Well, I'm a little late but I found the digital version of the magazine. In it, a veteran named David Walker recounts an experience he had (frangment):
A THOUSAND bombers took off from England on the evening of May 30, 1942. It was the largest air raid in history up to that time. I was Signals Leader for a squadron of four-engined Lancaster bombers. Each aircraft carried one 8,000-pound (3,600-kg) bomb of sufficient explosive power to destroy an entire large factory or several blocks of a street.
Climbing to 20,000 feet,* we started on our way to the German city of Cologne. The crew members were busy checking the engines, fuel, radio, navigation, and so forth. The three gunners asked the captain for permission to check and fire their machine guns. All was now ready for us to enter enemy territory.
As we crossed the Dutch coastline, I stood up to take my position in the lookout post in the roof of the aircraft. From there I could see in all directions. There I remained, keeping a sharp lookout for enemy night fighters so that evasive action might be taken and instructions given to the gunners. In the distance, I could see red patches lighting up the sky because the majority of the bomber force had already set the city of Cologne ablaze.
Now we were ready for our run in to the target. German fighter aircraft were circling the bombing area ready to attack us. We were the last batch of the thousand bombers that raided Cologne that night, and the city was ablaze from end to end. We had to descend to 10,000 feet in search of an area that wasn't already burning and on which we could drop our bomb.
We had been briefed that the main post office was the aiming point. "There are ammunition factories across the street," we were told. Many of us, however, believed that we were bombing the civilian population because we knew that in most cities the main post office is not surrounded by factories.
The tension grew as the pilot opened the bomb-bay doors. The noise in the aircraft intensified. This was our most vulnerable moment. Our bomb, which seemed nearly as long as the four-engined aircraft itself, was now exposed. Coloured tracer bullets arched through the sky. If anything hit that bomb, we were finished!
The bomb aimer now took control of the aircraft. Pointing his sights toward the target area, he gave the pilot his instructions: "Left-left; right-right-steady; left a little—hold it—steady—on target. Bomb away!" The plane shuddered, and I heard the "whoosh" as the four-ton bomb fell away from the aircraft. An endless minute went by as we waited until the photoflash illuminated the area we had bombed. Once the damage had been photographed, we set off for home.