Operation Cobra (633 Squadron Book 5) by Frederick E. Smith

Author:Frederick E. Smith [Smith, Frederick E.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Military Fiction
Publisher: Thunderchild Publishing
Published: 2017-12-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Hopkinson nodded at the sheen of water ahead. “There’s the Weser, skipper.” He studied the map strapped to his knee then pointed to starboard. “We need to follow it south for about four miles.”

Moore dipped his starboard wing twice, then banked parallel to the river. The troop of Mosquitoes behind him followed as if tied together by elastic. Then Moore lifted the nose of A-Apple again until grey mist swirled back and turned his canopy opaque.

Like the B-17s, the Mosquitoes had been flying through the lower layer of cloud for the last fourteen minutes, descending into clear air only to establish landmarks. Although Moore had little doubt enemy monitors had picked them up, the Mosquitoes would still not be easy to find if they could keep out of sight of the German Observation Corps.

They emerged again from the clouds a minute later. The Weser, now off their port wingtips, could be seen swinging east a couple of miles ahead. In this sector it ran through a range of steep and wooded hills. Hoppy pointed at a smoke haze that hung over the valley. “Mindenberg, skipper.”

Moore switched on the R/T. “Kestrel Leader to squadron. Mindenberg’s at 10 o’clock. Prepare to attack.”

Like well-rehearsed soldiers, the Mosquitoes swung into a line-astern formation. Putting A-Apple’s nose down, Moore led them towards the river. A railway track and a road ran along its far bank. Crossing the river, Moore banked until they were running directly below him.

Mindenberg was now dead ahead. Houses, some half-timbered, appeared alongside the road and spread like a rash up the southern hillside. A complex of smoking factories, fed by the railway, lay on the river bend where the channel was deep. A half-dozen barges were moored at jetties and a stationary train was puffing at a siding. Needing to identify the chemical plant, Moore made a tight circuit of the town while Floppy took his eyes off the photograph on his knee and examined the clustered factories.

Given a few seconds respite, Mindenberg was using them to advantage. Sirens were howling, factory workers were turning off power and running into shelters, and gun crews were stripping the covers off their weapons and switching on their predictors.

Like many of his pilots, Moore was using the frustrating seconds to locate the flak posts. One gave its position away immediately as a chain of coloured shells rose from a blockhouse at the edge of a marshalling yard. Moore suspected others would be sited up the hillside but because of the dense trees they were invisible as yet.

A shout in his earphones brought back his attention. “The factory’s just past the river bend, skipper! The one with the tall chimneys and the pipelines.”

The discovery was made by Wall in S-Sammy. For once, the hawk-eyed Hopkinson had been forestalled. Moore smiled at the disgruntled Cockney. “You can’t win them all, Hoppy.” Then his voice rose. “Kestrel Leader to squadron. We attack at twelve-second intervals. Good luck.”

Leaving his Mosquitoes orbiting the town, Moore put A-Apple’s nose down.

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