by C T Glatte
His face went serious and he continued. “The Germans have broken through with the help of those damned flying Korth. They knocked out a bunch of armor units and knifed though the lines. There’s a general retreat.” With his arms behind his back he paced to the large map of the east coast, hanging from the back wall. He picked up the pointer stick and smacked the map hard, indicating the beachhead. “Right now, it’s mayhem, but General Thomas has ordered all units to retreat north.” He pointed to the narrow point between Delaware Bay and Chesapeake Bay, just south of Wilmington. “He wants to stop them at this bottleneck.”
He slid his pointer down to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and hovered there. “A company of German Paratroopers nearly took this side of the Bay Bridge but reinforcements arrived in the nick of time and beat them back. Soon after, a large amphibious force attacked the bridge from the water, successfully taking the west side and we assume the Kent side too. We’ve lost contact with the defenders.” He let that sink in, then continued. “Now, with this assault from the water and the push by the Korth straight at the bridge, it’s clear they want it intact. If they take it, they’ll have a direct path to Washington. Our boys are hammering the western span trying to break through to set charges, but so far, the enemy defenses have held. We can’t wait. We need to take that bridge down. That’s our mission.
“Half of you will be loaded with bombs and half with rockets. Two squadrons of P-51s will fly top-cover. As you can see the bridge is long, over four-miles long, in fact. It’s an engineering marvel which took years to complete and we’re going to take it down in minutes. It’s up to Captain McDermott, but we suggest hitting the bridge mid-span. It’ll cut down on any land-based air defenses. In another day, this area will be bristling with AA guns and will be much harder to assault.
“Radar’s picked up a large force of enemy aircraft heading straight for the bridge. The Luftwaffe and Royal Air Force will be defending the span until they’ve had time to secure the airspace with AA guns.” He looked the men over. Each pilot a survivor of three days of nearly constant combat. “We have to drop the bridge…at any cost.”
Thirty-minutes later Captain McDermott and the twenty-one other P-47 pilots had climbed to ten-thousand feet and rendezvoused with a squadron of P-51s. The Mustang pilots were staggered at fifteen and twenty-thousand feet, ready to pounce. McDermott’s radio crackled and he listened to the tinny voice of ground control. “Flight thirty-six, we have multiple enemy contacts, count fifty over target and fifty more inbound. Take bearing zero-one-four to target. Over.”
McDermott keyed the mic. “Understand bearing zero-one-four to target. Over and out.”
The voice added, “Good luck, sir.”
McDermott didn’t answer but turned to the North heading and addressed his pilots. “Keep your eyes peeled for bandits, but don’t engage. You can expect small arms fire and possibly cannon from the gunboats down there, so go in fast and get outta there quick. You know the score, that bridge has to come down.” He watched the big fighter/bombers turning to follow his lead. The first ten were armed with two, two-hundred-fifty-pound bombs hanging from the wings and one five-hundred pounder from the underbelly. He’d contemplated attacking the bridge parallel to the span, but didn’t want to have to fly through land-based anti-aircraft fire. They’d fly up the bay and hit it broadside.
It was early evening and the skies were dotted with orange and yellow clouds as the sun got nearer the horizon. The view was ruined by multiple ugly plumes of black smoke. There was a battle raging below, one which hadn’t abated a second since beginning three days ago. The bay-water looked black and forbidding and he followed its path until he saw the southernmost point of Kent Island.
He pushed the nose down five-degrees. The heavily armed plane felt sluggish. That would change once he rid himself of the bombs. He scanned the sky and saw dots against the clouds. He couldn’t tell if they were friendly or not. They grew in his windscreen and he realized they were bandits, RAF Spitfires. He keyed the mic. “Bandits at eleven o’clock high.” He craned his neck searching for the P-51s. They’d be bounced in another minute if they didn’t do something. “I don’t see the Mustangs. Let’s put some distance between us.” He increased throttle and dove steeper. “We’ll skip the bombs into the bridge.”
