After a long flight, the bomber squadron finally reached the skies over Belfast.
A dense rain of thermobaric bombs fell from the sky. Given Belfast's relatively small size and the overwhelming number of bombers dispatched by the Germans, the entire city was engulfed in flames. British military and civilians across the channel watched in shock as the firelight soared into the sky, witnessing the destruction of a city. Those who had escaped from Belfast secretly felt relieved that they had left; otherwise, they would have been part of the city turned to ash.
Meanwhile, the B-36 bomber, having dropped its 30 tons of bombs, began its return journey. When flying over the channel, the pilot commanded, "Altitude 8,000, speed 400, start the jet engines."
The co-pilot pressed the start button. "Number one started, number two started, number three started, number four started."
The four jet engines started one by one, making a tremendous noise.
"450... 500... 650... 700... 750!" Seeing the airspeed on the dashboard reach 750 km/h, the co-pilot couldn't help but marvel, "Incredible! Faster than the Mosquito, no fighter can catch us."
However, this kind of flight was akin to afterburner use in future fighters, not sustainable for long. After racing at 750 km/h for 15 minutes, they shut down the jet engines, and the flight speed gradually dropped to over 400 km/h.
"Oh, damn!" The co-pilot suddenly swore. "Engine number five has cut out!"
The pilot remained calm. "Don't worry, we still have nine engines." Due to the B-36's rear-mounted propeller configuration, engines were prone to overheating issues. Fortunately, this bomber had plenty of engines; even if four or five failed, it could still fly back.
At midnight, the B-36 bomber safely landed at the base, successfully completing its first combat mission.
The fires in Belfast burned all night, and when German troops re-entered the city the next day, they saw only devastation and rubble, with the occasional solitary, resilient building standing amid the ruins.
Not long after, Squad Leader Stephen, who was cautiously scanning the surroundings from beside a tank, quickly moved to the back of the tank and picked up the telephone hanging there. "Two o'clock direction, 300 meters, second floor."
Early tanks lacked internal and external communication equipment. When coordinating with infantry, if the infantry needed to communicate with the tank, they would have to climb onto it, knock on the hatch, and only then would the tanker inside open the hatch to communicate, which was highly inconvenient.
The first infantry telephone was accidentally installed by the Americans, who also found the coordination between infantry and tanks problematic. They simply attached a phone externally to the back of the tank, and the unexpected effectiveness led to it becoming standard for U.S. tanks.
Subsequently, various countries improved on the infantry telephone design because tank engines became more powerful, many using gas turbine engines, leading to significant heat radiation at the tank's rear, making it impossible for infantry to stand there unharmed for communication, and even the phones themselves couldn't withstand such heat. Thus, many tanks had their infantry telephones relocated to the outside of the turret.
Although in later times, tank crews and infantry could communicate easily via radio, if such communication was jammed, they would revert to primitive methods. Hence, many tanks still retained infantry telephones.
The tank halted, its turret slowly turning to the two o'clock direction. After a few seconds, accompanied by a deafening cannon blast, the distant building was instantly engulfed by dust and smoke.
The team continued to advance, soon arriving at the half-collapsed small building. Stephen, with a few men, entered and climbed the relatively solid stairs to the second floor, where they found several corpses amidst a mess.
"Looks like this was one of their machine gun positions." Stephen kicked a piece of bent metal on the floor, which he identified as parts of a Maxim heavy machine gun. The British soldiers' faces were contorted, indicating a painful death.
As he was about to check the unit numbers of these soldiers, a shout came from downstairs. "Squad Leader, there's a basement here!"
A basement? Stephen hurried downstairs, following the voice to the basement door, which was intact, suggesting there might still be people inside.
Stephen found a soldier proficient in English and shouted towards the door, "Listen, you inside, you are surrounded. Lay down your arms and surrender immediately! You will be treated according to the Geneva Convention for prisoners of war!!"
After several shouts with no response, Stephen grew impatient, pulling out a flashbang and signaling to a soldier beside him. As that soldier kicked the door open, Stephen pulled the pin on the flashbang, tossed it inside, and quickly ducked aside.
Boom!
A brilliant flash erupted, but there was still no sound from inside.
"Nobody's in there?" Stephen muttered in confusion, taking out a flashlight and cautiously descending. Several soldiers followed. Below, they saw several British soldiers, some missing limbs or wrapped in bandages, lying haphazardly on the floor, motionless, without even the faintest breath.
"Check if there are any survivors." After giving the order, Stephen shone his flashlight on the nearest person, who showed no signs of burn injuries but had his hands tightly clenched around his throat, his face purple and black as if he had strangled himself. His neck was pierced in several places, bleeding out.
"Man, these guys died in such creepy ways." One of the soldiers beside him couldn't help but spit. "Squad Leader, how did they die like this? Did they strangle themselves? Were they possessed?"
Stephen shook his head. "Possessed, my foot. These people look like they died of asphyxiation. Poor bastards, they probably thought they'd be safe in the basement, but the firebombs consumed all the oxygen, suffocating them." If it had been ordinary aerial bombs, they might have survived, but the fierce external burning had depleted the oxygen.
The soldier couldn't help but click his tongue in horror. "That's terrifying. It would've been better to shoot themselves."
"Yeah." As they were speaking, other soldiers reported, "Squad Leader, we've checked; no one's alive."
"Then let's go. Remember to mark the door for the logistics team to clean up here." Stephen didn't want to stay in such a creepy place for a second longer, leading his men out of the basement.