I got airborne at around this time, leading the 3. Staffel in my “yellow 1”. We soon got word that the enemy bombers were approaching from the north west at 8 000 m accompanied by escort fighters that hung above the bombers like a swarm of angry bees. Careful to avoid contact with the Mustangs we zigzagged our way up to 10 000 meters and then flew a wide arc to position ourselves above and behind the enemy “heavies”. Once in position we wasted no time to use the altitude advantage and commenced the attack. I worked out a special attack tactics to deal with a huge speed advantage we had against the lumbering four engine heavy bombers. A stream of several hundred bombers, even flying in a tight formation, was spread over a huge distance. The usual tactics of repeated series of hit and run attacks simply did not work, especially if one wanted to conserve fuel and remain clear of the concentrated defensive fire from the bombers. Having an abundance of targets to choose from we employed a “wave riding” tactics: a dive from about 1 000 meters above the bombers, selection of a target flying on the right or left side of the formation, a short burst aimed at one of the bomber’s inboard engines, followed by a recovery from the dive no lower than about 200 meters above the enemy formation and a quick climb back to altitude. At this point another diving attack would commence. The “ride” would cover quite a long distance, but because of the sheer size of the bomber stream one could score several kills during a single pass over the formation. Targeting the inboard engines or the wing sections between the engines proved extremely effective because it inflicted the greatest possible damage to the bomber’s fuel lines. I really found it difficult to understand why other pilots often chose to attack those heavily armed bombers (in their case the word “fortress” was no exaggeration) from below or head on. The only way to avoid the murderous fire barrage laid down by the B-17 gunners was to attack the “heavies” from above while flying in the same direction as the bomber stream. One also has to remember that the U.S. gunners would often open fire at distances over 700 meters, which at times was enough to actually score hits. We, on the other hand, had to drive to within 300 meters of the bombers, since that is where the fire from our MK 108 cannons was set to converge.
Down below the bombs were falling on Oranienburg and watching the multitude of flickering flashes of explosions made me think again of the burning ruins of Hamburg. At that very instant any thought of the pain and suffering I was about to inflict on the bomber crews became completely irrelevant. Revenge, hatred, retaliation? No, those words were all inadequate to express the immeasurable rage caused by the thought of hundreds of thousands of innocent German women and children who perished under the Allied bombs. It was that boundless anger I felt when I opened fire at the first enemy bomber. Within seconds the 3 cm shells from my cannons tore into the B-17’s massive tail and completely cut it off from the fuselage. The severed tail section tumbled to the ground while I recovered from the dive only to jump the next target . I hit the second B-17 between her starboard engines. Before the bomber rolled to the right and went down, I thought I noticed her name painted in big letters under the cockpit: ‘Henn’s Revenge’. I had no time to ponder on this, since the mortally wounded machine was by now filling my entire windshield: I buried the stick in my lap to avoid collision and pointed my aircraft straight up.
![Jumo 004B-1a seen from different perspectives. [Visualisation 3d Marek Ryś]](images/nicewatermark/occnvai251messerschmitt-me-262-schwalbe-vol-icati95iti688limitstart1-02_mo46-me262sho1.jpg "Jumo 004B-1a seen from different perspectives. [Visualisation 3d Marek Ryś]")
In the meantime the other bombers released their bomb loads and pressed on eastwards completely unfazed by AA shells bursting right in front of their glazed noses. Suddenly one of the Fortresses peeled off the formation and, trailing black smoke, turned north. At first I wanted to finish her off, but once I closed up on the “heavy” I noticed that an exploding AA shell ripped off all the skin panels from the starboard side of the fuselage – from the cockpit all the way to the wing’s trailing edge. I knew the bomber’s fate was sealed. Having no intention to fire at the helpless crew, I circled the bomber one more time. The copilot was slung forward still strapped to his seat, while the rest of the crew gathered in the back getting ready to jump. Nobody was manning the gunners’ stations. Flying away from the bomber I saw the crew bail out and counted nine good chutes.
My third victim’s wing seemed to attract the cannon shells like a magnet: 30 mm high explosive and incendiary projectiles drove into one of the B-17’s engines with devastating force. Seconds later the bomber rolled inverted and went straight down in flames. When I maneuvered into position behind another B-17, I noticed a triangle with the letter ‘U’ painted on her tail. After a burst of fire from my cannons ripped apart the Flying Fortress’s inboard engine, huge pieces of skin panels separated from the fuselage and went flying past my aircraft. Moments later the bomber’s wing broke off. I found out later that the doomed B-17 was called ‘Moonlight Mission’ and that most of her crew bailed out safely before the aircraft exploded in mid-air at 5 000 meters.
