26

It was a curious raid.

Thick February storm clouds had crept down the Continent, enveloping northern Europe. From the upper end of the Latium plains to the Aller the blizzards raged. The Luftwaffe knew the American bombers were on their way as soon as they passed over Umbria, seventy-five planes in all—and this is where the confusion began.

The Americans generally preferred to attack during daylight. Now they were coming three hours before dawn. The Americans had always preferred clear weather for their strikes. Now they were buffeting through a storm. Only northern Germany was clear. The Luftwaffe would have expected the attack there to come from the long-range bombers, the B-24s. But the Americans were sending over their B-26s. Only one B-24 had been spotted.

The fighter escorts turned back near the Adriatic coast. The Messerschmitts attacked minutes later. Twelve B-26s spiraled down in smoke. Still the medium-bomber wing droned northward.

At 0400 hours the storm was easing in the west. Friedrichshafen, Ulm and Freiburg were visible. This, the Germans concluded, was where the strike would come now. Preparations were made. It was 0430 hours and sleeting in Munich when the first bombs exploded. Two passes were made. The aircraft circled and headed back to Italy with one exception: a solitary B-26 in the armada dropped altitude and continued north into the storm.

It was dawn when the pilot alerted the crew. The aircraft descended under the thinning clouds and leveled off. The bomb-bay doors opened and the aerial cameras were readied. A moment later they began photographing the terrain along the Sola River in which a railroad siding known as Auschwitz should appear.