RM Vol 4: War – Chapter 26: Case Yellow (Day 7 - Great Channel Turkey Shoot) - Edited by Yovis

Author Notes:

Big thanks to Justin Mathew Adams, who's just promoted from Corporal to Captain! That brings our progress to...

538/700 a month! There's hope, hurray! Btw, don't forget that the discount for first time support is still running from now to the 19th!

As for this chapter, boy, this one is a ride and a half, fueled with nothing but hope, dream, and coffee. Enjoy it alongside the picture!

https://photos.app.goo.gl/waZgkRa3UQhqKQBi9

https://www.patr-eon.com/Heartbreak117

https://ko-fi.com/heartbreak117/goal?g=0

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"We've lost track of our fleet for five minutes already" The Pilot of the B-17 Flying Fortress says. "Suffice to say, we're now in the wildlands. The Belkans can come from anywhere so less chatter and keep your eyes peeled, people."

"And that means man all the guns." The Co-pilot adds, prompting the ball turret Gunner to groan.

"If we have to bail out, don't forget about me, " the Ball Turret Gunner says before hopping down into the machine gun contraption that the Erusean airmen warmly call the 'Egg Sack'.

The Bombardier jests from his position behind the pane of plexiglass. It's also there that the Norden bombsight and another machine gun are installed.

"Why so pessimistic, mate? We have a thousand guns and autocannons. Even Belkan witchcraft won't save them from our screen of lead. Nothing is gonna stop us from dropping a metric ton of bombs on Belka in the largest bombing mission in history."

"Speak what you want, but the Belkans seem to be kicking the butts on the ground." The Signalman interjects. "If that weren't the case, we would have more time before this scramble. Like seriously, we don't even know what to expect of the enemy air defense. Our targeting package is built on tourist maps and dated photos. We have no bloody radio, and none of our tactics ever got tested seriously. This is such a rushed mission that the only way this didn't fall apart at the start was because we're at least competent at the job. Even then, it took three hours to form this entire blob, and thanks to the Lord none of us flew into each other like bumbling idiots. God blesses us for a sunny day, at least."

The Top Turret Gunner laughs.

"Now ain't that a comforting thought, chap. God blesses us with good weather, eh? So maybe he will bless us with Godspeed as well!"

"Yeah, well, I sure wi-!

BOOM

Something exploded in the middle of the pack.

Bullets and tracers zip by, slamming and buckling metals. Objects fall, no, dive down from above as they dance between the formations of bombers and fighter escorts. The shadow left behind by the objects gives the bomber crews a big scare as some fly very close to their windshields like Daredevils. By the time the Air Groups realize the things that flew between them are Belkan propeller fighters, the aircraft are already given a headstart. They have disengaged successfully after strafing some of the escort fighters, managing to down seven P-38s and four P-40s. The disproportionated kills are because the P-38s are bigger targets than the P-40 when not actively maneuvering.

"WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL!?" One of the Waist Gunners shouts while swiveling his .50 caliber machine gun.

"Oi!" Comes the muffled shout of the Ball Turret Gunner as the Egg Sack spins 180 degrees. "We just lost like three of our escorts!"

"Anybody got a bead on them!? It was them Belkans!" The Tail Gunner shouts.

"They're in the clouds!" The Pilot screams back "12 o'clock! High!"

"Well, that's just great!" Complained the Tail Gunner due to his turret not having any angle at all.

"Screw this!" The Signalman curses before pulling out a flare gun. He then loads it with a red flare before pointing it out of a Waist Turret position.

PACHIU

Simultaneously, multiple red flares are launched from other B-17s. Much like them, it takes the other crews a moment to process what just happened.

"It seems like the others are alerted like us." The Signalman comments.

"Of bloody course, Sherlock!" The Co-pilot quips. "Look! Our escorts are climbing up to meet them! Christ, are all of them chasing "

"What are they insane?" The Pilot says. "We're already 7000 meters up!"

