Tom Young

In the distance, the fighters began to turn. As they banked, Karl recognized them as Focke-Wulf 190s. That angle revealed the Balkenkreuz markings—the black crosses on the fuselages and wings. The 190s also bore swastikas on their vertical stabilizers. Each fighter carried a pair of machine guns synchronized to fire through the propeller arc, along with twenty-millimeter cannons mounted in the wings. According to Eighth Air Force intel reports, German pilots nicknamed the Fw 190 the “Butcher Bird.”

“Anybody see any friendlies?” Adrian asked.

“Negative,” Fairburn called from the top turret.

“Wait,” Anders responded from the tail gun. “I got four Mustangs coming down from five o’clock high.”

“How far out are they?” Karl asked.

“I don’t know,” Anders said. “Maybe four miles.”

The 190s were closer, and they continued to turn. In a few seconds, the attack would begin. Karl could almost sense his gunners watching the Butcher Birds through their sights. He prayed the Mustangs would intercept the enemy planes in time.

Karl’s oxygen regulator blinked black and white faster and faster as he breathed more rapidly. Flying Fortresses had a reputation for being hard to shoot down, so the Germans tended to concentrate their fire toward the flight deck. Though Karl had always considered himself a strong man, at the moment he felt frail and squishy. In the cockpits of those 190s, drawing closer by the second, sat highly skilled and motivated young men determined to put sharp, hot metal through Karl’s body.

The Butcher Birds banked more steeply, maneuvering in front of the B-17s.

“They’re at twelve o’clock and closing,” Karl said. Tried to keep his voice as even as possible.

From above Hellstorm, the Mustangs appeared in Karl’s field of view. They dived and turned to meet the 190s. Tracers began spitting from their wings. Some of the Butcher Birds turned to engage the Mustangs. But others held course and pressed their attack.

The oncoming Butcher Birds grew larger in the windscreen. Some aircraft veered to hit other bombers in the scattered formation, but one bored directly at Hellstorm. Flashes began to blink on the leading edges of its wings: cannon fire.

Karl banked to begin an evasive turn, but it was a token effort. The Fort could never outmaneuver a fighter. With a mere flick of its ailerons, the German aircraft stayed on Hellstorm and closed fast.