The Polebrook B-17 squadrons were at that moment flying through a wide open stretch of clear sky that had opened up between the dissipating storm clouds. Frozen contrails of heated air strung out far behind the big planes and Harold had a good look at the planes that was flying ahead of them. It was the 303rd Bomb Group, and they weren’t keeping a very tight formation. He took notice and instinctively looked around for the Mustang fighter escorts but they had passed towards the rear of the column about fifteen minutes ago, and so this section of the bomber stream was alone and exposed in a wide open sky. He watched the planes of the 303rd with growing concern, there were too many holes in their formation and they had left the protective cover of storm clouds behind them. Harold began to get a bad feeling in his gut.
Then out of the east, behind the shroud of a towering cumulus thunderhead came a pack of enemy fighters flying wing tip to wing tip. They were followed by another formation and then several more. A multiple squadron enemy attack formation had managed to slip by the American fighter escorts and now zeroed in on an unprotected and momentarily isolated B-17 bombers of the 303rd Bomb Group.
These interceptors were state of the art German war machines. They were modified FokkeWolfe190’s with added armor plating, a bullet resistant canopy, two extra fuel tanks, and five guns on board. They were snipers, able to go a long distance, and they had good pilots. They’d been tailing the bomber wing all morning, looking for a chance to do some damage, and now they had their chance.
The squadron of German interceptors was called Sturmbock, or battering rams. These were a fearsome weapon, new and improved, and tactically, the pilots would use a deadly new twist.
The F.W.190’s maneuvered around from above and stayed in formation. They attacked the low box of the 303rd from the rear, flying five abreast, wing tip to wing tip, and dove down at them at tremendous speed. In just a matter of minutes, the sky exploded with gunfire, flames and damaged American airplanes. Pathfinder’s crew watched in horror as a flying fortress was singled out and literally torn to pieces from withering cannon fire.
Harold watched the assault on the heavies from his frozen canopy and realized that the 351st was going to fly right into the killing zone in a matter of minutes. He locked in his gun sight and kept the turret moving back and forth to remove any ice buildup, and fired a few rounds to keep the gun barrels warm. He took a second to locate his parachute. He also realized just then that there were too many of them to fight off all at once without any fighter support.
In the sky out in front of the Pathfinder, B-17’s were exploding and being ripped apart. Another wave of German interceptors slammed through the 303rd causing terrible havoc then disappeared down through the clouds. They were immediately followed by yet another wave that passed like lightning through boxed formations of bombers firing cannons that tore holes in the planes. Then still another wave shredded its way through and the boxes fell apart while voices of panic could be heard on the short band radio screaming for help. It was a hard thing to watch, and Harold could only sit by helplessly as the entire string of flying fortresses in front of him scattered in disarray. He began to swear, “Bastards! Somebody shoot back at ‘em!”
Then something happened that seemed impossible. Harold watched in horror as one Fokke Wolfe singled out a B-17, nosed in on it, shot it to ribbons, and did not pull away at the last second. Instead, the German fighter aimed for the tail section where its pilot had placed his contact point, and rammed it with his own plane. The fighter careened off the bomber and spun madly out of control, but after a few seconds the pilot raised his canopy and was able to jump out.
The bomber crews of the 303rd tried desperately to fight off the marauding German interceptors and they stood their ground with guns blazing, but there were too many of them, the190s flanked the isolated and badly dispersed heavies from every angle and picked their point of attack. It was like watching a school of sharks circling its prey. An interceptor came looping out of the sky and singled out an isolated bomber unleashing a string of cannon fire as it closed in, then pressed the attack by attempting to ram into its tail section. It was a near miss, but the B-17 caught fire and fell out of the sky. This was madness, and seemingly unstoppable. The sudden attack was overwhelming.
The Polebrook bombers and the Pathfinder flew into that oil and smoke filled sky which was all that remained of an entire squadron of doomed B-17’s. Harold had just seen them all get shot out of the sky, and now sat grim and ready with fear in the pit of his stomach, waiting for the worst. German fighters were still swarming around the large bank of clouds to the east, and when a wing of F.W.190’s ten planes across drew a bead on the 351st Group, Harold grabbed his trigger handles and looked through the gun sight onto the enemy’s’ rapid approach. He decided with grim resolve that his time was finally up, his luck had run out.