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An extraordinary afternoon on the Windy City
by Nigel

Windy City flew on through the autumn sky, nearing Hamburg. One of 143 American B-17s dispatched to bomb the U-boat yards. "Clutch in, we are on the bomb run" said the pilot into the intercom. Further down the plane manning the waistgun, Paul Dyson looked across to the second box of ten aircraft, both disturbed and fascinated by the sight of a fire raging in the nose canopy of a stricken B-17. It suddenly swung out of formation, before being held level by the burning pilot. Three, four parachutes, but then no more. By now enveloped by an enormous sheet of yellow fire, the B-17 fell quickly from Dyson's restricted view. The voice of Windy City's bombardier was clear over the intercom, "Open bomb doors... bombs going... now."

"Close bomb doors." Against the hydraulic whine came the sound and vision of anti-aircraft fire. There were many planes streaming smoke and flame in the ragged B-17 formations. "Two 109s, three o'clock." "Two, no, three 109s at five o'clock." "We're hit, we're hit." The upper-turret and tail gun were spewing rounds, but amid the din, "The left engine is losing oil."

Outer engine feathered, the Windy City slowed, "Ok we're leaving the box." No 109s in sight, Dyson's attention turned to the tail gunner, "That B-17 is coming up behind us, looks like he's from a different group. It looks like he's gonna cover our back." The huge black bulk of the escorting B-17 came into Dyson's view. What's with the waist-position? "His waist-position looks shut," yelled Dyson, "maybe he's been hit himself." "All right, can we not chatter about it," said the vexed-sounding pilot.

The black B-17 was now just 80 yards out on the flank of the Windy City. The B-17 was rising, rising slowly to the City's level. Dyson peered down and he could see the men in the nose canopy looking towards him. He raised a hand to them and they waved back, but something was not right...

"I thought they were all green like ours-"

The upper-turret guns of the escorting B-17 swung towards the Windy City and systematically fired at point-blank range with the first burst ripping apart the nose-canopy. "Jesus Christ he's crazy, he's firing at us..."

At an increasingly severe angle the Windy City trailed smoke and debris for three and a half miles before striking German heathland with such force that it made a hole twenty metres deep. There were no survivors.

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