Operation Pointblank

Saturday 3rd June 1944, 3 days before the Normandy landings.
Approximately 0200 hrs.

Speckles of bright light spat out from anti-aircraft guns, peppering the night sky with explosions that erupted into dark inkblot patterns of flak. You could cut through the tension in the air with a butter knife as the crew of seven sat in silence. They were all used to the noise generated by the four engines of a Lancaster bomber but it seemed deafening when listening for something else. Cooper, the wireless operator, sat staring intently at the radio panel, willing the receiver to crackle into life but it remained silent.
Jones studied the ground from his position at the front gun turret. “I see three down there. Jerry’s shooting blind. I could take them out with the Browning if we get closer?”
Flight Lieutenant Davis held the yoke with his left hand, his other hand pushing the throttle lever upwards and rotated the propeller speed control, all the time closely watched by flight engineer Smithy. “Not our job. We need to drop the payload and get the heck out of here and back to Blighty. Our Yank friends will take care of them.”
Silence from the crew again. It had been close to twenty minutes since they were ambushed by Luftwaffe and Delta Squadron had engaged them in combat. The American Thunderbolt fighters were a reliable aircraft but the attacking fighters outnumbered them two to one and the radio had been silent for eight minutes.
Smithy felt a tap on his shoulder and reached back accepting a piece of paper from the navigator’s hand that was outstretched from behind a dark curtain. He glanced at the paper and passed it to Flt Lt Davis, who adjusted the yoke accordingly changing direction.
“Jerry on our tail. Two Messerschmitt fighters. ” echoed the voice of Connor over the radio from the rear gun turret.
“Increasing velocity. Gunners, be alert and fire when in range,” Flt Lt Davis said into his headset.
Connor looked through the protective shield of the rear gun turret, grasping one of the four Browning machine guns pointed out into the night sky, waiting for the enemy fighters to get closer. He could hear the engines of the aircraft grow louder as the throttle lever and propeller speeds were both increased to their maximum settings. The nearest Messerschmitt opened fire, bullets bouncing off the metal shell of the aircraft. Connor squeezed the trigger of the machine gun, the cloth belt feeding from left to right as 30 caliber M2 ammo was unleashed upon the enemy aircraft, spent ammunition falling on the floor beside him. Success! The windshield in front of the pilot was penetrated and the aircraft began to plummet to the ground, smoke bellowing through the cockpit as gravity plunged the fighter plane to it’s demise. The second Messerschmitt opened fire and Connor again squeezed the trigger of the Browning machine gun. He felt a burning stab as a 7.92mm round shattered the perspex of the rear gunner’s turret and entered his shoulder, his arm falling limply by his side.
“I’m hit. I’m hit,” he bellowed through his headset. He could see two more aircraft approaching from the same direction the first two had originated. “More Luftwa…,” he began to say into his headset as he passed out.
Cooper leapt out of his seat and made his way to the rear gun turret. He found Connor unconscious with blood leaking from a hole just under his shoulder and bound it with a tourniquet.
“You’re going to be alright,” he said to a stirring Connor and then quickly made his way back to his position at the radio panel.
 Connor looked through what was left of the perspex and saw the two approaching aircraft open fire in a direction somewhere underneath the Lancaster bomber. That was followed by the sound of a loud explosion as the sky lit up brightly. 
The wireless burst into life. “Alpha Romeo - Foxtrot. Alpha Romeo - Foxtrot. Come in Alpha Romeo - Foxtrot.”
Cheers and whoops rang out in the aircraft as the realisation dawned on them the other two aircraft were Thunderbolts. Cooper grabbed the transmitter. “Alpha Romeo - Foxtrot receiving. Welcome back. We sure missed you.”
“Sorry we’re a bit late, fellas. We’ve been a little busy. How are you holding up?”
“A lot better now that you’re back,” replied Cooper. “Are there only two of you left?”
“We lost three and the others aren’t far behind taking out ground targets to clear the way home but they shouldn’t be long. The two of us can handle any problems you come across in the meantime. We’ll take a wing each.”
Flt Lt Davis rotated the propeller speed control anti-clockwise and lowered the throttle slightly, bringing the aircraft back to a more manageable cruising speed then pushed forwards on the control column, beginning a slow descent in preparation for reaching the factory they were to bomb. The two Thunderbolts flanked the bomber.
“Jones, be alert. We should have eyes on the target soon.” Flak once again began to explode in the night sky as he said it.
“That looks a lot to me like a signal it’s imminent,” said Jones.
The two Thunderbolts broke formation and descended quickly, opening fire on the anti-aircraft guns below.
“I can see the Luftwaffe factory now,” said Jones.
He positioned himself ready to unleash the fourteen thousand pound bomb load at precisely the right moment when they’d zoomed in close enough. He patiently looked down, his hand just above the button. Almost time. Not yet. Not yet. Now. He brought his hand down to push the button.
The Thunderbolts had destroyed all but the final two anti-aircraft guns and dived towards them, destroying both but not before the final one unleashed his fire at the Lancaster above. The bomber lurched to the side in the turbulence as flak erupted close to the wing at the exact moment the bombs were released.
As the bomber shook in the sudden turbulence Jones lurched forward and his hand came down on the button a fraction of a second earlier than he meant to hit it. It was his one and only chance. He grimaced and felt a flutter deep down in his stomach as he studied the bombs falling intently, unsure if that fraction of a second was too early. Come on. Come on. The bombs were off target. Explosions thundered below as the bombs struck the fuel storage at the back of the factory which set off a chain of further explosions as flames spread to the centre of the factory and the contents of the factory went up in flames.
“Let’s go home,” said Flt Lt Davis. Cooper again got up from his position to help the wounded Connor to the front of the aircraft.
Flanked by the Thunderbolts they began the journey back to England.