He looked over his shoulder, the attacking planes were dots again and he surmised they’d be at the bridge and away before they caught up to them. The bay-water came up quickly, and he pulled up only feet above its icy surface. He checked his airspeed and pulled the throttle back a bit. There was something ahead. Boats, lots of boats.
He saw winking flashes and soon huge, beach-ball sized tracer rounds were flying past him. The water erupted with geysers, wetting his windscreen. His concentration was supreme, any slight movement of the stick downward and he’d be in the drink. The tracer rounds were close. It took all his willpower not to break away.
The nearest boat loomed large and he fired all eight of his .50 caliber machine guns. The gunboat was broadside and the incredible onslaught of heavy caliber bullets engulfed it and it exploded in a flash of fire. He pulled up slightly and flew through the billowing smoke, praying he didn’t run into any flying chunks.
For a terrifying second it was dark, then he flashed back into daylight and he saw boats and beyond them, the bridge span. He ignored the incoming fire and pulled up slightly to one-hundred feet then angled down slightly and released the five-hundred pounder.
He felt the plane shudder and rise as it lost the weight and he pulled the nose up to clear the span and girders, then pushed the nose back down and raced up the water. He turned and saw his bomb detonate. A huge mass of water enveloped the bridge, but he couldn’t tell if he’d damaged it. Before turning away he saw the next pilot, Lt. Davenport, fly through the gout of water and pull up. Behind him another explosion of water, but he also saw chunks of debris; he’d at least damaged it.
Over the radio he heard chatter from the P-51 pilots. They were heavily engaged. He looked up through his bubble canopy and saw the twisting turning fur-ball of aerial combat. There were multiple streaks of smoke and he hoped they were from Messerschmitts and Spitfires, not Mustangs.
McDermott was flying along the east bank of the bay-water at one-hundred feet. He craned his neck and saw his squadron mates following. He couldn’t see them all. While he searched for the next waypoint, the furthest north point of Kent Island, he keyed his mic. “Flight Thirty-Six, report in order.”
All down the line the men reported in. Of the twenty-two, there were three missing. He didn’t dwell on it now, there’d be time once the mission was completed. “Damage assessment?” he asked.
Lieutenant Thorpe, flying tail-end Charlie, keyed in. “Multiple good hits, both rockets and bombs but the span is still up. Repeat, the span is still standing. Over.”
McDermott grit his teeth and mumbled to himself, “Dammit.” He keyed the mic. “Roger. Understand. We’ll need to do it again.” They’d been over what they’d do if they needed a second run at it. “Bombs, let’s get some altitude. Rockets, move ahead and lay down fire on those boats.”
Lt. Thorpe was quick to respond. “Roger, we know what to do. Don’t wanna have to do this again, Captain. Bring it down.”
McDermott keyed the mic. “That’s the plan, Lieutenant.” He led his section of nine, each with two, two-hundred-fifty pounders on the wings, to five-thousand feet and turned back south. At this level, they’d have the optimal glide path for bombing but also be exposed to AA fire and be easily spotted and bounced by enemy fighters. He pushed to full throttle, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible.
Ground fire from alerted AA guns opened up and black specks of flak erupted in front of them. McDermott ignored it, more concerned with enemy fighters. The radio chatter from the Mustangs was still going on in the background and he couldn’t decide how it was going, but he knew there were lots of prowling enemies still about.
He glanced down and saw the rocket sect
ion’s lead plane, which he knew to be Lt. Thorpe, racing across the wave-tops. If they timed it right, McDermott’s section would come in right after they tore a gap in the boat defenses. They’d have a relatively uncontested couple of seconds to lay their bombs on target. He keyed his mic. “Keep your eyes peeled for bandits.”
The flak wasn’t heavy, but it was getting more accurate. “Let’s not make it easy on ‘em. Spread out.” He knew it was a risk, it would make them even more vulnerable to air attack, but only for a couple more minutes. He keyed the mic again. “Okay, let’s do it.”
