When Hell Struck Twelve by James R Benn

Author:James R Benn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2019-07-17T00:32:09+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

We drove past where Marie-Claire and Jules had died. Their bodies were gone, thank God, but the burned-out hulk of their vehicle still sat as a reminder of the surprises the backroads of rural France had in store. We halted at a bend in the road, and Harding went ahead to check the terrain with his binoculars.

“The Thunderbolts should be here soon,” he said, signaling us to come closer. He pointed out twin knolls overlooking the roadway. “We gave them the location of the guns and orders to fly over the route to Chaville and shoot up any German vehicles or positions.”

“You’ve thought of everything, Colonel,” I said, trying to keep my expression neutral.

“Listen, this isn’t a suicide mission,” he snapped. “All indications are the Germans have no real defenses between here and Paris. There’s a string of anti-aircraft guns in an arc around the city, and that’s what those 88s probably are.”

“The fighter-bombers are going to take care of them, don’t worry,” Big Mike said.

“If you see any other Germans, don’t take chances,” Harding said. “Get off the road and take to the woods. But make it to Chaville, that’s important. You need to be in Paris before the 2100 hours curfew.”

“Colonel, that doesn’t leave us much time,” I said.

“I know,” he said. Big Mike handed around K-Rations, and we opened them on the hood of the jeep. I still had my concerns about this little jaunt, but I was hungry enough to forget about them for a moment and dig in. I devoured the biscuits, and ham and eggs straight out of the can, washed down with a bottle of wine Big Mike produced.

I’d just handed the bottle to Kaz when the drone of engines began to hum at the horizon. We craned our necks, trying to spot the speeding Thunderbolts, but the deafening roar of the low-flying planes was on us before we saw them. Heavy with death, they swooped overhead, their prop wash sucking up leaves and swaying heavy branches.

Two flights of four aircraft went after the German guns, each group breaking off to attack an emplacement. The German gunners fired, but the Thunderbolts came in too low and fast to hit. They carried rockets under their wings, and the planes each let loose in turn. Fiery explosions pock-marked the hills as the Thunderbolts soared away, circling for another attack.

“Look,” Kaz said, pointing high in the sky. Above the attacking aircraft, another flight flew cover, circling over the battlefield.

The Thunderbolts returned, this time strafing the positions one by one. Each plane was armed with eight .50 machine guns spitting incendiary and armor-piercing bullets at a furious rate. Secondary explosions blossomed as German ammunition exploded, signaling an end to any possible resistance.

“Okay, go,” Big Mike said as the fighters formed up and headed west, scouting out targets on the road to Chaville. I hoped at that altitude the pilots could tell the difference between our gazogene junker and a Kraut staff car.

“We’ll meet you in the

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