Nineteen Lancasters droned through the soft spring night, their dampened exhausts faintly luminescent. Below, the German landscape unrolled steadily, remote and softly gleaming in the moonlight. Fields and forests, villages and towns slipped past their wings, and then the planes were over Westphalia.
In the big bombers the men grew tense after the long monotony of their flight. The motors roared on steadily, but now their throbbing beat was swifter, and by the steady pressure in their ears the men knew they were going down. Ahead and below, the lakes that marked their...
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