McDermott pulled power and angled his heavy Jug down, lining up on the bridge. The boats seemed to notice them at that moment and tracer fire reached up like fingers trying to pull them down. An instant later, Lt. Thorpe’s group opened fire with machine-guns and their remaining rockets. McDermott saw multiple gunboats take direct hits. His chest tightened as a P-47 clipped the bridge and violently hit the water and tore itself apart as it tumbled.
He closed his mind to the tragedy and centered his sights on the bridge. There were men on the span, he could see them aiming and firing at the departing P-47s. There was also an armored vehicle. He touched the trigger and watched the bridge spark and the water splash. He released the trigger and held the bomb release. Not yet, not yet…Now! He pulled the release and felt the general purpose AN-M57 bombs drop off his wings. He pulled up and felt the shock wave as his bombs impacted the bridge. Direct hit! He exulted.
His glee was cut short when there was a hard hammering beneath his feet. He could feel the impacts through the soles of his boots. He pushed the throttles back to full power and lowered the nose. In front of him, he saw an LVT along the eastern bank, it was offloading troops. He depressed the trigger and his incendiary, armored piercing rounds engulfed it and it erupted in fire. He saw burning men flinging themselves into the water as he flashed past.
He made a tight right turn until he was flying west. He climbed and looked at the bridge, it was smoking and he could see a hole. He watched the last two Jugs drop their bombs and couldn’t help yelling out when two of the four bombs impacted and blew girders and concrete in every direction. The enemy armor he’d seen earlier, was gone and he figured it had dropped into the icy waters. He confirmed the damage, it looked impassable.
“Ground this is three-six, lead. Bridge is impassable. I repeat mission accomplished.”
“Roger three-six lead. Understand mission accomplished. Be advised multiple bogeys at your six o’clock. Suggest quickest speed west. Over.”
McDermott cursed under his breath and craned his neck searching for the incoming fighters. He saw them and knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun them before they had at least one pass on them. He keyed the mic. “Bomb section, bandits on our six. Be on us in thirty seconds. Let’s get on the deck.”
Lieutenant Thorpe’s voice came on. “Lead, rocket section safely away. We’ll turn back and assist.”
McDermott instantly replied as he put his Jug into a steep dive. “Negative, Lieutenant. Get your section to safety. That’s an order.” There was a radio click for a reply.
McDermott was once again skimming the wave tops only this time he was running for his life. He chanced a glance back, careful to keep his knees from jostling the controls and putting him in the drink. The enemy fighters, Spitfires, were gaining and would be upon them momentarily. He keyed his mic. “Steady. Break on my command, we’ll split them up make it harder on them.”
The nearest Spitfire was nearly on the tail-end Charlie. He’d open up any second. “Break right, Whipp! Now!”
He had to look away, the land coming up quickly. He pulled up slightly and saw soldiers diving for cover. He couldn’t tell if they were friend or foe. He heard a brief call from the Lt. Whipp, “Can’t shake him. Aw, shit, I…” McDermott whipped around and saw Whipp’s plane smash into the water, a trail of black smoke rising, marking his path.
There was another call from Lieutenant Montclair, Whipp’s wingman. “He’s got me bracketed. I — He’s on me.”
McDermott watched tracer surround and impact Montclair’s plane. It shuddered but the heavily armored Jug kept flying. McDermott couldn’t sit back and watch his section be picked apart. “Hold on, Monty.” He pulled the stick back into his belly and he suddenly weighed three times his normal body weight.
He struggled to stay conscious, the corners of his vision blurring. When he was flying back east and upside down, he flipped upright and felt the blood rush back into his head, making his eyes bulge.
The Spitfire pilot bearing down on him couldn’t believe his luck. He didn’t think he’d catch the lead pilot before he was safely inside the AA envelope over his airfield, but here he was delivering himself like a prize pig.
He depressed the trigger at the same instant the big plane went onto its back again. He watched with glee as his bullets impacted the bottom of the plane, sparking and sending bits off. He flew past it and turned, not giving the Thunderbolt another thought, but lining up on the next one in line.
