"Hussarenritt Pt. 2"
Der Hussarenritt, Part 2/4
17.4.1929
Hidden in the clouds as they Benjamin once again called out heading and airspeed, allowing the navigator to calculate their position once more. It was a nervous habit that showed up every now and then, but under the circumstances Hans was far more indulgent than usually. Even if they had their fancy navigation equipment, there was something soothing about confirming it with your own mind.
Usually under these condition they'd flown lower, but this wasn't a civilian flight. They had orders to avoid being spotted, even if nobody should expect any bombers, let alone ones striking so far south. Should, would, we have sources. Hans didn't trust them.
Gently they travelled south. Hans kept an eye out, because despite the fact that no sane person would fly in these clouds, he knew that five other planes should be in them, and a collision would be embarrassing. Still, it was Benjamin who first spotted something through a gap in the clouds.
"There's a coastline down there.", he said and pointed forwards.
"Got to be Istria." Hans answered. He had flown on Balkan routes occupationally, even once or twice via Triest. Usually however they didn't fly via the coast. They'd land at Leibach, Marburg or Agram, then Hermannstadt or Belgrad, and onwards towards Sofia or Bukarest and then Constantinople or Athens. Benjamin on the other hand had until now always stayed north of the Alps.
Kosmas craned his neck to get a glimpse of the land as well, then turned to the navigation equipment, checking the twin oscilloscopes, the clock and the map. "Right on target" he announced.
Hans frowned, his own quick calculations had them some 10 kilometres further north, but it seemed they had a bit more backwind than expected.
"Half an hour to Ancona" Banjamin reminded everyone.
Hans simply grunted affirmative. Somedays it surprised him still just how fast an AR.2, an AR Drache he corrected himself, was. Two hours to their target, two hours for those who could afford a flight, for a distance that took days not long ago. Weeks for the average traveller a century ago he reminded himself. He lived in a marvellous age.
"Think the weather report will hold up? Or did the meteorologists misread their tea leaves again?" he asked Benjamin.
"No chance in hell." came the answer "Even if they did seem to get better at it the last few years."
-
Weather had held up surprisingly well, however as they approached the Italian coast the clouds became more and more ragged. Enough so that every now and then you'd see another aircraft in the distance, leading all six of them to form up with each other again. Nobody had become lost, nobody developed a fault and the navigation equipment had been working perfectly.
With the port of Ancona to their right the squadron gently banked and crossed over enemy territory. Even as the mountains quickly grew in front of them, nerves started to lay blank. They all had flown in training exercises against the F-S 25 and more recently the F-S 28. If the Umpires were right, those little planes were deadly with their Oerlikon canons. Hans had his doubts about that, but had heard the lecture often enough to carefully keep an eye out. Even the faster F-S 28 had problems keeping up with an AR.2, especially if one could trade attitude for speed, and supposedly the Italian fighters were slower. Still better not to need it.
As they passed over the Apennines they carefully adjusted course a couple of times, before Benjamin called out: "There, the Tiber."
And right there, just as the sun broke through the late afternoon clouds, was the glittering, meandering band of the river. Hans pulled out his sunglasses to ward off the glare, then checked on their flight leader. When he saw the turn he followed it in, leading them toward the sun. It wasn't ideal, but it had been judged that circling around would be more dangerous.
They followed the river for five minutes before once again Benjamin's eyes proved superior: "There's the airport, just left of the river. That means..."
"Over the park, find the museum and then due south..." Hans muttered as he pushed the plane into a shallow dive. Airoporto del Littorio to the lefe, follow the right edge of the Parco di Ada…
All the while their aircraft sank lower, as did their companions. The airspeed indicator had risen to nearly 360 km/h, though hard data on the new Fiat fighters had been lacking in their briefing. Who knew what they really could manage? The intelligence guy who had briefed them was certain that they were in service, but admitted that they had no idea where and in what numbers.
As he reached 500 meters attitude, he spotted the Villa Borghese right ahead. He levelled out, and the ordered: "Kosmas, your up."
No flak, no fighters, a straight run. Even he could have hit the target easily in those conditions, so it rankled double that he would have to hand over aiming to Kosmas' mechanical wonder. In his mind he counted down the seconds as they flashed over the city, due south from their last navigation point. The bomb bay doors in the back dropping open caused the wind to howl though the opening. He was counting down, counting the seconds, until just as he reached sixteen, there was a lurch as they dropped their deadly load.
"Confirm bombs away." he demanded. There needed to be visual confirmation.
"Bombs away" Kosmas confirmed.
Hans pushed the button that allowed the small electrical motor to close the bomb bay, then dropped them further towards the city, even as four of his five companions started to climb sharply. They'd, barring any incident, would meet up again over the Adriatic. In the mean time, everyone would scatter and run on their own.
As they reached the roof height the airspeed indicator had exceeded 370 km/h and was still slowly rising. Hans didn't think about it too much, he knew that the wings were rated to keep up to that much stress. If non of the so called technicians had messed anything up during conversion, that is. As he curved their flight path to the right he dropped them another couple of meter, following the railway tracks out the city.
They were moving faster than anything had any right to be, they were untouchable. There was nothing in the skies that could keep up with them. And when they were out of range of the military airports around Rome, they'd climb again, gain energy, and lose any potential pursuer in the clouds.
For a second Hans regretted that his was simply flying his converted AR.2 instead of the purpose build Drachen that had been announced to arrive soon. Those had machine guns, and didn't just rely on speed for safety.
"Train ahead." Benjamin warned. Hans had noticed, and jerked the yoke rising a bit and moving to the right. Just then it seemed as if the entire train erupted in gun fire.
