Bombers Moon

"No." After listening to Chuck's explanation, Louis quickly came to a conclusion.

Chuck leaned back in his creaky wooden chair, looking like a dog that's been kicked for no reason.This cramped small room is too small for two people, and the desk, chair and a tall American almost fill up 414% of the space.Louis was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing an old sweater that he grabbed casually over his shirt. Today was not his duty day. The second lieutenant looked ready to hide here for a day. There were tea cups and a book spread out on the small writing desk. French novel, with a torn 01 form (*[-]) as a bookmark.

"I don't understand why you hate daytime action so much."

"I don't hate daylight operations, I hate letting pilots die for nothing - Sergeant, please put my pen back where it was."

Chuck pretended not to hear, and fiddled with the pen, spinning it between his index and middle fingers: "If my plan works, no one will die."

"I don't like 'what if'."

"Then you can't win."

“In my opinion, taking unnecessary risks is just as unwinnable.”

There was also a small wooden photo frame on the desk, not as big as a palm. The strange thing was that the side with the photo was facing out of the window. Chuck put down the pen and turned the photo frame back. Inside was a cropped black and white photo. It shows a young man sitting by the river, grinning at the camera, with tousled hair and a striped tie, suit jacket thrown on the grass.

"Is this you?"

"My brother, William, took it the day we graduated from Eton."

Chuck didn't know where Eaton was, but the name William rang a little bell in his mind. He re-examined the photo. The young man on it had exactly the same nose bridge and chin as Louis, but was subtly different. Maybe it's because of the smile: "So he now..."

"He's dead." Louis grabbed Chuck's wrist, took the picture frame, put it back next to the ink bottle, and faced out the window, "Two years ago, in the scuffle over London, it was unknown who hit a Me

109, it fell from more than 7000 feet and its wings swept William's plane before he had time to react. "

Chuck opened his mouth, closed it, shifted in his chair, looked very disturbed: "I'm sorry, I shouldn't—"

"Never mind." Louie smoothed out a wrinkle in the sheet. "Do you have siblings, Sergeant Sinclair?"

"Two younger sisters, Meggie and Suzie, aged six and four."

"I'm sure they're cute."

"Of course not. Have you ever seen a child under the age of seven? Worse than a raccoon rummaging through a trash can."

Louie laughed, turned his head quickly, and cleared his throat, as if the smile needed to be hidden and apologized as much as the cough: "You are always surprising, Sergeant."

"I don't know if it's a good thing, but thanks."

They were all silent for a while, Chuck looked at Louis, and Louis looked out the window, and when the second lieutenant looked back, the smile had disappeared, and Chuck knew that he was back behind the high wall again.

"Sorry, I can't agree with your plan. You have a great imagination, but it's too dangerous. I can't send a plane to gamble with you."

Chuck stood up: "It seems that I can only go by myself, sir."

"Then I can only wish you good luck."

Louie hadn't meant it at all when he said it other than sarcasm, and in retrospect he realized it was a mistake, or at least the wrong beginning.However, he didn't take this small episode of the rest day to heart at the time. After all, no sane pilot would really fly a bomber to France alone, and the "Flying Fortress" is still in the repair shop. Where will Chuck be in the short term? I can't go either.

Louis soon realized that he had underestimated Chuck's optimism and stubbornness. One week later, early in the morning, Louis walked to the headquarters alone. When he passed the tarmac, he suddenly found an American B17 bomber parked on the runway in the distance. Turn it around.The second lieutenant hesitated for a while, thinking it was a routine inspection, and then he noticed that the bomber had been loaded with ammunition, and the "Penguins" were not checking it, but making final preparations for it before taking off.There was no bombing mission at all that day, and the second lieutenant rushed over there quickly, trying to prevent the bomber from taking off, but it was too late.The "Flying Fortress" loaded with high-explosive bombs began to taxi, head held high at the end of the runway, and climbed towards the clear sky.

Louis gasped and grabbed the nearest mechanic: "Who allowed him to take off?"

The other party blinked, obviously very confused: "Sir, Sergeant Sinclair said you approved."

"what?"

"That's what he said, sir."

"Ready my flamethrower."

"Yes, sir."

Louie ran to his plane, unable to tell whether it was anger or anxiety at the moment.The Spitfire, numbered DWRX, was parked far away on the grass—so far away that by the time he finally took off, the B17 had disappeared from view and could not be tracked by radar. Chuck must have been flying low as planned. , to avoid detection.The radio department notified observers at coastal radar stations to keep an eye out for American bombers and to report their location if they were spotted.

Louie eventually spotted Chuck south of Fairlight, the bomber already clear of the coastline, almost clinging to the water.Louie turned on the radio, and Chuck didn't answer until he called a second time.

"Turn back immediately, Sergeant Sinclair, this is an order, over."

"You clearly approved this operation, sir, over."

"I never agreed."

"I told you I'd come by myself and you said 'good luck'."

"That's not—" Louis didn't know what to say for a while, "I'll say it again, return to the base immediately, Sinclair, over"

"There is still time to follow my plan, sir."

"No."

"Then you either shoot me down, or let me go to Saint-Nazaire by myself, over."

