The Bismarck Survivor

Chapter 8 - Due Process.

Total Word Count: 7023 Words.

12/27/1944

France, Ardenne Forest. 16,000 feet above sea level.

The pilot of a BF-109 G-4 looks down at the snow-covered forests below him, eyeing a trenchline in the far distance. Around 3 kilometers out, it was an American artillery line that had been harassing German forces for the last three days. According to intelligence, there were 15 or so guns with no major anti-aircraft emplacements. He had two 50 kilogram bombs on his wings, ready to do a gun run as well as dropping the two small bombs, hopefully silencing the guns for a little bit of time. Enough for the forces to pass through safely, at least.

He continued forwards, the artillery pieces's muzzle flashes visible from where he was. They were facing away from him, and he himself was parallel to the trench line itself. He continued straight for another kilometer, before engaging combat flaps.

The pilot then began to turn inwards towards the artillery, lining up straight with the large guns and the trenches that accompanied them. He pulled up on the throttle, WEP-ing the engine a bit and bypassing the normal 100 percent throttle cap. Dials on the dashboard began to warn him of the fact that his engine was beginning to overheat, the speed of the propeller obviously over revving the engine - the RPM gauge hitting the red.

He began to rapidly approach the target. He tensed up a little bit as he placed his thumbs on the buttons for both his 7.92mm and 20mm guns. The pilot lined up for the shot.

Descending in altitude, barely 600 feet above the ground, he got within range to strike. His thumb practically slammed onto the triggers for both the 7.92mms and 20mms, releasing a flurry of rounds from the nose and wings of the plane.

He could see the small detonations of shrapnel and soil as the cannon rounds and machine gun bullets struck the ground. Like ants to him, he saw American forces scurry around. Once even closer, he released the two bombs onto his wings individually, around a second between each one dropping to maximize the range of attack.

Quickly, he pulled upwards and banked towards the left, climbing as he did so. He turned his head towards the artillery line which he strafed. The bombs exploded near the artillery guns, detonating their ammunition in quite the spectacular sight. The orange and black detonations of gunpowder as dirt spewed upwards, against the white backdrop of the snow, alongside the sight of American soldiers panicking for cover and to engage his aircraft... it was quite the sight, really. It had a tinge of beauty alongside the satisfaction. Quite successful of a strafing and bombing run, he must say.

The pilot let out a sigh as he leveled out his aircraft. He descended in altitude a bit to avoid any AA fire that might come up as he turned towards the east, going to return to base. He got onto his in-cockpit radio.

"Control, this is Berta-Zwei-Drei-Funf. Artillery silenced for the time being. Returning to base."

He got a reply acknowledging this, wishing him good luck. He put the radio away and took a look around his surroundings, making sure nothing was on his six or anything.

He looked left to right, and towards his right, coming in from his 4 o-clock upwards at a 30 degree angle, he saw an enemy plane. No more than 4 kilometers away, it seemed to be a P-51 at first glance.

Dammit. Panicking a little bit, and knowing he wouldn't be able to out-turn the P-51 in his current position, and turning away would simply give an easy shot into his tail. He decided to turn inwards towards the enemy plane instead. He hoped that he could either bait the P-51 into a head-on, and turn off at the last moment, or force the P-51 to overshoot and to hopefully get it to use up some of its energy, from which point they would be on about equal ground for a turnfight.