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Fear for Lilya felt like an icy fist around his heart, a sensation new and alien to Blackhawk. He could not let her sacrifice go for nought, though, so he concentrated on his job. While the Russian pilots drew the attention of the flak crews, he guided his silent plane through the hole in the defenses they had created. His target was the command center for the AA missiles. The Nazi base was, of course, in black out but there was enough reflected light from the search lights to pick out the nondescript frame building. He knew that at the same time, the Night Witch squadrons were attacking the missile launchers, but that was a backup for his attack on the control center. The Po-2's hand released bombs weren't accurate enough to guarantee the destruction of all the Wasserfalls, even if all the biplanes made it through the flak circuses.
Blackhawk lined his ship up for the run and pulled the wires to release two bombs. The bombs dropped from beneath the plane's wings. He looked back in time to see the explosions on either side of the command center. Damn! Both misses! He had not brought a navigator so he could carry extra bombs. He had enough for another run, but he didn't trust the accuracy of the Po-2's primitive racks. They were okay for harassing sleeping soldiers, but he needed to hit a small, badly lit target. There was only one way.
Blackhawk dropped down till his wheels were barely clearing the ground. He lined up directly for the building and started the final run. He reduced the throttle till the little plane was going less than fifty miles per hour. He got up to stand on the seat, but hunched over to keep his hand on the stick. With only a hundred feet to go, he jumped and hit the ground rolling. He skidded to a stop just as the plane smashed into the building. An orange and black explosion blinded him, a concussion wave battered his already bruised body and blasted his eardrums, and the acrid smoke assaulted his nose.
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