Louis compromised, and four minutes later, eight unloaded Blenheim bombers and 4 Hurricanes took off from the adjacent forward base.Chuck's original plan was to arrange twenty empty bombers and double the number of fighters to form a convincing guise to pretend to attack the northwest of the Brittany peninsula, distract the fighters of the Nazi Air Force, and tear a defensive gap in the south of the peninsula. .But they can't summon so many planes in a short time, they can only pray that the enemy will eat this bait.

"Sergeant, we need to settle our accounts very seriously when we get back, over."

"I'm looking forward to it, sir."

The Spitfire and the B17 parted ways, with one continuing its southeast course while the other turned northeast, heading for Brest with the Hurricane with the decoy bombers.

"Their radar will spot us soon," Louie told the hurricanes. "Lead their planes out to sea, hold them down as long as you can, but don't hold them too long, I repeat, don't melee them, over. "

The response of the Nazi Air Force was faster than they thought. It was 65 miles away from the Brittany peninsula, and the black swarm of Me

109 appeared, forty or so, mixed with a dozen Me

110.They made a beeline for the British bombers, apparently thinking that the Blenheims were coming to attack the deep-water port.The task of baiting has been completed, and Louis ordered the bomber to return immediately, leaving the attack radius of the German fighters.The eight unloaded Blenheims turned easily and accelerated towards the coast of England.

As in the summer two years ago, the Spitfire and Hurricane have no numerical advantage at all, but they have already occupied a favorable altitude, and their backs are facing the sun, perfect conditions for attacking.Louis first to Me

109 dived, followed by the slower Hurricane, shot at the enemy plane, quickly escaped, and climbed back to the sky.

The other party immediately noticed the trap, Me

110 left the queue one after another and returned to Brest, obviously not wanting to get into a fight.Louie chased for a short distance until three Me

109 lay across his face and opened fire on him.Louis pushed the joystick to the left and dodged it. The side of the fuselage was hit, but it should have been just a stray bullet that grazed the steel plate, causing no damage.

This quickly turned into a battle for altitude, Me

Both 109 and the Hurricanes struggled to climb, and neither of them could gain any decisive advantage. Me

The 109 was faster at high altitude than any RAF fighter, but the Hurricane had a much smaller turning radius than them, was nimble like an eel, and always escaped the sights.a Me

109 was shot down, spinning and falling into the sea in front of Louis. Louis did not see the end of it, because an enemy plane shot at him from the right front. Louis rushed to him and returned fire. Dodged, did not hit.

Louis glanced at the fuel gauge. There was not much fuel left, and there might only be five or six minutes of fighting time left.As if receiving some order, all Nazi fighters began to leave the battle and retreat towards France.Louis could see them turning south, probably on their way to Saint-Nazaire, but there was nothing more they could do now.

"Catch up?" the leader of the Hurricane asked. "We still have about 10 minutes of fuel."

"No." Louis replied, "All return, over."

He landed at the Beacon Hill base, unbuckled his seatbelts, threw the parachute packs to the ground crew, and ran straight from the plane to the Situation Room, which was packed with dispatchers as if ready to take on twenty Nazi squadrons.Captain Millston was there, pacing in front of the map, frowning at the sight of Louie.

"Lieutenant Linden, what on earth do you—"

"I'll explain later, sir." Louie glanced at the small colored blocks on the map that represented planes. "Where's Sergeant Sinclair?"

"His signal last appeared near Saint-Nazaire, half an hour ago." The captain shook his head. "What is this madman thinking?"

Louis didn't answer. He glanced at the wall clock and estimated the fuel level of the B17 in his mind. Chuck should be on his way back now, otherwise he would never come back again.The radar screen was empty, and everyone was waiting with bated breath, only the occasional click of the radio transceiver breaking the silence.

The hands of the wall clock slowly passed 10 minutes, and then 10 minutes again.The dispatcher called the coastal radar station a third time, and the answer was still "no plane in sight."

"He's not coming back." Captain Millston whispered Louis' greatest fear. "Anyway, there's not enough fuel."

"Call the radar station again." Louis said to the communicator. The latter picked up the microphone that had just been put down, talked to the observer far away in Northern Forland, hung up, and shook his head.

"You have to say he's a brave guy, reckless, to be precise." Captain Millston sighed, patted Louie on the shoulder, and walked away, leaving Louie standing alone, getting more and more After waiting another 10 minutes in uneasy silence, I finally gave up and walked towards the door.

A correspondent took off his headset and stopped him.

"Sir, we have a signal."

A tiny dot appeared on the flickering radar screen, and Louie stared at it in disbelief.The phone rings one after another, and the correspondents take notes quickly, answering "yes" or "no" from time to time.Louie waited anxiously, and couldn't help but walk over to the console and ask if they could confirm the identity of the aircraft.

"Yes, sir, it's a B17 bomber, the observer says it's smoking, but it's still flyable."

Louis walked back to the map as if sleepwalking, found a chair, sat down, and took a long breath.

Note 1:

The 414 form is the flight log, which the pilot needs to fill out after returning to the flight to record the number and type of enemy planes shot down.