Battle Order 204 was a rushed effort. The men were disappointed that they were given an ordinary breakfast instead of the normal flying meal of bacon and eggs. As was usual under such conditions, aircrew assisted with the exacting task of bombing up. As they worked to hoist their deadly load into place, the men found wry amusement in the messages the armourers had painted or chalked on some of the bombs.
Drew, the bomb aimer, chuckled to see Aggro for Adolf.
‘Another addled egg for Adolf.’ crowed Birdy the rear gunner.
And they all laughed at seeing the supremely confident You’re history, Hitler. ‘That one’s for you, Skip,’ they joked, knowing their skipper’s passion for history.
•••••••••••••••••
David and the crew in D Dog waited tensely on the airfield perimeter for the go signal. At 1230 hours on 29 November, they took off with a bomb load of fourteen 500-pound clusters, two containers of sixty 4-pound incendiaries and one cookie, a massive 4000-pound bomb. Two of the aircraft from 625 Squadron hadn’t made the noon deadline, so twenty-seven planes set off from the base at Kelstern that day.
Flying across Lincolnshire, the roar of the Lancaster’s four powerful Merlin engines reverberating though them, David and his crew joined their gaggle, as the grouping was known, at the coast. A little further south, they took their place in the stream of aircraft converging from other stations and had their last glimpse of a winter-sombre England. They crossed the sullen grey English Channel churning below, hoping as always they wouldn’t have to put their ditching drill to the test in its hungry waters.
On, on, mile after Merlin-driven mile, high above France, towards Germany. Dreading what lay ahead. Feeling the vice grip of terror.
Knowing the horrors awaiting every Lancaster bomber and its crew of seven, every Mosquito and its crew of two.
Two thousand and ninety two men going through this ordeal of fire.
For some it was the first time.
For some it would be their last time.
For some it would be their only time.