The Allied Forces’ air raids of Germany happening toward the end of the Second World War were broadcast live by the BBC Radio. During one of the first air raids on Berlin, the live commentator was the (then) famous British journalist Wynford Vaughan-Thomas. The circumstances seemed banal: the steady roar of the Lancaster bombers, the impenetrable night—and only the journalist's genuine emotions imbued the situation with a sense of unusual dread: “Now, right before us lies darkness and Germany,” he commented in a tense voice. Moments before they reach the air defense Kammhuber Line, the aircraft's crew is presented to the listeners: Scottie, the flight engineer, in private—a cinema projectionist from Glasgow; Sparky—the bombardier; Connolly—the navigator; there is also the rear gunner, a Sussex farmer, and the skipper—who, however, choses to remain anonymous. The plot gathers speed once they are above the city. Shafts of light making the bombers easy targets for the German air defense, then the flashes of exploding anti-aircraft missiles, eventually some hits and the Allied Forces’ bombers plummeting down—this is what the citizens of the British Isles learn from the correspondent's report. Finally the order is given to drop the bombs on the city. Everything is happening very fast. The task has been accomplished. They are going back home. They unwind by becoming suddenly very talkative. “By God, that looks like a bloody good show. Best I’ve ever seen. Look at that fire! Oh boy!” And here's a literary rendition of a similar kind of awe: