper’ in full.

Some of what had happened had been filled in by an excitable Cajun pilot who was in sickbay having his hand stitched after cutting it climbing out of his aircraft, but there was clearly so much more to hear.

When the Colonel eventually learned of the full events of that night from Washington, Mackenzie, and Lassiter, he was amazed and congratulated them all.

On reaching his office later, he firstly composed himself, and then composed his formal recommendations for the Medal of Honor.

0423 hrs Friday 10th August 1945, Battle lines of the 15th US Armored Division, Bad Driburg, Germany.

Having recovered from their appalling exercise in front of the Russians, the mainly untried personnel of the newly formed 15th US Armored Division had finally regained their haughty swagger. Few had seen action, and most of those that had were the product of their former commanders moving on problem people rather than sending quality personnel to provide example and experience.

 
Removing the inept Divisional Commander had been a first step and they were also boosted by a sprinkling of talent from the 13th and 20th Armored Divisions, both now back in the States training for the Invasion of Japan.

The inclusion of some ex-POW tank crew made the most difference, as a handful of experienced men from the prime US Armored formations took their place alongside the greenhorns.

Not a moment too soon, as the 15th was handed a difficult mission.

Their task was to attack the Russian 3rd Army to their front and push them back to the Diemel River, relieving the pressure north of Kassel. The Soviets had already been in action for four days and had been badly handled at Hildesheim so were probably ripe for plucking.