exception of the Flying Fortress and Liberators of the USAAF , Allied heavy bombers lacked an underside defensive position, or the ability to look below the aircraft with any certainty.
The two Soviet pilots were confident that they had their quarry, and so the leader ordered the concealed attack, treating the fight almost as a training exercise.
The flight leader watched as his second moved in underneath the stricken Allied airplane, the first hints of fire springing from the starboard engine.
The Heinkel 219 was fitted with an oblique firing cannon system, mounted behind the pilot, pointing up at an angle through the canopy.
Two 30mm MK 108 cannons were lined up on the belly of the Beaufighter, the Soviet aircraft throttling back and slipping underneath their quarry.
The pilot fired the Schräge Musik, named after the German nickname for ‘Jazz’.
Shell after shell chewed up the metal framework and spent itself explosively in the destruction of the Beaufighter’s integrity.
Clark was killed by multiple shells smashing through everything of note and turning the cockpit into a bloody Swiss cheese.
The Beaufighter c ame apart, the port wing folded, and the machine fell from the sky.
Underneath, the Heinkel pilot, elated by his kill, suddenly realised his predicament and rapidly jerked his aircraft to starboard, condemning him and his radar operator to death.
Luftwaffe pilots had learned to manoeuvre slowly in such situations, the high wing loading causing stalls if changes of direction were done too quickly.
The Soviet pilot did not have the benefit of a German’s hard-won experience and the stall proved fatal, the Heinkel falling uselessly away, pursued by the fiery remains of its victim.
The radar operator in the leader’s Heinkel shook his set, willing it to come back to life, his swift indoctrination in its finer points having failed to cover the obvious advice of ‘not to slap it hard when celebrating a victory.’
His enthusiasm had knocked a vital connection loose , and the set plainly refused to fire up.
Had it done so, he might have spotted the approaching avenger. As it was, he had just sixteen seconds before death visited itself upon him and his commander.
‘Warsaw’s Revenge’ opened fire, Radowski having hurried to the scene from his duty station, twenty-five miles to the south, responding to the call of the hapless Beaufighter, as well as the rescue orders of his controller.
The Hispano cannon shells smashed home, causing the tail plane of the Heinkel to lose its integrity and separate, the two sections coming to earth below, exactly three kilometres apart.
It was the Polish-American’s eighth kill of the new war; a war he hoped would overcome the disappointments of the previous conflict and actually liberate his mother country.
His hate was very real, and directed at any group that occupied the lands of his fathers.
Sparing a disinterested gaze at the dark ground below, he noted the funeral pyres of the aircrew that had fought in the air space above that night, and then noticed something else besides.
Talking into the intercom, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the second area of interest.
“Arty/R mission due north,” he nodded towards where he thought Eintümen was, even though his radio operator, Sergeant Devaney Callister, could not see his gesture.
The efficient operator swung into action, grabbing his paperwork.
“Radio to Captain. Mission type, over.”
Now there was no light to go by, but it was definitely artillery he was looking at.
‘What type?’
Unbeknown to him, his attention was focussed on the self-propelled guns of the 1814th SP Artillery Regiment.
Making a decision , he called it back to the waiting Callister.
“Make it a Charlie mission.”
He got his call right, opting for the ‘Charlie’ strike designed for hardened artillery.
“Radio to Captain. I have the position now.”
“Send it now, Dev.”
The Black Widow moved leisurely
The two Soviet pilots were confident that they had their quarry, and so the leader ordered the concealed attack, treating the fight almost as a training exercise.
The flight leader watched as his second moved in underneath the stricken Allied airplane, the first hints of fire springing from the starboard engine.
The Heinkel 219 was fitted with an oblique firing cannon system, mounted behind the pilot, pointing up at an angle through the canopy.
Two 30mm MK 108 cannons were lined up on the belly of the Beaufighter, the Soviet aircraft throttling back and slipping underneath their quarry.
The pilot fired the Schräge Musik, named after the German nickname for ‘Jazz’.
Shell after shell chewed up the metal framework and spent itself explosively in the destruction of the Beaufighter’s integrity.
Clark was killed by multiple shells smashing through everything of note and turning the cockpit into a bloody Swiss cheese.
The Beaufighter c ame apart, the port wing folded, and the machine fell from the sky.
Underneath, the Heinkel pilot, elated by his kill, suddenly realised his predicament and rapidly jerked his aircraft to starboard, condemning him and his radar operator to death.
Luftwaffe pilots had learned to manoeuvre slowly in such situations, the high wing loading causing stalls if changes of direction were done too quickly.
The Soviet pilot did not have the benefit of a German’s hard-won experience and the stall proved fatal, the Heinkel falling uselessly away, pursued by the fiery remains of its victim.
The radar operator in the leader’s Heinkel shook his set, willing it to come back to life, his swift indoctrination in its finer points having failed to cover the obvious advice of ‘not to slap it hard when celebrating a victory.’
His enthusiasm had knocked a vital connection loose , and the set plainly refused to fire up.
Had it done so, he might have spotted the approaching avenger. As it was, he had just sixteen seconds before death visited itself upon him and his commander.
‘Warsaw’s Revenge’ opened fire, Radowski having hurried to the scene from his duty station, twenty-five miles to the south, responding to the call of the hapless Beaufighter, as well as the rescue orders of his controller.
The Hispano cannon shells smashed home, causing the tail plane of the Heinkel to lose its integrity and separate, the two sections coming to earth below, exactly three kilometres apart.
It was the Polish-American’s eighth kill of the new war; a war he hoped would overcome the disappointments of the previous conflict and actually liberate his mother country.
His hate was very real, and directed at any group that occupied the lands of his fathers.
Sparing a disinterested gaze at the dark ground below, he noted the funeral pyres of the aircrew that had fought in the air space above that night, and then noticed something else besides.
Talking into the intercom, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the second area of interest.
“Arty/R mission due north,” he nodded towards where he thought Eintümen was, even though his radio operator, Sergeant Devaney Callister, could not see his gesture.
The efficient operator swung into action, grabbing his paperwork.
“Radio to Captain. Mission type, over.”
Now there was no light to go by, but it was definitely artillery he was looking at.
‘What type?’
Unbeknown to him, his attention was focussed on the self-propelled guns of the 1814th SP Artillery Regiment.
Making a decision , he called it back to the waiting Callister.
“Make it a Charlie mission.”
He got his call right, opting for the ‘Charlie’ strike designed for hardened artillery.
“Radio to Captain. I have the position now.”
“Send it now, Dev.”
The Black Widow moved leisurely
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