"Any higher up and the P-40s gonna stall!" The Bombardier adds unhelpfully. "Why are they this zealous!?"

The Top Turret Gunner, who is also the Flight Engineer, speaks up. "Can we warn them? We will be sitting duck while the escorts go all gung-ho!"

The Signalman throws his hands up. "Much like us, they don't have a working radio! They're relying on flares and light signals like we are!"

The bomber crews watch hopelessly as most of the P-38s and P-40s are off chasing the Belkan fighters. After losing a Squadron worth of pilots to them, the Erusean escorts are out for blood, confident in their seemingly superior airframe and numbers. As the minutes drag on, the airmen start feeling sweaty despite the cold air outside their metal cigars. Their eyes are wide open and bloodshot as they watch the blue sky for anything that's not theirs. Having learned from the earlier fiasco, the airmen are paying more attention to the altitude above them. Yet, despite their vigilance, the Bomber Groups see and hear nothing out of place. They're alone.

The Navigator, after checking the flight path and marking the timetable and point of contact made, comments. "I don't like the sound of this, chaps."

"What sound?" A Waist Gunner asks. "All I can hear is our bombers."

"That sound." The Navigator replies. "After what's happened earlier, this is far too quiet, considering the Belkans could fly all the way out here."

The Ballt Turret Gunner shouts back from his Egg Sack. "I sure hope you're not jinx-!"

A B-17 Flying Fortress suddenly combusts alongside its payload of 1800 kg of bombs. The sheer amount of high-velocity fragments went as far as to damage some aircraft flying behind it.

"Oh, sod off!" Comes the cursing from the Ball Turret Gunner as another B-17 is hit.

"Good God almighty!" The Pilot screams as they can feel the shockwave of the blast despite being hundreds of meters away.

"That was the Old Murphy! Gosh, their entire front is gone!" The Left Waist Gunner shouts as their faces turn pale.

Old Murphy, the B-17 trailing their left, was hit with something that eviscerated their front compartment. Flying on nothing but inertia and no control, what's left of Old Murphy's crew is forced to bail out. The bomber crew can't even count the number of parachutes when more explosions occur, both big and small, in the middle of the Air Groups.

"What in the world is shooting us down!?" The Co-pilot screams nearly hysterically as another B-17 implodes when something detonates near its payload.

"Something that left behind smoke trails!" The Top Turret Gunner shouts an answer after spectating multiple explosions.

"Aircraft!?" The Right Waist Gunner barks his question. However, the question is taken as a warning by the increasingly panicking aircrew.

"WHERE!?" Comes the muffled shout of the Ball Turret Gunner.

"That was a question, you doofus!" The Left Waist Gunner kicks on the floor.

"Oi!" The Pilot turns around, trying to get his men back in order. "Settle down you bumbling fools! Eyes on the horizon!"

The moment the Pilot turns away, one of the smoke trails that the Top Turret Gunner warned veer directly at their formation from above. The lead bomber of the Combat Box takes a direct hit as one of its wings is snapped at the root, making the whole thing spin into itself before exploding brightly. The metal fragments from the bombs and the Flying Fortress exploding travel far and even hit some aircraft that are part of the Combat Box. Unluckily, the Co-pilot happens to be part of the crew whose plane is hit by this lethal fragmentation. These bits of metal travel at ridiculous enough speed and have enough weight to punch through the plating of their bomber, shattering equipment and windows before leaving a nasty gash on the upper torso of the Co-pilot.

"Christ on a bike!" The Pilot curses, understanding just how lucky he was in not getting hit by strays. "We're hit! Someone grab the medical!"

The Pilot turns his head, putting one hand on the Co-pilot's wound to apply pressure on it. Seeing his friend fading in and out, he shouts. "Hey! Hey! Hey! You stay with me now! Just put a thumb in it and you'll be all good, alright!?"