17.4.1929
Hidden in the clouds as they Benjamin once again called out heading and airspeed, allowing the navigator to calculate their position once more. It was a nervous habit that showed up every now and then, but under the circumstances Hans was far more indulgent than usually. Even if they had their fancy navigation equipment, there was something soothing about confirming it with your own mind.
Usually under these condition they'd flown lower, but this wasn't a civilian flight. They had orders to avoid being spotted, even if nobody should expect any bombers, let alone ones striking so far south. Should, would, we have sources. Hans didn't trust them.
Gently they travelled south. Hans kept an eye out, because despite the fact that no sane person would fly in these clouds, he knew that five other planes should be in them, and a collision would be embarrassing. Still, it was Benjamin who first spotted something through a gap in the clouds.
"There's a coastline down there.", he said and pointed forwards.
"Got to be Istria." Hans answered. He had flown on Balkan routes occupationally, even once or twice via Triest. Usually however they didn't fly via the coast. They'd land at Leibach, Marburg or Agram, then Hermannstadt or Belgrad, and onwards towards Sofia or Bukarest and then Constantinople or Athens. Benjamin on the other hand had until now always stayed north of the Alps.
Kosmas craned his neck to get a glimpse of the land as well, then turned to the navigation equipment, checking the twin oscilloscopes, the clock and the map. "Right on target" he announced.
Hans frowned, his own quick calculations had them some 10 kilometres further north, but it seemed they had a bit more backwind than expected.
"Half an hour to Ancona" Banjamin reminded everyone.
Hans simply grunted affirmative. Somedays it surprised him still just how fast an AR.2, an AR Drache he corrected himself, was. Two hours to their target, two hours for those who could afford a flight, for a distance that took days not long ago. Weeks for the average traveller a century ago he reminded himself. He lived in a marvellous age.
"Think the weather report will hold up? Or did the meteorologists misread their tea leaves again?" he asked Benjamin.
"No chance in hell." came the answer "Even if they did seem to get better at it the last few years."
-
Weather had held up surprisingly well, however as they approached the Italian coast the clouds became more and more ragged. Enough so that every now and then you'd see another aircraft in the distance, leading all six of them to form up with each other again. Nobody had become lost, nobody developed a fault and the navigation equipment had been working perfectly.
With the port of Ancona to their right the squadron gently banked and crossed over enemy territory. Even as the mountains quickly grew in front of them, nerves started to lay blank. They all had flown in training exercises against the F-S 25 and more recently the F-S 28. If the Umpires were right, those little planes were deadly with their Oerlikon canons. Hans had his doubts about that, but had heard the lecture often enough to carefully keep an eye out. Even the faster F-S 28 had problems keeping up with an AR.2, especially if one could trade attitude for speed, and supposedly the Italian fighters were slower. Still better not to need it.
As they passed over the Apennines they carefully adjusted course a couple of times, before Benjamin called out: "There, the Tiber."
And right there, just as the sun broke through the late afternoon clouds, was the glittering, meandering band of the river. Hans pulled out his sunglasses to ward off the glare, then checked on their flight leader. When he saw the turn he followed it in, leading them toward the sun. It wasn't ideal, but it had been judged that circling around would be more dangerous.
They followed the river for five minutes before once again Benjamin's eyes proved superior: "There's the airport, just left of the river. That means..."
"Over the park, find the museum and then due south..." Hans muttered as he pushed the plane into a shallow dive. Airoporto del Littorio to the lefe, follow the right edge of the Parco di Ada…
All the while their aircraft sank lower, as did their companions. The airspeed indicator had risen to nearly 360 km/h, though hard data on the new Fiat fighters had been lacking in their briefing. Who knew what they really could manage? The intelligence guy who had briefed them was certain that they were in service, but admitted that they had no idea where and in what numbers.
As he reached 500 meters attitude, he spotted the Villa Borghese right ahead. He levelled out, and the ordered: "Kosmas, your up."
No flak, no fighters, a straight run. Even he could have hit the target easily in those conditions, so it rankled double that he would have to hand over aiming to Kosmas' mechanical wonder. In his mind he counted down the seconds as they flashed over the city, due south from their last navigation point. The bomb bay doors in the back dropping open caused the wind to howl though the opening. He was counting down, counting the seconds, until just as he reached sixteen, there was a lurch as they dropped their deadly load.
"Confirm bombs away." he demanded. There needed to be visual confirmation.
"Bombs away" Kosmas confirmed.
Hans pushed the button that allowed the small electrical motor to close the bomb bay, then dropped them further towards the city, even as four of his five companions started to climb sharply. They'd, barring any incident, would meet up again over the Adriatic. In the mean time, everyone would scatter and run on their own.
As they reached the roof height the airspeed indicator had exceeded 370 km/h and was still slowly rising. Hans didn't think about it too much, he knew that the wings were rated to keep up to that much stress. If non of the so called technicians had messed anything up during conversion, that is. As he curved their flight path to the right he dropped them another couple of meter, following the railway tracks out the city.
They were moving faster than anything had any right to be, they were untouchable. There was nothing in the skies that could keep up with them. And when they were out of range of the military airports around Rome, they'd climb again, gain energy, and lose any potential pursuer in the clouds.
For a second Hans regretted that his was simply flying his converted AR.2 instead of the purpose build Drachen that had been announced to arrive soon. Those had machine guns, and didn't just rely on speed for safety.
"Train ahead." Benjamin warned. Hans had noticed, and jerked the yoke rising a bit and moving to the right. Just then it seemed as if the entire train erupted in gun fire.
Two parts as one - the break between the two should be noticeable. This operation will lead a few people down a path most nations aren't ready for in terms of presicion bombing. For those into these things, The navigation device is in part built upon similar operational principled as Knickebein OTL - Though there are some tweaks based on ASB object that caused long dicussion about deploying them on enemy soil and caused some very strikt tampering protections and self destruction mechanisms.
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