Colin Gee - Opening Moves

NA-R was one of the newest Mark VII’s, in service with the Royal Canadian Air Force’s 426 Squadron, presently flying out of a base at Linton on Ouse, England.

Tonight the mission was to accompany two hundred and forty-one other aircraft and their crews to area bomb woods to the south-east of Gardelegen.

The Halifax crew were relatively inexperienced, having completed only two operations before the German War ended, added to four in the new one.

The night sky was dark, very dark, the only light provided by the glowing instrument panel or the navigators small lamp.

Until 0300 arrived, at which time night became day as beneath the bomber stream thousands of crews operated their weapons at the set time. Across a five hundred mile front Soviet artillery officers screamed their orders and instantly the air was filled with metal.

From their lofty perches, the Canadian flyers witnessed the delivery and arrival of tons of high explosive, all in total silence save for the drone of their own Bristol Hercules engines.

They watched, eyes drawn to the spectacle, as the Russian guns fired salvo after salvo.

Their inexperience was the death of them, as it was for the crew of K-Kilo, a Lancaster from 626 Squadron RAF.

Both crews, so intent on the Soviet display, drifted closer until the mid-upper gunner in UM-K screamed in shock and fear as a riveted fuselage dropped gently down towards him. The Halifax crew were oblivious to their peril, the Lancaster crew resigned to it as contact was made with the tail plane and rudders, the belly of the Halifax bending and splitting the control surfaces.

The Lancaster bucked slightly, pushing the port fin further up into the Halifax where the ruined end caught fast, partly held by a bent stay and partially by control wires caught on debris.

The Halifax pilot, a petrified twenty-one year old Pilot Officer, eased up on his stick, dragging the Lancaster into a nose down attitude and ruining its aerodynamic efficiency. The young pilot then decided to try and move left, and at the same time the Lancaster pilot lost control of his aircraft, the nose suddenly rising and causing the port inner propeller to smash into the nose of the Handley Page aircraft.

Fragments of perspex and sharp metal deluged the pilot, blinding him. His inability to see caused more coming together and the tail plane of the Avro broke away, remaining embedded in the belly of the Halifax.

Both aircraft stalled and started to tumble from the sky. Inside the wrecked craft aircrew struggled to escape, G forces building and condemning most to ride their charges into the ground.

Halifax NA-R hit the ground first, with all but two of its crew aboard. Fire licked greedily at one of the NA-R crew’s parachutes, taking hold and leaving only one man to witness his comrade’s fate, plunging earthwards, riding a silken candle into the German soil.

The explosion resulting from NA-R’s demise illuminated the area enough for many Russian soldiers to watch fascinated as the ruined Lancaster smashed into the ground some five hundred yards north, four parachutes easily discernable in the bright orange glow which bathed the area.

The Bomber stream tore the Gardelegen Woods to pieces, destroying acres of trees and occasionally being rewarded with a secondary explosion. Seventeen more bombers were lost but they reported success and the obliteration of the target.

Unfortunately for them, or more importantly the British and Canadian units in the line at Hannover, the units of 6th Guards Tank Army which had occupied hidden positions in the target area had moved as soon as night had descended.

Apart from a handful of supply trucks and lame duck vehicles, nothing of consequence had been destroyed.

At Ceske Kubice the results were far better, with the Soviet 4th Guards Tank Corps and 7th Guards Cavalry Corps still laagering hidden and believing themselves safe.

Lancaster’s and Mosquitoes bathed the area in bombs, destroying tanks, horses and men in equal measure. It was an awful blood-letting and the survivors were in no mood to take prisoners when the New Zealand crew of a stricken Lancaster parachuted down nearby. Vengeful cavalry sabres flashed in the firelight, continuing on when life was long since extinct and the victims no longer resembled men.

On the ground the results on the Allied units were quite devastating as the Soviet Armies resorted to their normal tactic of concentrating their attacks on specific points.

Whole battalions were swept away in an avalanche of shells and rockets.

On each of the five chosen focal points breakthrough was achieved swiftly, the leading Soviet units passing through a desolate landscape tainted by the detritus of what a few minutes beforehand had been human beings and the weapons they served.

Occasionally a group of shell-shocked troops rallied and fought back, but in the main only the odd desultory shot greeted the advancing Red Army.

The reports of advances were immediately sent back and within twenty minutes Zhukov knew he had all five breakthroughs ready to exploit, and ordered the operations to go ahead as planned.

Ten minutes after Zhukov’s orders had gone out, a bleary eyed Eisenhower, woken from his much needed sleep to swiftly throw on his previous day’s shirt and trousers, learned that he no longer had an intact front line and that a disaster was in the making.

Swift conversations with his Army Commanders took place, each man in turn receiving a simple order.

“Reform your line General, reform your line.”

Each was different, for McCreery had problems contrasting those of Bradley, who had worse problems than Devers et al.

Eisenhower felt like Old Mother Hubbard. He already knew that he had probably just lost the best part of three divisions of good fighting troops and he sought replacements.

The cupboard was all but bare.

Some units were coming ashore in France, some in England. A few were already moving forward to their staging areas near the Rhine, ready for operational deployment.

Setting his staff to the problems of logistics he let them take the strain whilst he sucked greedily on a cigarette and watched the disaster unfold.

Report followed report, problem heaped on problem as the Red Army moved relentlessly and surprisingly quickly forward.

Ike stubbed out number one having lit number two from its dying butt, spotting the normally dapper but now quite dishevelled Tedder approach, half an eye on his Commander in Chief and half a horrified eye on the situation map.

So shocked was the Air Chief Marshall that he stopped, mouth open wide, watching as blue lines were removed to be replaced by red arrows.

Eisenhower moved to the RAF officer who seemed rooted to the spot.

“Arthur, they’ve hit us bad and we are in pieces as you see.”

The Englishman managed a nod accompanied by a grimace as arrows, red in colour, appeared moving north of München .

“I want maximum effort from you, maximum effort. Get everyone in the air that can carry a bomb or a machine-gun. I will get you my list of target priorities within the next hour. Send everyone Arthur, even those who have been out tonight.”

That drew a dismayed look from Tedder, this time aimed at Ike.

The complaint grew on his lips but withered under Ike’s unusually hard gaze.

“Arthur, I know your boys will be tired and I know the casualties will reflect that. Send them in later if you must but send them in, come what may. Are we clear?”

Tedder stiffened.

“Yes General, we are clear. There will be a turnaround time in any case, so I can rest them but it is a long time since many of them have done day ops.”

Eisenhower, both hands extended palms towards his man, spoke softly.

“I know Arthur. I am asking a lot of them but I think much will be asked of many of us this day, don’t you?”