As the bomber crew is frazzled and their attention momentarily pulled towards the grievously injured pilot, Belkan fighter jets officially make their presence known. After consecutive missile attacks, a Gunfighter Phantom buzzes the Flying Fortresses from above. Its three 30 mm Gatlings leave behind a visible trail of destruction. Like a hot knife through multiple layers of butter, the Phantom piloted by a certain Belkan Ace instantly cuts down three B-17s. One such B-17, having lost nearly all of its left wing, spins and inverts out of control before coming straight down. This one-wing B-17 then crashes its remaining wing into the Flying Fortress whose Co-pilot is still bleeding out, and it's a clean cut. A B-17 is separated in half, top to bottom where the Egg Sack is located by another B-17 no less.

The initial separation, in that singular moment, was neat and tidy, with the Pilot and the Signalman treating the Co-pilot blissfully unaware. No one even noticed how the Ball Turret Gunner was squished into a bloody paste of meat and metal before his turret was flung to point unknown. Yet, a mere half of a second later, anarchy befalls the two halves of the bomber.

In the front half of the B-17, there are five crew members: Pilot, Co-pilot, Bombardier, Signalman, and Top Turret Gunner. They all suddenly experience a moment of weightlessness before their heads and bodies are flung to hit the floor and the roof. The front half, after the separation of the airframe, veers upward due to reactionary force from the cut and the momentum generated by its still-spinning engines on the wings. The sudden and swift changes in velocity, and direction, have caught these airmen off guard. If their necks aren't snapped by the impact to the roof, then they face the fate of being thrown out of the aircraft without a parachute. However, only the Signalman receives the latter treatment after his arm dislocated before flying over the opening in the rear. A blink of an eye later, the front half explodes due to the bombs being tussled in the bomb bay.

While the front half takes on a fiery end, the rear half is faring much better. In fact, the separation has sent the rear portion in a neverending spin, with the remaining crew members holding on for dear life. The Navigator, having somehow found himself next to the Waist Gunners, is struggling to support himself and the Left Waist Gunner who is grabbing his arm, legs whipping in the air. Yet, as the rear portion spins dizzyingly without any regard to the squishy humans, the Left Waist Gunner loses his grip, screaming while his body flies to slam onto the metal wall before being batted away out into the open sky. Stunningly, the Tail Gunner manages to grab onto a parachute, multiple parachutes in fact, before tackling the Right Waist Gunner out of the rear half. Acting decisively, the Navigator throws himself out of the death trap too. Together, the three airmen descend into a freefall. With no time for sightseeing, the Navigator flails around midair, somehow getting closer to the Tail Gunner and the Right Waist Gunner. No one knows how the Tail Gunner managed to snag three sets of parachutes, but now, these are their only hope of survival.

In a burst of adrenaline-infused clarity, these three men perform an award-winning feat of putting on their parachutes midair after stabilizing their freefall. How is this possible? Survival instinct, camaraderie, and most important of all, luck. Pulling the cords on their parachutes, the Navigator, Tail Gunner, and Right Waist Gunner feel their descent slow down, the air leaving their lungs before they allow their spirits to temporarily relax. Heaven above they bloody made it.

The three survivors look at each other in the air before despondently gazing upward. Above them are Bomber Groups still being decimated by Belkan aircraft, one B-17 exploding after another. Try as they might, none of them can seem to spot a P-40 or P-38 in the furball. Their best guess is that the escorts died first or were finished off. They search and see more parachutes, yet not as much as they hope, and wreckage of multiple aircraft dotted across the wide ocean. Hopefully, some of them will hold a deployable life raft and supplies. Otherwise, it's a long swim back to Erusea for them all.

Before touching the fortunately not-that-rough sea condition, some survivors have a few moments to realize that the Belkan interceptors have given up. Yet, they only did so after destroying half of the aerial formation without a singular loss and expending nearly all their munitions. That's an impressive kill ratio of around two hundred aircraft, give or take a dozen or so.

In the future, historians will mark today as the Great Channel Turkey Shoot.