“Hitler built a fortress around Europe, but he forgot to put a roof on it.” President Franklin D. Roosevelt
Ever since I was a boy in the 1960s, playing board wargames has been a favorite hobby of mine. For my twelfth birthday, I asked my mom for a copy of the classic Avalon Hill game Panzerblitz. My best friend and I passed many fun afternoons fighting our way across the hexagonal battlefields of Europe.
My interest in boardgames has never waned. But it’s hard to find other people to play against nowadays, especially with the coronavirus pandemic. So I was very excited to learn about Target for Today, Bombers over the Reich, 1942-45 by Legion Wargames. This is a single-player tactical game where you choose either the role of a U.S. heavy bomber commander, or that of a group commander leading a combat formation of thirty-six B-17s or B-24s.
Upon opening the box, I was impressed by the high standard of design and production. Legion Wargames has achieved a level of quality akin to the best games by Avalon Hill. The rules are very much like the classic game B-17, Queen of the Skies, which was one of my favorites in the 1990s. Target for Today is even better and suitable for novice through veteran wargamers.
All you need to play this game is a pencil, some table space and your imagination. Using a zone system, you fly out to the target and back to your home airfield. Along the way, you cope with random mechanical problems, lousy weather, German fighters and Flak. It’s one thing to read about the challenges that U.S. aircrews faced. But it’s something else entirely when your bomber crashes on takeoff or gets shot down over the target.
Target for Today is an immersive and detailed game with endless possibilities for replay. Every mission presents unique situations. I’ve played at least thirty times, yet the game is still fresh for me. Along the way I’ve discovered there was no such animal as a milk run for U.S. heavy bomber crews in the skies above Europe. I’ve also had a ton of fun.
Recently, I played a mission and took extensive notes which I present to you in narrative form. For background, this was my crew’s fifth of hopefully twenty-five mission. We lost both waist gunners to Flak over Bremen on our second mission, so our replacement gunners are flying their third mission. Our B-17G is named Lil’ Brown Jug. We call her simply, the Jug.
100th Bomb Group, Thorpe Abbots Airfield, December 1943
A cloud of cigarette smoke hung above the waiting airmen and the briefing room was warm and stuffy. Our commander, Col. Harding, strode purposefully up the center aisle to the stage, where a black curtain hid the wall map of Europe. Pronouncing each word slowly, he stated, “Gentlemen … the target for today is …” and then paused for effect. The room was so quiet, you could have heard a mouse running across the floor.
The intel officer pulled the curtains back from the map as the Colonel continued, “… the marshalling yards at Hamm.” The tip of his wooden pointer slapped against the map. Every man began breathing again and somebody in the back piped up, “Well, at least it isn’t Schweinfurt, sir.” Tension momentarily relieved, the room erupted in laughter.
After the combined briefing, the crews separated for individual instructions. Our squadron drew low cell, and Lil’ Brown Jug was ship number seventeen, on the 9 o’clock of and a little above the Tail End Charlie. That crew had the unenviable position of lowest ship in the group and we were basically right next to them.
The crews broke up to draw parachutes, escape kits, .50 caliber machine guns and all the other equipment for the mission. Trucks and jeeps then ferried everybody out to the hardstands, where each crew climbed into their ship to go through checklists and start engines. On signal, our eighteen bombers lined up like ducks in a row on the taxiway. The noise from all those big engines was deafening.
Right on schedule, a green star cluster arced into the sky from the control tower. One by one, the big Fortresses began their take off rolls. When it was our turn, our pilot ran the engines to full power and held the ship on the runway until the last moment. Lifting off, the Jug wallowed up through the cloud layer like a fat Christmas turkey. We found the rendezvous point and formed up for our six-hour run to the target and back.
Zone two – over the English Channel
Climbing above 10,000 feet, we went onto oxygen and the Jug vibrated when our gunners test-fired their .50-calibers. Far below us, the channel was visible under broken clouds. We watched our fighter escort (Little Friends) flying lazy race tracks over our formation. Contrails spewed behind the ships above us in the high squadron, pointing like fluffy arrow shafts to our group.
From the top turret, our flight engineer called over the intercom, “Bandits, 9 o’clock high, looks like two waves.” Our left waist gunner piped in, “109s, at least four.” Our Little Friends dove into the fight and drove off the Germans. Well, we were in it now. At least our ship was flying smoothly, but we all knew that gremlins could be lurking in every nook and cranny of our Fort.
Zones three and four – over the English Channel
Our left waist called out that a B-17 with German marking was flying in the distance off our 9 o’clock. The Germans had a handful of captured Forts that sometimes shadowed our formations, sending position and heading reports, and directing their fighters on us. More German fighters tried get close to us; at least three waves, but our little friends were on the job. So far, so good. Then our navigator reported the coast of Europe dead ahead.
A solid cloud layer stretched off into the distance beneath us and we waited nervouslyfor the recall, which never came. As the formation settled in, our Forts tucked in tight, so close that you could almost jump from wingtip to wingtip. The propeller wash really buffeted the Jug – formation flying was exhausting for the cockpit crew, but close together was the way to survive until the next mission.
Zone five – over the Netherlands
An ominous report came over the intercom. “Left waist to pilot, smoke from number one.” The co-pilot scanned the instruments, reporting, “Number one’s losing oil pressure.” Crap! Things happened fast now. “It’s red-lining. We have to shut down.” Our pilot ordered, “Roger, feather it.” Now the dilemma. Abort and head back home, or continue the mission. We had the power to stay in formation with three engines, just barely. Europe was socked in beneath us but still no recall.
