Chapter III
Mission Critical
Flight Lieutenant Williams adjusted himself in his seat, for probably the thousandth time. The plane he had been assigned for this mission was tiny and cramped, with barely enough room for his long legs. It was at least ten years old, creaked and whistled, and had a cold draft on his right ankle that was about driving him mad. Needless to say, no one had splurged on cushions for the seat.
It had been two hours, and he was finally coming up on his target. All he needed to do was drop his two bombs, then turn and head back to Turkey, another two hours return flight. At least there would be one consolation, though. In order to carry the heavy bombs the distance from Istanbul to Bistritz and still be able to make the return flight, his plane had been converted into a flying fuel tank. Without the bombs and with half his fuel gone, he was a lot less likely to go down in flames and the return flight would be a lot less nerve-wracking.
Suddenly there it was, precisely as it had been described to him. He could see the entire base of the original castle, some parts still standing but most toppled over centuries earlier, then carted away stone by stone over the many years by locals for use in homes or fences until the entire castle was gone. The facility they described appeared to be a small structure set up toward the back of the old castle. But the most exciting thing for Roddy was his target, the machine gun nest!
It was exactly as he had pictured in the briefing; a stone circle which had originally been the base of a tower, reaching out to the west over a steep, open hill. It had to be thirty feet across, made of concentric circles of stone that looked just like a bull's-eye to Flight Lieutenant Williams. Leveling off at 10,000 feet, he prepared for his bombing run. When he was ready, Roddy pulled his plane into a steep dive.
Roddy was chosen for this mission based on his reputation as a precision bomber. Bombing a given target, starting from two miles in the sky, based on sight alone was as much art as science. Most pilots were lucky to get within a thousand feet of their intended target. With only two chances to get this right, they obviously needed to do better. Roddy had shown time and again, he could drop a bomb within fifty feet of his objective.
Hitting a particular object from a moving plane was like hitting an incredibly fast moving target which deceptively appeared not to move. The secret, which Roddy had never shared with anyone, was to lose control of his aircraft during his descent, and picture himself crashing into the target. After the bomb was released he would regain control and pull up, while the bomb would continue along his suicidal path. He had never told anyone, as the RAF had certain ideas about pilots maintaining control of their planes at all times, and tended to take the idea of pilots deliberately attempting to crash rather seriously. Roddy did not want to get into that debate with them, which could possibly end in his discharge. His method worked, and he and his plane returned safely. That was all he cared about.
Even 'out of control', Roddy still made minor adjustments to his trajectory, lining up his plane to crash precisely in the center of the bull's-eye. When everything was perfect, he pulled the lever to release bomb number one.
"Bomb's away," Roddy whispered with no one to hear, then pulled his plane out of its fall. Everything had been perfect; he had never felt so confident of a direct hit. Roddy counted out the seconds till the explosion while gaining altitude for his second run.
"Ten seconds," he counted. "Fifteen," he continued. Something was wrong. By the time he reached twenty he knew; the bomb was a dud. One thousand pounds of explosive ready to cause destruction at a single spark, yet somehow the detonator failed.
"Damn it all," Roddy cursed aloud as he regained his starting altitude of 10,000 feet and leveled off. He had planned to turn, survey his handiwork, then hopefully use his second bomb on that German research facility. Now he would have to use it on the same target. Roddy began a wide turn to set up his next bombing run. He couldn't wait to see where his first bomb had landed. Even if it hadn't exploded, he pictured it dead center of the stone circles.
Suddenly a hail of bullets ripped down the side of his plane. Roddy looked up to see a German Messerschmitt soar above him, turning for another run. The plane looked as if it might actually have been older than the one he was flying, but it was a fighter plane, and far more manoeuvrable than his bucket of bolts. More importantly, it wasn't unbalanced by a thousand pound bomb strapped under one wing. He didn't have a chance against it.
Roddy did the one thing his plane was especially good at: falling. Putting his plane into a steep dive he figured he might just outpace his faster, more agile opponent. Then if he could just find a place to drop this bomb he might regain enough control to get out of this situation alive...
Except no such luck. The Messerschmitt turned like a hawk and headed straight for him, unleashing a hail of bullets that caused smoke to pour from his engine. The plane no longer responded to his controls.
"I suppose it wasn't so much a plan as a desperate bid," Roddy acknowledged as he unstrapped himself from his seat, flung open the cockpit and leapt from the plane, already half-engulfed in flames. The plane continued to fly off in its randomly selected direction, while Roddy selected straight down rather than making any attempt at defying the laws of gravity. He had no idea where the plane with its load of fuel and TNT would end up. It likely wouldn't be difficult to find, though.
Roddy watched as the Messerschmitt circled, then returned to its base. Either they didn't realize he had jumped from his plane, or didn't care. Either way was fine with him. He didn't need the prospect of a fighter plane taking pot-shots at him as he fell; he had enough to worry about at the moment, thank you very much.
