“The bombs had yellow rings painted on their noses. They were ordinary high explosives. The Superfortress didn’t always visit radioactive hell upon its targets. Sometimes ordinary hell was thought to be enough. Hank McCutcheon stood beside him. The pilot reached for his breast pocket, as if to take out the pack of cigarettes in there. An ordnance sergeant wagged a finger at him. Major McCutcheon dropped his hand. “Yeah, I’m too close to all this good stuff to smoke,” he said sheepishly. “But I s...till want to.” “Can’t imagine why,” Bill said. “Pyongyang’s a milk run, right? A piece of cake. Nothing to it.” “Nothing to it,” McCutcheon echoed, his voice doleful. The North Korean capital wasn’t far. They could get there and back in a couple of hours. Whether they could get back at all, though, was very much an open question. Stalin had lavished on Kim Il-sung air defenses stouter than any city had enjoyed during the Second World War. Radar to spot approaching bombers, radar to direct the fire from the antiaircraft guns, radar-carrying night fighters to hunt through the black skies and attack with heavy cannon of their own…Yes, the B-29s carried window to make the enemy radar operators’ lives more difficult.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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