Now the fight was on with the German fighters. Reports flowed across the intercom. Me-109s arced through the formation, our escort fighters right on their tails. A Little Friend latched onto a 109, drilling it was a stream of tracers. Flame spurted from the German fighter and it exploded not a hundred feet from the Jug.
Another 109 streaked toward us. At least three crewmen called out, “Bandit, 12 o’clock high.” Our flight engineer loosed a stream of tracers from the top turret, hitting the German fighter in the left wing. The enemy pilot broke off his attack, disappearing into the cloud cover. Our navigator soon reported, “Fifty miles to the German border.”
Zone six – Germany and to the target
The heavy clouds beneath us trailed off to 50% coverage. Now another gremlin reared his ugly little head. The right waist reported his .50 machine gun frozen. Our pilot ordered, “Check your oxygen masks for ice.” Now the Germans knew where we were heading and they came up in force.
Me-109s and Fw-190s came at us from 9 o’clock high, 12 o’clock level, and 1:30 high. The Little Friends really mixed it up, driving off multiple German fighters. Now our tight formation was paying off. A 190 slashed in from 12 o’clock, but the Fort ahead of us shot it down. More fighter waves came in but our escorts did an outstanding job keeping them off us.
Ahead, we could see dirty gray puffs from the German Flak defending Hamm. Like clockwork, the navigator reported, “Five out from the Initial Point.” Opening the bomb bay doors, our bombardier reported that he had the ship. From the I.P. until bombs away, we had to maintain straight and level flight until bombs away.
Now the German fighters broke off as their ground defenses took up the fight. Light, but accurate Flak bracketed the formation and at least three rounds burst near the Jug, rattling our teeth and nerves. But Lady Luck was riding with us and there was no damage so far. Now for the target.
Through the broken clouds, we saw that the Germans were using smoke screens to obscure the marshaling yards. Our bombardier strained through his Norden bombsight as he searched for the aim point, the terminal building of the rail yards. We held our collective breaths until he yelled, “Got it! Bombs away!”
The eggs released cleanly from their shackles. Relieved of her heavy load, the Jug sprung up in the air. We’d been flying for Uncle Sam before, but with our bombs gone, we were flying for ourselves now. The German Flak was still bursting through our formation as we made a hard left turn off the target. The tail gunner reported heavy clouds of black smoke rising from the rail yards and many secondary explosions. “This is the rally point,” the navigator called out.
Zone five – homeward bound over the Netherlands
Hamm disappeared behind us and soon enough, our navigator reported we were out of Germany. But we still weren’t out of the woods. Besides that malfunctioning engine and a frozen .50, the Jug was holding up. But for some reason, we’d lost our tight formation leaving the target and our squadron was disrupted. Wouldn’t you know it, another problem cropped up. Fate chose this moment for our escort fighters to disappear.
The top turret called out, “Bandits, three waves, 3 o’clock high.” One group of German fighters headed straight for the middle cell above us. Another ship in our cell shot down a 109, which went into a flat spin and exploded. The third wave of eight 190s formed into a line and the right waist called out urgently, “Incoming rockets.”
Almost like slow motion, the big rockets arced into our formation. One exploded barely a hundred yards in front of us. We flew through the dirty black cloud, buffeted by the shock wave. Shrapnel punched through the nose cone. But by some miracle of Lady Luck, there was only minor damage and the Jug motored on.
Zones four and three – homeward bound over the English Channel
Now our Little Friends showed back up in force, surrounding the formation. As we left Europe behind, the Germans refused to give up and they dogged our tails. The escorts latched onto the enemy aircraft, and soon the sky was filled with dogfights.
Our formation leader sent out an urgent radio alert: “Low cell, 190s, vertical dive attack.”
A German fighter dove straight down toward the Jug with incredible speed. There was no time for intercom reports and our top turret and radio opened up with their .50s. The heavy slugs found their mark. Thick smoke and a trail of fire erupted from the German’s engine cowling. The pilot pulled away, zooming right past us as he broke off his attack.
Zone two and back to Thorpe Abbotts
The Little Friends were really earning their pay now. Although multiple German fighter waves tried to attack us, none got anywhere near our formation. Our right waist gunner reported that his .50 had two broken feed pawls from being frozen. No matter, we were almost home. Soon, we crossed over the English coast, the welcoming countryside stretching beneath us. Now the German fighters were a distant memory as we prepared for landing.
Our pilot dropped the landing gear as we approached the field. The Jug had power to spare on three engines and we greased the landing with no problems. We taxied back to our hardstand and the engines shut down. As we unloaded our ship after six hours of freezing vibration, we felt as if still flying. It was a weary crew that climbed into the waiting truck for the ride over to debriefing,
Post-mission debrief
The Jug carried a strike camera in her belly during the attack against Hamm. Post-mission analysis determined that our bombs were on-target and we achieved 40% bombing results. But for our crew, it was most important that none of us got hit and we lived to fly another day. Our crew went to interrogation, then broke up for gear cleaning and turn-in. Then it was off to the chow hall and into the sack for some shut eye. We had one more good mission under our belts.
Conclusion
Target for Today, in my view, is the single best solitaire war-game available today. Arguably, it may be the best ever. Games like this are wonderful. They give the player an opportunity to left their imagination soar. Target for Today is almost a throwback to the bygone golden age of wargaming. It’s definitely a pleasure to play.
Happy landings,
Mark