“What goes on up there?” Stan called back to his gunner.
“Upper level defense units in contact, sir,” the gunner answered. He had been on thirty-six raids across the channel and knew what to expect.
“And they pulled us down to let the Defiants have the fun,” Stan muttered.
“Have a look, Red Flight,” Allison’s voice snapped.
Down the Hawks went for a look at the ground. They saw a band of light swing across the ground, then steady.
“Landing field lights located, port a few points,” Allison droned.
Almost at once the Liberators changed their tone. They began to growl and roar. Positions were taken and the Hawks slid up to be above the bombers, out of their way and into the path of diving Messerschmitts and Heinkels. But the lone fighter seemed to be the only enemy ship in the air.
As Stan watched the action he realized that bombing wasn’t just releasing a stick or two of bombs. Its complications were apparent. Far below them the earth had suddenly begun to erupt fire and flame. They were clear of the clouds and their objective was below, a circle inside a ring of flaming guns all pointed at the bombers. And the Liberators were going down with feathered propellers.
Twelve thousand feet below lay their objective. The bombers were in a big hurry to catch the rows of black planes on the ground, to spot the oil reserves and to smash the surface of the runways. They slipped away in screaming dives and left Red Flight to watch from above.
Tracer bullets trailed threads of fire upward and the muck of bursting shells was thick below. The Liberators were knifing straight into it. Red Flight went down to 8,000, there to stay on the alert. Stan saw a Liberator smack into a bursting shell that exploded against her understructure. The Liberator slid off to the side and burst into flames. Grimly Stan noted that no parachutes blossomed out below her as she shot to earth. The other bombers were through the muck of fire and down upon their targets.