Möhnetalsperre, Gau Westfalen-Süd, Großdeutsches Reich, 17. Mai 1943
“How beautiful the valley looks! The moonlight casts a silvery pall over the fields and forests, and the purity of Aryan work is properly highlighted! If we must have flatlands, to correspond with my beloved mountains, such a vista is proper and heartening! How much we have done in ten years, the last half blighted by war! After the Final Victory, all the plains of Europe will be as such!”
The Führer beamed over the valley of the Möhne river. Behind him, Herr Bormann maintained a proper demeanor, and among his staff, the secretary recorded the immortal words for the enlightenment of generations of Aryan youth to come.
Sharp cracks interrupted the scene. The Führer turned his head and snapped, “Why are they firing! The Terrorflieger are far from here!”
“I will have the flak stopped immediately!” the Reichsmarschall declared, and snapped an order at a Luftwaffe aide. The man ran along the crest of the dam to the power station, where he could relay the Führerbefehl to the flak crews.
When the guns fell silent, the stillness yet seemed broken. “Our Nachtjageflieger,” the Reichsmarschall declared. The Luftwaffe had been less than totally successful of late, and its commander had chosen to attend on the Führer to shore up his crumbling position.
“They must keep up their flying skills. I am surprised there are no great raids this evening. Or have we not heard of them? Never mind. I wish to inspire myself with this wonderfully impressive view.” And he turned to look out over the valley. There were small lights in some of the houses there, and he imagined, with a paradoxical combination of pride and annoyance, how they would look when electric power was free and universally available. The beauty of the night would be forever driven away, but the prospect of living and working a normal life the year-round was heartening. The pride of the artist came up against the pride of the builder.
“Those Nachtjagdflieger,” the Reichsmarschall said. He turned and looked out over the stillness of the artificial lake. One of them was flying only a few meters above the water. Showoff. In the last moment he realized that there were no Nachtjagdflieger planes in the Luftwaffe that had four engines.
G for George, 617 Squadron, Royal Air Force, Ruhr Valley, 17th May 1943
The explosion rose up from the crest of the dam. Guy Gibson scowled and said to his operator, “Report: ‘GONER 78A’.”
The Lancaster would orbit the area, to drive off the attention of the German ack-ack. It had started, then inexplicably stopped, helping his bomb run. But the bomb had bounced off a cable and impacted on the crest of the dam, and now they were firing again.