McDermott felt the impacts of the Spitfire’s bullets and held his breath, waiting for the one that would come through the heavy armor plating and kill him, but it never came. He righted the plane, gave his instruments a quick check, he was losing oil, but not badly. There was a gash in his right wing, but his fuel tank hadn’t been hit. He angled down, following the Spitfire as it lined up on another victim.
He quickly closed the gap and when the Spitfire filled his windscreen, he fired all eight guns. It blew up, scattering into fiery chunks. The engine, still connected to the propeller dropped into the sea. McDermott pulled out and flew straight at the next Spitfire, still harassing Lt. Montclair. “Monty! Break left, Now!”
Lieutenant Montclair reacted instantly, turning away an instant before colliding with his flight lead. McDermott fired and the pursuing RAF pilot only had an instant to contemplate his death before he was eviscerated with heavy caliber bullets.
McDermott pulled up but knew he was too close. He felt the sickening impact as the burning Spitfire rammed into his underbelly and sent his P-47 tumbling forward. McDermott struggled to release the canopy, fighting the centrifugal force of his spinning aircraft. He only had seconds before he’d hit the icy waters.
Finally he clutched the canopy release latch and pulled. The canopy flew off and the wind shocked him, taking his breath away. He clawed at his restraints and finally felt them release.
The next thing he knew he was out and the world spun crazily. He glimpsed his plane, it was in half, the empty cockpit spinning crazily, the rudder section fluttering like a leaf in autumn. There was something he needed to do, something important, but his mind was overloaded. Oh yeah…pull.
23
General Thomas, the commander of all US military units east of the Mississippi along with Generals and Admirals from other branches of the armed forces, stood and saluted when President John Franklin stepped into the room and stood at the head of the long mahogany table. At forty-one, he was the youngest US president, but he looked to have aged considerably since war broke out. There were dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and though he gave the room a warm smile, it didn’t translate to his slate gray eyes.
“Please be seated, gentlemen. I hear you have some good news for me.”
General Thomas stood again and straightened his already immaculate Army uniform. He nodded, “Yes, sir, that’s true.” President Franklin nodded wanting him to proceed. “As you know, the invasion has been devastating for our country. They struck as far north as Long Island and as far south as Norfolk. They made gains everywhere, but mostly in the Chesapeake Bay Area. We think they were pushing toward Washington, but we stopped them.” He turned to a Lieutenant Colonel who walked to a stand holding large sheets of paper and uncovered the top sheet to show a map of the whole east coast with black lines indicating enemy advances.
General Thomas walked to the map and used a pointer stick to indicate an area near Norfolk. “They land
ed here and we held them for three days.” The Lt. Col. turned the next sheet and the map was a closeup of the area from the beach all the way to Chesapeake Bay. “On the third day they dropped a company of elite German Paratroopers from the same division that took and still holds Idlewild Airport on Long Island. The Bridge Defense Brigade soldiers tasked with defending the Bay Bridge fought them off long enough for reinforcements to arrive. A couple hours later the area was hit by British waterborne troops. After a hard fight, they took both the east and west sides of the bridge and obviously wanted to use it to thrust into the heart of Washington. Our Army Air Corps,” he indicated General Hampton, who nodded grimly, “bombed and destroyed a large segment of the bridge, here at the halfway point. They’ve been trying to rebuild, but our artillery and continuing air attacks have hindered their progress. And, I was told only minutes before this meeting that our forces have destroyed the Germanic forces holding the west end of the bridge, so it would do them no good to repair it any longer.”
There was murmuring around the room and even some grins and back slaps. The Lt. Col. turned the sheet showing a closeup of an area to the north of the Bay Bridge. General Thomas waited for the murmuring to die down then continued. “Once it was clear our forces couldn’t hold the beachhead, I ordered all our troops to retreat here.” He smacked an area where the points of land pinched to their narrowest. “With the bridge gone and our defenses bolstered on the west side of the bay, the enemy forces have to go the long way, and will have to punch through four Divisions to do it. The weather has also taken a turn for the worse, which I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
