2: Medium Bombers Of World War

As the carrier or the dirt strip finally came into view, the crew of the medium bomber knew they had done the dirty work—the close-in, face-to-face fighting that won the war one jungle clearing at a time.

The plane jolted as the weight fell. Behind them, the airfield erupted in a series of daisy-chained explosions. But the celebration was short-lived. "Zeros at six o'clock! High!" the tail gunner screamed. Medium Bombers of World War 2

The turret gunner's twin fifties hammered away, a steady thump-thump-thump that vibrated through the floorboards. One Zero overshot, unable to match the Mitchell’s sudden deceleration as Elias pulled the flaps. The enemy fighter zipped past—right into the sights of the nose guns. Elias squeezed the trigger on his yoke, and the Zero disintegrated in a ball of fire. As the carrier or the dirt strip finally

Suddenly, the airfield appeared. Elias didn't use a bombsight; at this height, it was all instinct. He toggled the "para-frags"—small bombs attached to parachutes designed to drift into aircraft hangars and fuel depots. "Bombs away!" But the celebration was short-lived

The Mitchell groaned as Elias shoved the throttles forward. The Japanese fighters dived, their tracers stitching lines across the wings. A medium bomber's greatest defense was its speed and its ability to hug the terrain. Elias banked hard, threading the bomber through a narrow river valley, the wingtips nearly clipping the ancient trees.

Unlike the heavy B-17s that droned at high altitudes, the Mitchell lived in the "dead zone." They flew fast and low—so low the salt spray sometimes smeared the cockpit glass.

"Twenty minutes out," Elias crackled over the intercom. "Gunners, check your belts."