Part 23 (1/2)
”Affirmative.”
”Jigsaw Three. Read you very well. What's wrong with your engine?”
”Pappy's amusing himself. Keep your receivers open. Eight minutes to descent. Out.”
The eight minutes went by too quickly and then he had to put the nose down and it took an effort of will. He had always competed in speed sports in which you could see what you were doing. Now he had to descend blind.
He tried to make light of it: ”What if someone's put a mountain in one of those clouds?”
”You've been here before.”
”Ulyanov, what's my course?”
”Dead ahead sir.”
”You'd better be right.”
”Yes sir. I know.”
There was a crag somewhere to starboard that spired to nearly 3,000 feet. At least he hoped it was to starboard. He watched the clock. Ten seconds ... five ... Nose down.
The heavy plane mushed down through the weather bank and he couldn't see a thing. Pappy Johnson said, ”This stuff may be very close to the ground. You'll have to come in right on the deck. Just be sure you keep your feet inside.”
The target zone was a meadow on top of a long ridge. At its highest point it had an elevation of 876 feet above mean sea level. The idea was to attack from exactly 1,000 feet altimeter-124 feet above the ground. In theory it made the targets easy to hit but in practice the ground turbulence made it pure h.e.l.l. Cool air sank into the deeper shadows and warmer air lifted from the pale places. The aircraft bucketed and pitched like a racing car with a flat tire.
Johnson said, ”You trying to scramble the eggs I ate this morning? Don't tense up.”
”I can't see where I'm going.”
”I know. Keep your nose down-keep on the rails.”
Felix dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.
Johnson said gently, ”I told the old man you were the best in the outfit. Don't make me a liar.”
But his aplomb had evaporated and there was no way to regain it. He pressed the Send b.u.t.ton and had to clear his throat before he spoke. ”Jigsaw One to Jigsaw Flight. Starting a nine-zero degree right turn. Guide on me if you can.”
He switched the set from liaison to intercom. ”Pilot to bombardier. We're on the briefed heading. Going down through 2,000 feet. You should be able to see your aiming point any time now.”
The plane growled steadily into a sea of matted grey.
Seventeen hundred feet; sixteen hundred. ”Prepare to drop practice bombs.”
Chujoy's voice crackled at him: ”Bomb-bay doors open. Preparing to center P.D.I.”
That was the bombsight. At these alt.i.tudes a variation of as little as two feet in alt.i.tude could make a critical difference in the trajectory of the bombs.
Fourteen hundred. Thirteen-fifty. ”I'm going to abort!”
”The h.e.l.l you are,” Pappy Johnson snapped.
Thirteen hundred. Grey cloud rushed past the windscreen, beading up on the gla.s.s. Twelve-eighty: twelve-sixty ...
Tendrils; it was breaking up....
Twelve-thirty and they were out under it-too low: the ground was right there....
Then his eyes adjusted to the perspective and he fought back the impulse to drag the yoke into his belly. He leveled off at twelve hundred feet. It wasn't raining. Visibility was clear enough now; it was the ceiling that was bad-hanging down within two hundred feet of the ridge....
A stand of trees along the near rim; the open meadow and at the far end of it more trees-highland woods running down the slopes. And he could see the square old cars b.u.mpety-b.u.mping out across the meadow: four of them, their courses diverging a little because there was no one driving them. The men had been tenting there for three weeks now, setting targets for them. They'd turned the toys loose on the meadow and now it was up to the airmen to bomb the moving automobiles before they got across the thousand-foot meadow.
”Twelve hundred feet. We're approaching the I.P,” Initial point of the bombardier's run.
Pappy Johnson growled, ”Do it good, Chujoy, or you go back by bus.”
”Center your P.D.I.”
”P.D.I. centered sir.”
”Ready to take over.... It's your airplane.” Felix took his hands off the yoke and leaned forward to watch.
There was a stir as the bomb racks opened.
”Bombs away.”
The string of hundred-pounders left the racks and arched away earthward; he couldn't see them but he knew. The bombardier had mirrors to watch the drop.
They were real bombs with practice warheads designed to create a small explosion-enough to prove where they'd hit even if the bomb bounced away from its point of impact.
”Your aircraft sir.”
Felix hauled back on the yoke. ”How did it look?”
Chujoy was very dry. ”We just blew h.e.l.l out of eight patches of gra.s.s.”
Into the clouds and a steep starboard turn. ”Making a three-sixty.” A full circle to bomb again. ”Jigsaw One to Jigsaw Flight-report.”
”Jigsaw Two. One hit I think. Seven near-misses.”
”Jigsaw Three. No hits sir. Sorry.”
Pappy Johnson switched on his throat mike. ”This time you misters will get those bombs on target or I'll personally throw you out of these airplanes with no parachutes.”
They made five pa.s.ses. The last three were good enough to make Felix beam at Pappy Johnson: on the third go they stopped three out of four motorcars in their tracks with bombs that penetrated clear through to the ground. On the fourth go they hit two out of three. On the fifth the ground echelon sent five cars onto the field and Felix's flight hit four of them.
”The last drop looked pretty good,” Johnson admitted into the radio.
”We're out of bombs,” Felix announced. ”Close up those holes and keep it tight-let's go home for a coffee break.”
He put the nose up into the clouds and they swam into the sunlight. ”Now all I've got to do is find a place to put this thing down.”