On this February morning in 1944, the bombers of the United States Air Force Army sailed mighty through the clouds. Little could be made out below, save a few parcels of grey sky or brown patches of land, interspersed with scattered rays of sunlight here and there. But they could feel the sharp air, the power of the wind against the cockpit and the throbbing of the engines. There were hundreds of aircraft in flight, and their mission was to bombard the city of Dresden, one of Germany’s great ports. This was a strategic attack, whose primary objectives were the destruction of the naval shipyards, oil processing plants, aircraft hangars and ball bearing factories. Their goal was to weaken the Nazi enemy at all costs, disrupting the military, industrial and economic machinery of the Third Reich. The British army had been planning the joint attack for years, and now their fighters were ready.
“Only about twenty clicks out now,” announced the pilot, his heart pounding. What greater thrill was there than dropping bombs on Nazi factories? Time to show Fritz what kind of steel America was made of! They would not let their allies fall, nor let these madmen overrun Europe; they would defend her. That said, he had never flown a raid like this before. It was his first, and perhaps his last. He felt powerful, filled with American moxie, and on the side of the righteous. He would have stories to tell; he’d be a hero who destroyed a great German city and helped strengthen the power of the American military. He was living a dream, a dream of fire and violence. The bombers dropped to combat altitude. “Arm the bombs!” the pilot ordered over his headset. In the rear of the plane, five men readied the bombs, passing them between their hands. Soon, far below, the shipyards and the factories would burn; all would go up in smoke, and all that would remain of Nazi power in that town would be ruin and bitter memory.
The city came into view through the clouds, miniscule and unreal like a child’s toy. They began to make out shapes of houses and the lines of roads where cars crept along like ants. The pilot could already hear the bombs exploding. He could not wait to see the enemy city devoured by red fire. “Can we release?” they asked him. He began the countdown, and expertly manoeuvred the plane to a strategic point, calculating his strike path. There was high technology between his hands, and he meant to use it well. “Get ready! Ten, nine, eight...” The soldiers opened the hatch and the wind whipped around the pilot’s ears. The goal was to release the bombs as quickly as possible, one after another, so they would go off in quick succession. They released the first bomb, and it dropped through the sky like a pebble in a lake. A second followed, then a third. The bomber banked, as the sea air blew in waves. “We did it!” cried the pilot. In the hold, the men were joyful as Dresden spewed flame. Dresden, capital of Saxony, a city so dear to German hearts, had been neutered.
Sirens rang out all around, as the population scrambled for shelter in basements, tunnels, or under bridges. In the streets, the Germans ran pell-mell to help those trapped in the burning buildings. One thousand two hundred tonnes of firebombs had dropped in the space of a few minutes; a thousand tonnes of explosives in a matter of seconds. Then all was calm. The explosions passed, and the commotion died down. The people watched the planes disappear into the distant sky. God help us, may they never return. Dresden was aflame; ravaged by fire, consumed by the inferno.
Alan Alfredo Geday
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