Roddy looked down to determine where he might expect to land. "Just terrific," he thought as he realized, of all places he could have jumped, he had to jump directly into the German base of operations. He was falling almost directly into the building he was meant to bomb. He was also slightly annoyed to realize that his first bomb was not dead-center of the stone platform, and was in fact nowhere to be seen.
Roddy waited as long as humanly possible, but at a height of about 250 feet he finally had to pull the ripcord, releasing his parachute. The large canvas circle bloomed over his head, like a bull's-eye for the enemy. The chute wasn't even fully deployed before the first bullets began winging past him.
He had expected some small arms fire in his direction, but was surprised to find dozens of bullets whistling past him. Of course, the machine gun nest would be targeting him! He had only moments before they found his chute and either ripped it to shreds, or lowered their sights and took him out directly. Roddy pulled on the riser straps, desperately attempting to manoeuvre toward a hastily selected landing spot.
As he expected, bullets soon struck his chute, and once they had found this target they began tracing down toward the man hanging beneath it. The time was now; Roddy pulled on the straps of his parachute, releasing the buckles holding him in, and once again found himself in freefall.
Roddy fell fifty feet in less than two seconds, hitting his intended target perfectly. He was feeling quite smug as the first thin branches of the hundred-foot oak tree bent, absorbing much of the momentum from his fall. That was until he hit the first thick, ungiving branch of the centuries-old hardwood. Roddy plummeted in an uncontrolled fall through the tree, hitting branch after branch, desperately attempting to grab on and regain some sense of control. Finally he landed in an undignified heap at the base of the tree.
"Halt! Aufstehen Engländer!" he heard someone order.
Roddy looked up to find a German soldier with a rifle covering him from about fifty feet away, by the machine gun nest. He had just fallen from 10,000 feet, and didn't have much fight left in him. Roddy stood, slowly, with his hands out to his sides.
A sudden explosion rocked the air around them. Roddy's plane had finally reached ground, perhaps a mile or more away, but the force of the bomb distracted the soldier's attention. Without even knowing what he had done, Roddy found himself with his sidearm in his hand, the German slumping to the ground.
Roddy walked over to the man, slowly, unable to believe what he had done. He had trained for months for situations like this, yet he had never actually killed a man. They had said this was war, and he would be called upon to kill. It just, hadn't meant anything to him before now. They had laughed about killing Fritz. He looked at the man. Boy, really. He didn't look like a Fritz. Maybe a John, or a Tom. He would have killed him quite easily with the bomb if it hadn't been a dud, without another thought. Somehow this was different. Very different.
Roddy looked up. He was in enemy territory, and couldn't afford to stop for a second. He was standing on the stone platform of the machine gun nest. This man must have been the gunner, but where was his partner? Likely gone for help after the bomb fell. And with shots fired it shouldn't take long for this area to be swarming with soldiers.
Roddy glanced at the machine gun, considering his mission. It wouldn't take long to replace the gunner, and put the nest back into operation. His mission was a failure unless he found some way to put it out of commission, and alert the rebel forces. The gun itself was mounted on an enormous metal structure, bolted into the stone floor. Not easily destroyed. Not without a whole lot of explosives. Roddy glanced over the edge of the platform...
And found his bomb! It had landed at the base of the tower, not five feet below him. All it needed was a tiny spark to set it off. Except how did he ignite a spark without blowing himself up in the process?
Roddy searched the German soldier and found just what he needed. Running around the side of the tower he kneeled down beside the bomb, inspecting its condition. It had hit the wall, and a large crack split it down the side.
"Perfect," said Roddy. Twisting the end of the German grenade and giving it a sharp tug to activate, he dropped the device into the crack and then stood and ran for all he was worth.
"Hier kommen, Englischer Schweinehund!" Roddy heard someone call from behind him. He was once again standing on the machine gun platform, facing a half-dozen soldiers arriving from the research building. Roddy raised his hands, and backed slowly to the low wall surrounding the platform, trying to get as much distance from the bomb as possible. He sat on the wall, his hands behind his head.
Two of the soldiers approached him, rifles pointed in his direction. Roddy gave no sign of resistance. He was caught, defeated. Except when they were close enough to grab him, he threw himself backwards over the wall. Falling ten feet to the hard ground, backwards, with six armed soldiers prepared to gun you down immediately upon landing, is usually not a great plan. Except before he could hit the ground his bomb exploded. Roddy was protected by thirty feet of earth and stone, but you wouldn't have known it. The ground rose up to meet him, then he and the ground he had been counting on remaining firm fell again, together with tons of stone, and everything went black.
A/N: Publishing another chapter this week, because I really want to get this story rolling!