The Red Line by John Nichol

Author:John Nichol
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2013-09-04T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

The Bombing Run

Ron Butcher (back row, far left), Sutherland crew, 1944

The alarm clock beside Section Officer Patricia Bourne’s bed at her quarters in Ludford Magna woke her at 1 a.m. She had a promise to keep. Her boyfriend, Jimmy Batten-Smith, had made a particular request earlier that evening as he handed her his writing case and papers. She now sat up and spent a few moments thinking of him, picturing his face and saying a silent prayer for his safety. Then she went back to sleep.

Over Thüringen Wald, Jimmy’s mate Rusty Waughman had made the turn for the last leg of the journey. As they approached the target Rusty was punishingly aware that the endgame was not going to plan. He could see that a number of the markers dropped by the Pathfinders were over the target, but by no means all. ‘Many others fell further to the east, in particular over the small town of Lauf …’

Friedrich Ziegler’s farmhouse was in the village of Kleingeschaidt, not far from Lauf. He had been woken by the drone of hundreds of approaching engines. The farmhouse beds were reserved for the women, while the men and boys slept wherever was cosiest and most comfortable. But as soon as he heard the bombers in the sky Friedrich threw back his blanket alongside the still-warm oven and ran to the shelter in the basement. His heart hammered against the walls of his chest.

The night was bitterly cold, but the air inside the basement was thick with sweat and fear. It was so dark they were unable to see their hands in front of their faces. All 12 of them were crammed into this confined space: Friedrich’s mother and father and grandparents alongside the farmhands and French PoWs who chattered away excitedly in a language the young German boy still found bewildering.

They were all wrapped in blankets, perched on suitcases, leaning back against the cold, bare sandstone walls. As the aircraft grew nearer, Lux, the family Rottweiler, started to whine at Friedrich’s feet. When the boy heard the unmistakable whistle of falling bombs, a combination of fear and excitement coursed through him. He expected one to blast through the roof any second now and bury them beneath a heap of rubble. He could hear the older ones mumbling prayers in the darkness.

They often heard the British planes overhead and always had to take shelter until they had passed. The war had become a daily part of his and his friends’ life – the weekly Hitler Youth meetings never allowed them to forget what the hated British and their bomb-laden planes were doing to their homeland – but Friedrich’s village had not been hit before.

That night was different. He heard the Allied aircraft screaming from the sky, and felt the ground shake as they piled into it. If he got out of the cellar alive, Friedrich knew there would be a host of wrecks to explore in the morning. His father seemed to sense what he was thinking.

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